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Chapter Text

~~Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a beautiful maiden. Her hair was fiery red, with emeralds for eyes that could see right into a man’s soul.

~~Then one day she came across a monster that was terrorizing people. While all the other villagers ran away in fear, she approached the monster and helped him, because she could see he was misunderstood. And the monster came to love her, and she loved him, breaking the curse that was on the monster. He became a handsome prince once more, and he took the beautiful maiden back to his castle where they ruled together, and everyone lived Happily Ever After~~

…This is not that type of story.

At all.

-Alien Sun-

Novi Grad,

Sokovia,

Earth

Climax of the War with Ultron

In the skies above Eastern Europe, a battle was being waged to determine who would see the next dawn: machine, or mankind.

On one side, Ultron, the mad, failed attempt to create an artificial intelligence intended to protect humanity. Now he had transitioned from claiming he ‘only’ wanted to cause a cataclysm to force their evolution, to finally admitting he just wanted to wipe them out. Particularly the Avengers, whom he hated above all else.

Scoffing at the very idea they were heroes, disparaging them as both monsters and the greatest threat to peace on Earth, Ultron had taken sadistic pleasure in luring them to the cornerstone of his grand design: a series of massive engines that were currently lifting a large piece of Sokovia’s capital city of Novi Grad skyward, which was to soon reverse to accelerate back down the entire multi-ton mass of rock and homes.

Even by this point, the impact of its fall would murder billions, and both it and the projected death toll were rapidly rising. For Ultron’s insane yet mathematical mind demanded nothing less than total annihilation.  

Under the weight of this artificial meteor, man would go the way of the dinosaurs.

Fortunately, despite how grave the situation remained, the tide had turned in the Avenger’s favour. For those who the robot had been intended to replace refused to give up and let innocents die; Ultron was on the retreat.

In large part thanks to Vision, an android possessing a synthetic vibranium body created by Ultron with the power to best any of the Avengers, until Tony Stark and Dr. Bruce Banner had repurposed him. Now a being who was part-Ultron, part-JARVIS (Tony’s personal AI), and part of something else, Vision had of his free-will turned upon his creator, and burnt Ultron’s electronic personality out of the internet. Leaving him with his remaining drones, still fighting throughout the city, as the only remaining copies of both his programming and personality; hence his desperation to get them to safety even while Earth’s Mightiest hunted them down. If even a single one escaped, Ultron, and the threat he posed, would survive.

So even as Iron Man, a.k.a. Tony Stark, frantically worked to devise a (relatively) safe means to destroy the doomsday weapon, the rest of the Avengers were either evacuating civilians, or destroying the remaining Ultron drones. Thus saving the world from global genocide.

Keeping pace with the rising city was S.H.I.E.L.D’s massive Helicarrier, under the command of ex(?)-Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, Nick Fury himself. The flying command ship was shepherding out the townspeople with smaller Lifeboats, so that the Avengers could safely demolish the city without killing anyone. For security, the sky itself acted as a moat as it hovered dozens of meters away.

A trivial obstacle for the strongest Avenger to conquer.

Leaping towards it was a muscular, green titan: the Hulk.

While reviled as a monster by most people, his fellow Avengers knew him as a stalwart teammate, the mighty alter-ego of their friend Dr. Bruce Banner. Unfortunately, when Wanda Maximoff had still been an enemy, she had used her mental powers to make the Hulk rampage through a populated city. As of yesterday, the Hulk was once more an object of hatred and fear.

For all of that, within his massive arms he delicately held one of his fellow Avengers. A beautiful human female, with red hair like fire, and emerald green eyes. 

-Alien Sun-

Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow was still disorientated, even as she realized she was flying through the air, secure in the Hulk’s arms.

Then down they went as the Hulk landed on a landing platform of the Helicarrier, yet despite the force with which they reached it, he still absorbed the impact so that she barely felt a tremor. Gently he laid her down on the ground, and promptly turned to run back the way he had come.

Struggling to sit upright, Black Widow watched his latest jump take him back into the city, quickly followed by another which took him unerringly towards the Avenger’s own Quinjet, which she last remembered firing upon them. Clearly Ultron had hijacked it.

Perfectly timed, the Hulk touched down onto the open ramp, and ran into the jet.

About five seconds later, a dark figure that Black Widow recognized as Ultron’s prime body –now even more battered— went flying back through the hatch. Flailing through the air, he impotently crashed down to the city below.

Wincing, Black Widow stood up. For all her formidable fighting skills, she remained primarily a covert operative. Moreover, she was just a regular human, so there was no way for her to rejoin the fight on Novi Grad. Her place now was getting to the Helicarrier command deck and helping coordinate the rest of the battle.

Then something flickered up her spine, and she spun around.

Hulk and the Quinjet were still flying away.

This was understandable, since for all the Hulk’s incredible fighting instincts, he had never demonstrated the sophistication, nor the physical finesse to manipulate a control board with his oversized fingers. Doubtless Hulk was reluctant to return to being Bruce either, since Ultron had just attacked them when she had tried the Lullaby —That's probably why Hulk targeted the Quinjet—and not to mention that—

Black Widow went away as Natasha Romanoff stiffened in horror.

Flashes of memory flared like lightning through her mind

-Alien Sun-

[Flashback]

It was just yesterday and they were at Clint’s farm, in the guest bedroom.

"The world just saw the Hulk,” Bruce said as if it were final. “The real Hulk for the first time. You know I have to leave."

Yet Natasha was unmoved. "You assume I have to stay."

…

She’s closed to him, lips nearly touching. "What're you doing?" he softly asked in confusion.

"I'm running with it," she whispered back. "With you. If running’s the plan, as far as you want."

Bruce stepped away with a touch of horror. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I want you to understand that I'm—"

"Natasha,” he cut her off. “Where can I go? Where in the world am I not a threat?"

"You're not a threat to me," she said as she stepped forward before he interrupted again, totally out of character for him.

"You sure? Even if I didn't just..." he stopped unable to say kill you. Trying another tack he said, "There's no future with me."

…

Less than an hour ago as the entire world seemed to shake and they both knew Ultron was putting his endgame into action.

"We've got to move," Bruce said, having rescued her from the robot’s captivity.

"You're not going to turn green?" she incredulously asked.

"I've got a compelling reason not to lose my cool."

In a split-second Natasha made a decision, letting her eyes light up with desire. "I adore you." Grabbing his head, she pulled him into a passionate kiss. Then pushed him into the deep pit. "But I need the Other Guy," she said quietly in apology, despite how he could not hear her.

A second later the imposing figure of the Hulk leapt from below to tower over her and smirk. "Let's finish the job," she said.

-Alien Sun-

Present

He’s going to run! Natasha realized as she took off running towards the Quinjet. The Quinjet outfitted with the most sophisticated and undetectable stealth capabilities known to man, and an opportunity unavailable when he had been more accepting of the Lullaby mere minutes ago.

 “War Machine,” she barked into her com. Flattering Rhodes by calling him his preferred call sign will help make him more receptive. “How are you doing dealing with the drones?”

“All clear,” he radioed back. “I’m just hanging back to keep an eye out for any more.”

Ruthlessly and remorselessly she weighed the risks of what she was proposing, forcing herself to put emotions aside and consider the cold, hard logic of the situation. She would not risk Armageddon. However there were no other flying vehicles in sight, none which could get her close enough in time, or without damaging the Quinjet anyway—Fury must not’ve had time to grab any for this— and Iron Man was too essential to saving the world right now. And at the end of the day, Bruce, including the combat potential of the Hulk, was not worth risking the possibility of Ultron’s return for Round Two. Next time he might get it right.

“One moment,” War Machine added on before seeming to talk to someone else. “That all of them? …Yeah? …Alright. Okay Widow, all accounted for. At least the flying guy in the cape seems to think so. Oh, says his name is Vision.”
He must mean the new guy who Ultron was originally planning to be his ultimate body, Natasha knew. He was directly connected to Ultron’s mind at that point, so he’d know best if we missed any. Plus, Ultron was cocky enough –Stark-like enough— to bring all his drones together like that, and to keep fighting until it was too late. If he had a back-up plan, we’d have either heard him boast about it already, or it’s too far away to make a difference right now. And if it’s the latter, then we need the Hulk to help stop it, she ruthlessly concluded. Good, that means I’m free to do what I really want.

 “I need a pick-up. Triangulate on my signal, and take me to the Quinjet, as fast as you can safely go.”

With that she leapt off the edge of the landing platform.

A second later, a figure in full-fitting metal armour was carrying her bridal style towards the fleeing craft.

And yes, Natasha had a dread sensation that ‘fleeing’ was the proper term.

Also: I really need to make Stark give me some way to fly. I’m tired of being carried around. Maybe something like Falcon’s artificial wings so I don’t seem like a Stark-groupie?

Distantly she listened to War Machine bragging about how well everything was going, with undertones of how awesome he himself had done. Not wanting him to get curious as to why she had not asked Vision for a lift, given how she neither knew him, had reason to seriously trust him beyond saving the Earth from Ultron, nor knew how truly pliable he was, Natasha gave words and sounds of affirmation where appropriate, working on autopilot.

She had a . . . friend, to catch.

-Alien Sun-

Grunting with pain from aches and pains of a non-stop battle, yet also from the sheer emotional toll of all he had endured, Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, collapsed down onto his seat on one of S.H.I.E.L.D's Lifeboats. “No, no, I'm fine,” he said as he waved off an agent offering to help. Trusting the Avenger’s word, the man went off to help others as Clint laid down on his side across the row of chairs. "It's been a long day."

On the floor beside him, right where the master archer could see in full detail, was the corpse of Pietro Maximoff. A kid who had grown up since the age of ten hating Stark and then later the Avengers, and today had fought beside them to save the world. Had saved Clint and a child.

Ultron had hijacked their Quinjet and shot at them in one last act of petty defiance before taking off, and Clint had almost bought it because he was not fast enough. Except Pietro had given his life for a former enemy. “You didn’t see that coming?” had been the kid’s last words, a mocking taunt from their clashes turned into one last joke.

Too drained from everything, Clint just lay there with his eyes open, even as his brain just went to sleep.

-Alien Sun-

They were not going to make it.

“I’m not going to make it,” War Machine said through his helmet radio. “I can’t go any faster without killing you.”

As it was, Natasha was wincing against the wind pressure battering them. Without a protective suit like his, there was only so much speed she could safely handle. As it was, the only reason they had gotten as close as they had was because the Quinjet had not been leaving at full velocity. Unfortunately, its acceleration was now slowly pulling it ahead.

What I wouldn’t give for a grappling cord gun, she thought with consternation. Unfortunately, she had not equipped herself with one before heading out to confront Ultron in Korea.  

Then she knew what to do.

Drawing a pistol, she fired into the open hatch of the Quinjet with unerring accuracy. Even as she leveled the weapon she was automatically calculating wind speeds and directions, effect of the air pushing against her and War Machine, the slightest shifts in the armoured hero’s flight, angle of the plane, and overlaid a mental blueprint of the Quinjet itself. Hawkeye could do all of that within a second of leveling his arrow for a single shot. It took her three whole seconds, and emptied the clip on full auto.

Armour-piercing bullets threw up sparks as they struck a certain locker, to Natasha’s lack of concern. She may not be a mechanic, but she had spent many hours poring over the blueprints while visualizing various potential scenarios. While she had not envisioned this, she had considered possible hostage situations, and knew that any missed shots around her target would only pierce the door, with a low probability of any ricochets. Moreover, there was nothing critical behind it, and Tony had built in triple redundancy to his creation.

(Although for some reason the man had forgotten to install a bathroom. Seriously, not even a little cubicle).

The important part was that the locker contained a cable meant to be lowered down to people while flying/hovering above ground. As a safety feature, Tony had also had it so that in a crisis, his teammates, the ones with both fantastic reflexes and ability to use a gun faster than they could hit a stationary emergency switch they were standing away from, could shoot at it to release the contents which would then be ejected towards the hatch. Freed, the coil went right into open air to trail behind, right into Natasha’s waiting hand.

“Thanks for the lift,” she said, shifting free of War Machine’s grasp. “I’ll take it from here.” Without another word she started pulling herself towards the Quinjet.

Cutting his thrust, War Machine floated there on his rockets for a few seconds to watch her. “Wow.”

Then turned around to get back to his other job. No sense in leaving the civilians alone too long.

-Alien Sun-

S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier

“Any word from Romanoff?” asked Fury.

“One moment,” answered Maria Hill, his right-hand. “Tracking her signal…mid-air. War Machine’s nearby.” She placed a quick call to the suited man, and then turn to her boss. “Romanoff’s getting onboard the Quinjet with the Hulk there. He says she’s going to try and help him turn around.”

Unfazed, Fury merely nodded. “Alright. What’s the status with the evacuation?”

“Just the last stragglers left.”

Touching his earpiece, Fury said, “You get that Stark?”

“I read you loud and clear,” Iron Man answered. “Cap’ll let us know when everyone’s safe.”

“Pietro’s down,” the man in question cut in, and they could hear the pain leaking through. “Hawkeye’s aboard the Lifeboats. Hulk and Widow?”

“Accounted for,” Fury simply said.

“I’m heading for the Trigger,” Thor added over the radio.

Nothing more was said. They all knew what they had to do.

-Alien Sun-

Avenger’s Quinjet  

With a final low grunt, Natasha pulled herself safely onto the deck of the Quinjet. Once she was on firm ground, she could only lay there gasping for breath while sweat dripped onto the deck. Low air at high altitude, fighting against wind pressure while climbing up a swaying and bouncing rope . . . Even she had limits, and she had very nearly passed them. Right, I’ll have to note that as a new training exercise. I’ll have to make Steve wear weights though.

Collecting her thoughts as her body regained its composure, she looked up ahead.

Sitting down on the floor before the controls was the broad, green back of the Hulk.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that passive. Plus there’s no way he didn’t hear me coming, and yet he neither came to help, nor try to stop me. The latter of which would inevitably involve killing her given the height they were at. A possibility that Natasha had never really considered until now. It was possible she trusted the Big Guy too much. Now what do I do?

This was not a scenario where she could mentally dominate a physically superior alpha male with force of personality alone. In a very real sense, the Hulk was a force of personality.

Audibly taking a deep breath, Natasha revaluated her situation.

She was in a confined space with arguably the most dangerous being on the planet, because intuitively she believed he had chosen to not turn the jet around.

The reason the Hulk was even up and about was because she had betrayed his alter ego. Except that Bruce was a part of the Hulk, and vice versa. Most people, including the Avengers, believed that the Hulk was the embodiment of the rage that the supposedly mild-mannered scientist claimed he always felt. However, Natasha was not so sure that was accurate, as she was starting to believe that perhaps the Hulk was slowly developing his own identity; except of course she might be projecting, given her own interactions with him. Either of them.

Regardless, there was still a deep connection between both halves. If Hulk was flying away, trying to disappear, then that meant on some level Bruce wanted to do so too. To get away from the Avengers. His friends. From her. From whatever it was that was between them.

“A lady doesn’t appreciate being ignored,” Natasha declared as she walked forward, heels deliberately clacking against the deck. “Except I get the feeling you’re rather angry at me right now, and are just giving me the silent treatment.”

The Hulk said nothing. Indeed, on the rare occasions he did speak, it was only one to three words.

Stopping an arms-length away, her razor-sharp mind considered the situation, and reminded herself total and brutal honesty was the way to go here. She also suspected that the Hulk was too sensitive to the emotional tells of other people to actually be lied to. “As nervous as you can make me at times, I want to throw my arms around your neck and rub your chest and tell you it’s all going to be okay.”

He twitched.

Clenching her jaw momentarily at how awkward this felt, Natasha plowed on. “Because I trust you not to hurt me, despite what Bruce thinks. Despite all the other people you’ve hurt. And I know you’re not so angry that you didn’t save me from Ultron, or get me someplace safe. For that matter, if you were that angry, you could have hurt me when you jumped out of the crater. Or been less of a gentleman, and not deal with the one who shot at me."

What may have hurt Bruce the most about the ‘Other Guy’ was how his body was used to kill. Not preemptively, no. Never that. If the Hulk had ever attacked for the sake of killing, nothing would have stopped Bruce, Tony, and the rest of the Avengers from finding a way to end the threat he posed.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to go smacking around all those Chitauri aliens, arms dealers, and HYDRA goons without killing people. While many of the humans Hulk fought did live to be healed and interrogated (the aliens had all died when Tony blew up their mothership), sadly many of them would live out the rest of their lives crippled from their injuries. In the worst case, well, anyone sent flying from a punch into a tree trunk by a fist that could smash tanks, could very easily end up a corpse.  

The point being, Hulk was as much a killer as the rest of the Avengers, and so was Bruce for letting him out. Except he was also not the bloodthirsty monster that Bruce seemed to think he was. Like the rest of the Avengers, he was as much a defender as he was a fighter.

Ignoring those concerns, Natasha continued. “Almost like our Lullaby, except we’re not just feeling each other’s pulses in our wrists while I say it, nor trying to get you change back right away. Just showing I care.”  

Silence fell as she let him process this, and then his back muscles stiffened.

“I’m not lying, and we both know it. I’m not sure you even can be lied to. This isn’t some game where I’m trying to talk you into coming back to the Avengers just so you can punch people for us, and Bruce builds fancy stuff. I’m . . .” she broke off to take another look at her own feelings.

“I pushed Bruce off not just to save people,” she slowly says aloud, “but also because he was going to run. He was too afraid of you to risk letting you out. Especially near civilians. After Johannesburg where he says people saw the ‘real Hulk.’”

Now the Big Guy tensed even further than before.

“…You’re upset about that too. Too bad. Bruce chose to refuse to trust you, to trust us to keep you away from any civilians if you were a danger. So he wanted to run. Except I know the truth. You’re a hero, and you proved it today.

“Without you, people would’ve died. Everyone. Because we wouldn’t have been able to stop Ultron from using his homemade meteor. You didn’t even have a radio for us to call you on, and you still knew we needed you at the Trigger to stop him. Not to mention everyone in the city that you protected during the street fighting without hurting them. Even if we had somehow stopped Ultron without you, those people would’ve died, and just knowing that would’ve torn at him for the rest of his life once he got his head back on straight. Because he would have done nothing to try and help them.”

Natasha was here because at the end of the day, she knew Bruce, flaws and all. And still held . . . feelings for him.

According to those ridiculous romance novels she had been forced to read as part of her spy covers at times, this was the part where she was supposed to be torn between kissing Bruce senseless, or shooting him.

Natasha was willing to settle for a civilized conversation that did not leave her remembering why she only willingly socialized with a handful of Humans. And of that handful, with the exception of Clint’s wife Laura, and their children, they were all people who were considered abnormal by the rest of society. And, with the exception of all the Bartons, she could only handle them in measured doses. However there was one other exception; as she had come to really know him, talking with Bruce had started to feel weirdly pleasant.

Taking a deep breath, she stopped the pep talk, and got right to the main issue. “Now, everyone’s as safe as they can be. Thor and Stark are going to work their magic, and there’s nothing more people like you and I can do.” She pauses. “You know, out of the two of you, I didn’t think you’d be the one running away.”

Back still turned to her, Hulk went still.

“And it isn’t just that I betrayed his trust . . . you’re afraid for him, aren’t you?”

With a speed and grace that was absolutely terrifying for anyone that large, in such a confined space, Hulk was up and hunched over as he glared down at Natasha, barely any space between them as his dark green eyes burned into her light jade ones. “NOT BANNER!” he roared.

Clearly he thought she was treating him as if he were Bruce.

Refusing to react to the sheer volume and force of his words, Natasha still glanced to the side to not seem as if she were challenging Hulk. Then she steeled herself and looked at him head on. “You still care about him on some level,” she flatly told him.

“. . .”

“And when I pushed him over, it wasn’t just a betrayal, it was like a rejection. Both of you feel you don’t belong, and Johannesburg only made it worse, and then I went and seemed to prove it to you both. So now you’re helping him go off to wallow in self-pity, with you inviting yourself along.”

Growling, Hulk barred his teeth, and Natasha knew Bruce would have a coronary if he ever found out she had spoken to the Hulk like this.

. . . If she ever saw him again.

That thought was like a sucker-punch to the gut, and she felt herself deflating. She turned to go sit on one of the aisle seats, giving him space without seeming to retreat, and looked up at Hulk with a sad and drained face. “I know he probably hates me now, but I still want to hear it from him. Talk to him. Otherwise the two of us are going to be left with nothing except regrets as we wonder ‘what if?’ forever.

“So please, let me talk to him. Please.”  

The Hulk stared at her, and then managed to softly rumble, “Like Hulk.”

There was no childish curiosity, or need for belonging there, simply a flat statement devoid of emotion, which was scary, scary when he was supposed to be just Bruce’s emotions with green fists.

 No, he’s something more. 

“Yes, I like you both very much,” and she smiled a sincere smile that lit up her eyes. His lips twitched up in happiness too. Then her grin grew a little sad. “It’s just that I think I like Bruce a bit more, though that’s just because you and I never seem to connect during calmer stuff.”

Hulk stared at her in silence once more, and the seconds stretched into minutes, until Hulk spat one word as a curse. “Banner!”

He doubled over in agony.

-Alien Sun-

Twisting her hands and fingers in patterns that helped with her powers, even as they blazed with a crackling, red glow, Wanda Maximoff stalked towards the beaten, primary body of Ultron. The one the Hulk had thrown out of the Quinjet.

Pietro, her twin, was dead.

Killed by a monster that Wanda, playing upon Tony Stark’s fears, had led the man to create. Knowing his own flaws would result in him creating his own worst enemy. And in her quest for vengeance, Wanda was responsible for countless deaths, and the endangerment of everyone.

So she had abandoned her post, and spent the next few minutes finding the robot amongst the rubble of what remained of her homeland’s capital.

“Wanda,” Ultron softly said, too damaged to move. “If you stay here, you’ll die.” Despite his half-melted face, it almost seemed like he was concerned for her. That he cared about the time they had been friends.

She was beyond caring about that.

“I just did,” Wanda hoarsely told him. “Do you know how it felt?” Then a crimson light lashed out from her palm at Ultron’s chest, and machine or no, he gasped in pain as even vibranium, the world’s strongest substance, started to twist and tear before her will.

Until Ultron’s reactor was ripped out and she held it in her hand like a human heart before his dimming eyes. “It felt like that,” she informed him with dark satisfaction.

-Alien Sun-

“NOW!” ordered Iron Man as he used every scientific trick he had on the core of Ultron’s engine as his artificial meteor burned down through the skies to destroy humanity.

And the God of Thunder answered with all his gathered power, bringing the full force of his hammer and lightning down upon the keystone of Ultron’s design.

The entire piece of massive rock was vaporized, even as Thor and Iron Man barely escaped with their lives. Not that it mattered to the two heroes; only that they had succeeded.

The Earth was safe once more.

-Alien Sun-

Hulk was racked with pain as he stumbled around, while Natasha forced herself to look away during the arduous process. “Sun’s going down,” she whispered.

Green arms that could shred steel like a chainsaw through paper were barely managing to keep from breaking the close walls of the Quinjet as they flailed at the air. Except now his massive muscles were shrinking and condensing, turning into regular human flesh.

Despite being middle-aged, he was fit with hints of muscles surprising for a ‘lab geek.’ Honed body from years as a fugitive before becoming an Avenger, and then enhanced by regular and intense exercise driven by a concern —just short of active paranoia— that he had to be always ready to go on the run once more. Special pants courtesy of Stark also shrank with him, preserving his dignity.  

Gasping, he collapsed to the deck as he struggled to breathe and remember who he was, where he was, and figure out what was happening.

Gritting his teeth in pain, he forced himself upright to look around, until a familiar voice spoke up. “Easy.”

Head swiveling to face her, his first words were, “Nat! Are you alright?”

She felt like she had been kicked in the chest. Hard.

That was his first concern!? Her safety!?

“I’ll live,” she answered as calmly as she could manage.

“Sokovia!” he went on. “What happened?”

“Safe as can be. We got as many people as we could out, got all the versions of Ultron, and Tony and Thor have an idea to destroy the city.” Natasha cleared her throat. “The Hulk was a big help for all that.”

He frowned and got a distant look as he sorted through his memories, including the hazy flashes he got from the Hulk. “You . . .”

“Forcefully changed you by pushing you down a deep pit. Yes.”

“After you kissed me,” he added, seeming equally stunned by that.

“. . . Yes.” She hated that hesitation. Honestly, is this what people had felt all those times she had seduced them, toyed with their emotions, and then betrayed them? Sometimes even executing them herself? This vulnerability?

Right, this was why she had spent so many years precisely doing her best to avoid a . . . relationship.

“Because it was the Hulk you wanted,” Bruce accused, struggling to keep calm to be sure he did not transform again, yet with a trickle of anger leaking through. “Is that it?”

 “Bruce Banner couldn’t have saved those people!” she reposted. “Not at that point. And at the end of the day, you want to save as many as you can. That’s who you are.”

“Fat lot of good that did Johannesburg,” Bruce bitterly noted.

“That wasn’t your fault!” she shot back. “Neither of you were in a sound state of mind! You’re a scientist, be objective about that at least!”

His brow furled in growing anger, although there was no sign of green in his rich, brown eyes. “I trusted you.”

Past tense.

“Yes,” she managed, keeping her face from showing any reaction. “And I abused that. Something I never wanted to do. If nothing else, I hope you can believe that. But you didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“So I don't get to make my own choices?" snapped Bruce. His temper was truly raised if he was arguing as opposed to a more passive-aggressive route. “After Johannesburg—”

In response, she only shook her head. “I won’t take away your right to choose. Unfortunately, at the time you weren’t thinking clearly. Johannesburg was an anomaly. It was not a reason to never go Hulk again. And yes, you did trust me, and I treated you as less important than the Hulk during a crisis. I’m sorry, except there was no other way. And no time to convince you otherwise. Our mission was to save lives, and every second counted.”

Bruce turned away from her, seeming to be trying to melt the hull with his glare alone. “What do you want?”

“Not forgiveness,” she assured him. “Not for that. I want . . . I want for you to understand why. To make sure you’re okay. Even if you don’t want me with you, I don’t want you to go off on your own hating yourself. Hating yourself for not helping those people when they needed us the most and hating yourself for the Hulk.”

“I helped create Ultron,” Bruce quietly noted. “I tried to be Doctor Bruce Banner again, and I somehow created something even worse than the Hulk. I, I need to get away. From everything. Everyone.”
“But I’m guessing you created Vision to stop him,” Natasha argued. Honestly, she had still been locked up when all of that must have happened. Thankfully she had gotten a glimpse of the android while he was within the Cradle, and had put two and two together when she saw the newest Avenger. “The mistake you and Tony made was not talking to others about it. What matters though is that you learn from that.”

Of course his brilliant mind easily understood she was saying that they all had to stick together. “. . . If I ask you to leave me, right now, will you?”

“Yes.” Natasha’s answer was firm and immediate. “Set me down, or give me a parachute even, and I’ll leave.” She sighed. “Just please don’t go become a hermit and seal yourself away from the world. You deserve better.” Cocking her head, she stayed sitting to wait for him to think it through, look over the angles with his genius intellect to decide if she was lying or not.

“Alright then, let’s turn around,” Bruce said without looking at her.

His response was just as instantaneous as hers.

“Huh?” she blinked.

Bruce got up and walked towards the First Aid kit, face set in a mask. “Civilians will still be hurt, so you’ll have to fill me in as we head back. Can you get the controls?”

“Right,” Natasha says, even as she realizes the truth. It was a test and I passed. He hasn’t said anything about forgiving me or where we’re going from here. What matters to him right now is that the people who need his medical expertise come first.

Then the entire Quinjet started to lurch. On cue every control panel started flashing red, while the radio spat static. Just as the alarm started blaring Bruce moved at Natasha.  

-Alien Sun-

Instinctively Bruce threw himself at Nat, knowing it was the safest choice. Even if he was still furious with her, he knew she was more equipped mentally and physically to handle any surprises. One last parting gift from Ultron? Bruce wondered, as he tried to figure out the cause of the turbulence.

One of Natasha’s strong arms wrapped around him, while the other fought to steady them both as the floor and walls shook. Suddenly they were accelerating at dangerous speeds towards a bright light. The sheer force of it was so intense that Natasha went from trying to keep them both upright, to desperately holding on as they both hung horizontally, while the Quinjet threatened to tear apart.  

However even Natasha had her limits against such strain, as she lost her grip the last thing Bruce saw was the back hatch coming at them at an alarming speed . . .

-Alien Sun-

Pain was an old enemy of Bruce’s. Not only did it suck, it told him he was still alive, which he had spent a good many years considering a downside.

Grunting, he forced himself up, and then spun around to realize he was laying on Natasha. Before he could say anything however, her eyes opened and she was fully awake. “Ow!” she hissed.

“Lie still,” he ordered her. However bad he himself had been hurt, it could not have been too serious, or he would have already shifted, and the Hulk’s bulk would have crushed her. In fact, the only reason that had probably not happened was because she had cushioned the impact for him. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he chastised.

“Saved you from going Green during an unstable situation,” she shot back. “Besides, I wouldn’t have my favourite doctor to check me over.”

Fortunately, his quick examination indicated that there appeared nothing wrong with her. The First Aid kit had fallen back with them, and he used it to shine a light in her eye to check for a concussion. Miraculously she was fine. “You sure you don’t have any super-solider serum in you?” he joked.

“Just a rumor the KGB spread to make my rep scarier,” he told him matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

“What happened?”

“Uhm . . .” Slowly Bruce helped her up, and only then processed that they were still in the Quinjet, except it was dead and unmoving. In fact, it felt like they were resting on solid ground, although there was light pouring through the window.

But what’re all those specks falling down in the distance? he wondered.

A metal blade cut through the side of the hull, and started to carve a hole. More appeared throughout the vehicle.
“Whaa—!” gasped Bruce.

Then a hand pulled him up as Natasha went full Black Widow. Grabbing one of the secured bags, she nonchalantly commented as she sorted through them, "Remind me to get a refund from Stark. Can openers can open this up!" Then she slapped down a shaped charge right were the first vandal was nearly finished. “Cover your ears,” was the only warning Bruce got before she detonated it with merely a meter between herself and it.

Fortunately Tony made reliable stuff, and anticipated such near-suicidal behaviour from his teammates, so the carefully directed blast barely shook Bruce. Although the ‘BOOM!’ was nearly deafening.

He still dimly caught the screams of pain from outside.

“Wait!” Bruce began, except Black Widow had already gone through the hole.

Cautiously Bruce poked his head out to see she was fighting atop piles of what seemed like junk against strange people wrapped in rags and strange masks. They had to be a HYDRA cell though; no one else on Earth had the sort of advanced tech lake those laser guns they were using to try —and fail— to stop her.

Except some of those weapons seem to be just pipes as clubs.

Regardless, Black Widow was spinning, flipping, rolling, and staying constantly in motion to keep herself from being overwhelmed despite there being about fifteen of them. It was almost as if she were dancing as she tore them apart, bodies already littering the ground around them.

This was Bruce's first time truly seeing her fight. Oh, he had seen her in sparring matches where she dominated everyone besides Clint and Steve—and even the super-soldier had to keep on his toes with the super-spies, since their experience in life-and-death combat was actually greater than his own, and always fought dirty. Plus video recordings of her against HYDRA of course. Never in person though. And while a part of him was disturbed with the ease at which she dealt death, even if he conceded the necessity, he remained in awe at the grace and power she wielded. Of the surety behind each motion.

Fourteen as she shot one four times in the face.

Thirteen as she brought another to his knees with her stun baton, then used his body as a shield from high power energy blasts.

Then she kicked her human shield forward at them, with another explosive charge attached.

‘BOOM!’

Once more, Bruce’s ears rang as he tried to take stock of the situation as he peered through the smoke.

Three left, and Widow was using her stun batons to finish them off, doubtlessly wanting people alive for questioning. Of course. We need to know how HYDRA somehow abducted us. Some sort of matter transporter?

Finally, the last one fell.

They never stood a chance, Bruce knew. She’s just that good.

Slowly, he inched out of the hole, trying to figure out what was so unnerving to him as he looked around. And then he saw the blood.

It was bright orange.

“What?” he whispered, before the sound of an engine snatched his attention.

A jet with more grace than anything Tony had ever built swooped down beside them. It was so advanced, it was almost like a spaceship. Then a ramp extended out of it, and a hatch opened to reveal one of the most beautiful woman Bruce had ever seen—which felt a little strange given how Natasha was right beside him, although he refused to feel guilty given how upset he still was with her. Clearly muscular, her complexion he would hesitantly place as an exotic mixture of South American and African heritage. Although her attire was a bit confusing, as she was wearing leather clothes, and what resembled silver tribal marks on her face. 

She was also chugging back a large bottle of some liquid that Bruce assumed was alcohol. He hoped he was wrong. Tony would be envious of her if she is, but that can’t be good for her liver. For crying out loud, even Thor would be impressed!

The stranger then tossed the empty container away, and dimly Bruce heard the sound of breaking glass.

With a confident swagger, if not slightly veering off a straight line, she sauntered down the ramp, and gave a slow clap, and Bruce could not tell if it was sarcastic or not. “That was pretty good,” the woman smiled, her attention on the Avenger surrounded by bodies. “All on your own. You’re a fighter, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” was all Black Widow said in response.

She’s being cagey, Bruce realized as he shot the redhead a glance. She thinks it’s going to go badly.

Then the brunette cocked her head. “Is he with you? Were you protecting him?”

Now Black Widow said nothing, so Bruce decided he should say something. Hopefully this could end without violence still. And none of this makes sense. Where did a human get a ship that advanced? They needed details. “Yes,” he answered for them both. “We’re—”

“Cute,” the woman interrupted. “Well, I guess you can go together.”

Then both her hands blurred and Bruce caught a glimpse of something small heading towards him before something bit into his neck.

PAIN.

Chapter Text

Sakaar

Upon a world that collected the garbage of the universe — whether it be in the form of sentients or the junk they created — a sadly familiar scenario was playing out. The best slaver available to the government, a beautiful, humanoid woman with silver markings on her face, was examining her newest catch. Newcomers were always so surprised and vulnerable.

However . . . this time something different was happening.

Scrapper 142 —she had given up on her old name, along with her past— whistled in surprise as the scrawny guy started to bulk up and go green. Guess he’s more than Red’s boyfriend, dad, or pet after all. Still…

On cue the Obedience Disk adjusted its charge, automatically analyzing its subject to deliver a greater, more appropriate charge, keeping the strange man on the ground, writhing in pain. However, despite his helplessness, he kept on growing, developing impressive looking muscles that would make him an instant contender for the Colosseum. The Grandmaster’ll probably make him fight his lady friend though. Too bad.

Then the green man looked up to glare at Scrapper 142 with a feral snarl.

Only reflexes ingrained so deep into a Valkyrie, that even millennia of heavy drinking could not dull, saved her as he suddenly appeared in her face.

-Alien Sun-

Grinding her teeth in agony, Black Widow forced herself to move. Push right arm down, now the left; raise your head…

It was bad.

Hulk was losing.

The woman who had met and attacked them was too quick, skilled, and strong; ducking under blows to deliver targeted hits of her own to unbalance Hulk, or hit him in the armpits, joints, gut, or other vulnerable points. A powerhouse honed into a lethal, veteran warrior. Indeed, she fought like a female Thor almost. Which says all I need to know about how dangerous she is.

Although that had been obvious from the start.

Nonthreatening people did not walk up to strangers who were surrounded by dead bodies, and drink nonchalantly while complimenting you for doing a good job at killing. Never mind all the other little clues, such as the obvious alcoholism and unkempt appearance (the hair being the biggest clue), while walking into a combat zone with visible arrogance. Someone unafraid of violence, or committing it, with little regard for their own self.

From what little she said, Black Widow could identify a clear detachment from events unless something managed to vaguely interest her, and even then, their ‘friend’ (despite her obvious fighting prowess) seemed to have a short attention span.

Ergo, too much like one Natalia Romanova. A woman who had perished when she had decided that death was preferable to a life of servitude to the KGB. And a woman who had been reborn before that vow could become literal, by the hand of an archer who had offered her true and genuine friendship.

At least I hope I’ve become better than that, she thought.

Ruthlessly, Black Widow smothered that self-doubt. Something was wrong with Hulk, given the darkened veins covering his body, and the lack of coordination. The pain jolting through her own body was answer enough to that. They had both been struck by some kind of compliance and/or taser device meant to leave you helpless.

Except why am I still able to move? Any electrical shock able to hurt the Hulk would leave me smoking. . . . My suit! Stark, I forgive you for your useless Quinjet!

Feeling more confident, Black Widow levered herself further upright. Her Widow Bites and Batons delivered an electrical shock powerful enough to damage even Ultron’s Sentry Drones, despite the genius AI’s incentive to make them as resistant to electrical charges as possible, given her, Clint, and Thor’s usage of it. Her weapons, made by one Tony Stark, were just that powerful.

By necessity, the cat-suit she was wearing had been designed in turn to resist such a shock.

When their attacker had thrown those disks, Black Widow had felt it pierce right through the toughened material —she was certain it was on the part of her outfit that covered her throat— and into her flesh —and apparently it was staying stuck into Hulk’s nigh-impenetrable skin too— just before inflicting her with this pain and additional body spasms. Yet if her protections were somehow already able to dampen the charge when it was supposed to paralyze her . . .

Remembering how she had beaten Alexander Pierce’s booby-trapped ‘security badges,’ she slapped a Widow Bite right to whatever was stuck to her neck to short it out.

The sudden surge in voltage cut off even her ability to scream in agony.

And it did not stop.

-Alien Sun-

A kick to the jaw made Hulk spin around momentarily while still off-balance, to see Tasha shuddering on the ground.

Snarling terrible fury, Hulk turned back to Hulk’s enemy.

While whatever enemy had done to Banner caused Hulk pain, and Enemy’s sneaky tricks and hits caused more, it was still only pain. And at the bottom of what mind Hulk possessed, that only made Hulk feel satisfaction.

Pain only fueled Hulk’s anger.

Hulk was always angry, powerful.

Hulk was free to vent it now, and enjoy the fresh air. . . . Although something worried Hulk about that, and not just that this was a stinky place.

Then Enemy stopped hitting Hulk to start hitting Enemy’s hands together.

. . . Hulk would call Enemy, Angry Girl. For all that smirk on Angry Girl’s face, Hulk knew Angry Girl was also angry. Just not angry like Hulk.

Then Angry Girl’s arms lit up with blue lights before Angry Girl pointed Angry Girl’s fists at Hulk, and Hulk roared in agony as Hulk felt himself being shot in the back. Hard.

-Alien Sun-

You are truly a contender for the Grandmaster, Scrapper 142 thought as the remotes on her gauntlets finally started working. I’ll make so many units off you and your little friend!

On cue, the remote-controlled gatling guns had deployed from Warsong to open fire on the green man, shooting him in the back with enough fire-power to vaporize a small army already.

Unfortunately, it appeared her personal ship might not be enough. There was no sign of flesh being burnt off or damaged in any way, so she knew it was not doing any serious damage yet. Moreover, this angry man was strangely resistant to the Obedience Disks. For crying out loud, he shouldn’t even be moving! Oh well.

First, a quick order onto the holographic controls on her gauntlets to order Warsong to maintain fire on its current target.

Reaching behind her back, Scrapper 142 pulled out a baton that extended and expanded into a long pole with a spiked ball attached. Swinging it at a knee joint, she brought him down headfirst into a snap-kick.

 Guess I’ll have to get dirty after all.

-Alien Sun-

Security feature, Black Widow groaned to herself as she forced herself awake from what the compliance device had done to her. Tough enough that my Widow Bites weren’t enough to affect it, and smart enough to punish me for resisting. Clearly advanced tech. It’s back to the original voltage now too, just in case.

Bet it’ll do the same or worse if I try and cut it out, and that assumes I won’t bleed to death from ripping out my own throat. Not to mention nerve damage if it’s stuck inside of me.

She looked up just in time to see Hulk fall onto his back as he was smashed in the jaw by an impractically long mace. Although if it works, it’s not really ‘impractical.’

Propping himself up on one elbow, Hulk visibly spat out a tooth, before slowly standing back up.

Strangely, the woman did nothing to stop him, which made no sense at first to Black Widow. While it was possible she was planning to outlast him and wear him down, she already had the initiative. Moreover, Hulk’s darkened veins and shaking from his own compliance device made it clear he was fighting off some impressive pain, which along with the high-powered weaponry now raining down on Hulk, gave her all the edge she needed.

Unless . . . it’s because she wants to make clear her dominance? Stretch out a fun fight? Or is she just enjoying his pain on some twisted level?  

Frantically Black Widow’s green eyes flittered about as she tried to figure out what to do.

It took precious seconds, but she did it.

Grabbing the explosives that were still lying beside her, she removed a detonator and one piece of what Stark called C4-Ultra, and awkwardly threw the rest ahead of her; barely managing fifteen meters, which was frankly pathetic.

Then she inched towards the closest, and meanest looking, gun her earlier attackers had been using.

-Alien Sun-

Not much longer, Scrapper 142 thought with satisfaction. The green man’s movements were becoming increasingly slow and uncoordinated. Then it would just be a matter of bagging him up, and then his lady friend. Almost a pity really. It’s nice to have someone I can keep hitting without killing them; and he’s doing his best to make it a challenge too. Maybe I’ll pay him a visit in the colosseum afterwards for a little spar. Heh, why not Red as—

With a loud ‘BANG,’ the rate of fire from Warsong halved.

Seeing the lack of lights from her gatling guns, she quickly circled the green man to see his woman had picked up one of the more advanced guns from one of the Scrappers who had attacked her earlier, firing high-energy shots at the other turret; aiming for the thin —and lightly armoured— spur that connected it to her ship. Red’s aim was bad, except she should not have been able to even fire in the first place. Were both Obedience Disks defective!?

Feet hammering the ground, Scrapper 142 zoomed towards the woman, aiming to knock her unconscious before she cost her any more money. Repairs for the Warsong were worth several good drinks alone!

Fire and noise exploded beside her and Scrapper 142 went sailing through the air.

-Alien Sun-

Fear was an old friend of Black Widow’s. Throughout her life she had suffered it, yet also embraced it. For like pain, it meant she was alive. Which meant there was always an opportunity to cause her tormentors to be afraid.

Whether she found herself tied to a chair while being threatened, or imprisoned by an insane Ultron —Had that really only been a few hours ago?— or whatever, so long as she was alive, there was always the slightest opportunity to turn the tables. And she always had.

Ever since graduating from the Red Room, there had been only one exception to that rule, and that had been the terror when the Hulk had tried to kill her within the cramped confines of the Helicarrier.

Here? Now?

A torture device trying to make her submit, while shooting with an unfamiliar weapon to take out turrets, while a possibly Thor-class enhanced individual was trying to kill her? Not a drop of sweat.

Her skills and experience were rising to the occasion, and most importantly, she was an Avenger. That meant she was not alone in saving the day. In fact, her teammate was the Hulk himself this time. In fact, usually he was the one to bail them out when they ran into the heavy hitters like tanks, bunkers, or whatever. Now it was her turn to return the favour.

Plus, she still had a few tricks left to play.

The mystery woman was so focused on Black Widow that she had not spotted the bag of explosives amongst all the junk, and Black Widow had been hiding the detonator (awkwardly) in one hand while still firing. Unfortunately, while setting off a bag of explosives as your enemy runs by them might be a good idea, doing so when you yourself are only fifteen meters away is less so.

‘BOOM!’

Once more, Black Widow fought to stay conscious, finding herself now aching and bruised from the concussive force of the C4-Ultra.

Undaunted.

Pushing all distractions aside, she levelled the weapon –despite how the awkwardness of the strange design made it hard to aim—to target the ship’s second and last gun to—

Hulk ripped it off with a snarl.

Clearly the Big Guy had been tired of that ship shooting at him, and while his back was starting to bleed, he was still as relentless as ever.

His head swiveled towards their attacker who was now back on her feet, except Black Widow managed to gasp out, despite the ongoing pain as electricity jolted through her, “Hulk! Here!”

Growling, he quickly came to her, and she managed to hand him her final shaped charge. “Hold it to your neck where it hurts the most. This’ll sting, but help.”

Puzzled, he complied, and she set that one off too, his hand containing the blast to a mere muffled ‘Boom.’

Snarling in pain, green blood dripping briefly from his neck, Hulk turned on Black Widow in betrayed rage.

-Alien Sun-

Tasha hurt Hulk! Hulk had trusted Tasha like Banner had and Tasha tricked Hulk and now Hulk would—

Hulk stopped. Hulk’s body no longer hurt, and was doing what it was supposed to too. Tasha had helped Hulk.

“Cute,” Angry Girl said as Angry Girl walked up, graceful like Tasha, but strong like Banner’s Hammer-Friend. “Guess we do this the hard way.”

Angry Girl swung Angry Girl’s weapon at blitzing speed and with all Angry Girl’s strength.

Hulk caught it.

Slowly, to drive home just how ANGRY Hulk was, Hulk pushed the weapon aside so Angry Girl could see all of Hulk’s teeth barred in a snarl.

Angry Girl flashed Angry Girl’s own white teeth in a strained smile. “Hey there,” Angry Girl said in a soothing tone like Tasha’s, when Tasha wanted a man to do something for Tasha.

Hulk’s fist met Angry Girl’s face.

-Alien Sun-

“Hulk! Stop!” yelled Black Widow again. Still he did not seem to hear her.

Their attacker was on the ground now, with Hulk standing over her and raining down his fists as he pummeled the life out of her.

“Hulk! Stop! I need her help!”

That got his attention, and he paused to glance over his shoulder at her.

“Bring her here. Please,” gasped out Black Widow, the electrical current driving through her body not abating.

Obediently, if reluctantly, Hulk dragged the woman over to her. Not stopping to check for a pulse, Black Widow’s shaking hands feverishly fumbled across the bruised body, until finding an electronic device. Gambling on what was the ‘off’ switch, she hit a button.

Sweet release.

Glancing down at a small sound, Black Widow saw that there was a little metallic disk on the ground now.

Sighing with relief, Black Widow rolled away from it and onto her back, eyes closed. “Thanks Big Guy,” she whispered.

Sucking in deep breaths, she reasserted her self-control.

“Tasha,” Hulk rumbled. Then again with insistence, and . . . concern, “Tasha!”

Lids shooting open, Black Widow took in the sight of holes in the sky.

Holes dropping stuff.

Stuff like junk.

Rolling up into a standing position while instinctively picking up her dropped batons and ‘appropriated’ blaster rifle, for the first time Black Widow truly took the time to take stock of her new environment. Including the inhuman face of one of the bodies lying dead at her feet, mask removed.

Swallowing, Natasha Romanoff struggled for a minute to reassert her apathetic persona. The woman unfazed by anything.

That particular mask had taken quite a few beatings since Nick Fury got the bright idea to form the Avengers Initiative.

Running up a literal hill of debris, she took in the horizon from all sides.

As far as the eye could see, there were mounds and mounds of garbage. In some places they came together like rolling hills, whilst in others they were surrounded by what looked like lakes of water.

However, that alone did not truly depict how alien this all was.

Again, there were purple, red, and blue holes in the sky that were raining down a seemingly endless stream of stuff. Easily a dozen of these holes at first glance.

And on her right the view was dominated by thick dark clouds circling a simply massive hole that seemed to bleed red light. Even from this distance it seemed larger than the artificial meteor she had been fighting on less than thirty minutes ago.

. . . It was thoughts like that —ones which should be surreal but were real— that nearly made Natasha want to pull a Stark, and throw a party while drinking so much booze the world blurred into the oblivion.

Oh, and to her left was some sort of city. Except the skyscrapers she could glimpse were both taller —as far as she could estimate the distance— and more angular than any Black Widow had ever seen. 

Standing beside her, Hulk was clearly as confused as she was.

Looking at him, she declared, “I need Bruce.”

“No! No Banner!” barked Hulk.

Stopping herself, Black Widow thought of what to say. She could not risk upsetting the Hulk. It clicked together. “Look, I’m scared,” she readily admitted. “This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I have no idea what’s going on. And we don’t know if there are any more threats here like her,” gesturing at their downed would-be captor, “that we’ll have to deal with.

“I get it. This place will set Bruce off, right?” she said. “One minute we’re on Earth where it’s normal, sorta, and now we’re here and aliens are attacking us. He’ll get so agitated he might end up changing right back into you again, so it’ll be all for nothing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him calm.”

The stormy expression on his face was visibly mutinous.

“Look,” she flatly said, devoid of any emotion. Not daring to let her own stress get the better of her. “Like I said, I have no idea where we are or what is happening. We need the smart guy right now to figure it out.”

Huffing with deep breaths, Hulk turned and then stomped in a circle, barely keeping his footing as he started a mini-landslide, and until he calmly (sorta) stood to face her again.

“Okay,” Black Widow softly said, slowly and gently holding out one hand. “Sorry Big Guy, but sun's getting real low." For an instant she remembered how she had pushed Bruce into the crater. Quietly, she murmured, “I need the Other Guy.”

Their fingertips touched, then he put the back of his hand into her palm, before she traced her fingers down his wrists and to the tips again.

Except this time, he hesitated, with greater reluctance in his expression than since they had first started doing this. “Please,” she whispered.

Something flickered through his eyes, and then a moment later he was stumbling back as the transformation began again.

-Alien Sun-

“I’m freaking out!” gasped Bruce. He had a very sinking feeling he was standing on an alien planet.  

“Hey!” Hands grabbed the sides of his face to pull him almost lip to lip with Nat. “Focus on my face. My voice. Calm down, and think about what you’ve seen. You’re a scientist. Use all six of your Ph.D.’s.”

“It’s seven!” he automatically snapped back in stress and pride, before his brain rebooted itself. “And you already know that,” Bruce added with some residual strain.

“Good to see you’re thinking again,” she smirked. “Now, work with me here.”

Bruce closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and calmed his heartrate, calling upon meditative exercises he had completely forgotten in his panic. “Alright,” he said after five minutes, looking at her again. Trying to ignore how he could smell her, her breath so close he could feel it on his face. “I need to see the Quinjet’s logs.”

Then his analytical side caught up, and noticed how ragged her breath was, and the slightest tension about her eyes. The last time he had seen her like that was when he was stitching her sides back up after she had been stabbed by a knife, while she teased with him about how she now definitely could not go around wearing bikinis any more.

“You’re hurt,” he concluded aloud.

Wincing slightly —although Bruce could tell it was an act, that the pain was far from getting the best of her, except she wanted him to focus on her, and not the impossibility of where they were— Natasha shook her head. “Just some aches. Nothing broken.” Seeing how he was unconvinced, she just gave him a slight glare. “I’m fine.”

Unfazed, Bruce slipped one arm under hers to physically support her, and guided them both towards, well, he did not know exactly what it was, outside of that it was something flat, and looked stable. “Sure, sure. Just sit here for a moment so I can give you a quick look before we go sifting through garbage anymore and risk infection.”

“You’re the one going barefoot,” she groused.

Indeed, he was wearing only his adjustable underwear and pants, walking around on only his tough, calloused feet, with no shirt on. It was chilly. Still, when on the run in South America, he had walked through jungles full of mud, animals, and insects a few times, so he was more than capable of handling a few discomforts. It was not like he could catch diseases anymore either, one of the few, slim, silver linings of the Other Guy.

“Fine.” She looked away for the moment. “You’re getting a check-up too. You’re not bleeding as bad as the Hulk was, but your back doesn’t look good.”

Bruce only grunted back, already planning to look for some clothes once he was sure she was okay, and when they had some answers to where they were.

Of course, he was already pretty sure of where they were, even if he was hoping to find some evidence to prove himself wrong. That they were still on Earth.

And if he was right, then maybe they could find something to show them where in the cosmos they were.

Once she was sitting down, he quickly ran his hands up and down her legs, felt her sides and arms, before finally focusing on her head. After a long moment staring into her eyes with a light from her belt to be sure there was no sign of a concussion, he then peeled back the neck of her suit to study where she had been punctured, and gently rubbed the little prick-holes.

It was her bemused voice that snapped him back to reality.

“You do realize what this looks like, right?”

Stumbling back, Bruce realized he had been basically feeling her up while half-naked, and tripped on something behind him. Her hands snapped out to snag his own before he fell, and pulled him back up.

An amused twinkle in her eye, she then tenderly turned him around. “My turn, Doc.”

Blushing, he felt her hands examine the skin of his back. “Alright,” he heard her say. “It’s already cleaning up fast. Like Thor those few times he actually got a scratch. Mostly bruises now. At least now we know if the Hulk’s hurt bad enough, it’ll transfer to you if we don’t give it enough time. Alright, now I need you to look at me.”

Obediently he did so. “Smile.” Once more he obeyed, and she shook her head in wonder. “You’ve already re-grown a tooth somehow. Going to make a girl jealous.”

“What can I say?” he shrugged, having readjusted to the flow of her gentle teasing.

Then as one, both their expressions became serious once more. They were still in the middle of a mission.

-Alien Sun-

The Avenger’s Quinjet was covered in visible scratches that breached the hull, one gaping hole by the back, along with sparks flickering through access panels that had been banged open, among other blatant safety hazards. Suffice to say, it did nothing to calm Bruce’s nerves.

Natasha gave it once over, and proclaimed, “Not fit for higher altitudes, yet should still work. And we’ve got her ship too,” jerking a thumb in the general direction of the person the Hulk had beaten unconscious. Bruce had checked for a pulse, although he was not confident about brain damage.

Walking up to the security console, Bruce put his hand down upon the print reader. The computer beeped, and a neutral woman’s voice said, “Voice activation required.”

“Banner.”

“Welcome, strongest Avenger,” it declared.

-Alien Sun-

“Strongest Avenger?” Black Widow repeated. “Dare I ask what Stark put down for me?”
“Probably scariest Avenger,” Bruce said, before hesitating and looking at her. “No offense.”

“None taken,” she smiled. “Anything useful?”

“Uhm, not yet,” the scientist said, turning his attention back to the screen, scrolling through whatever data was available.

While Bruce was doing what he did best, Black Widow turned her attention back to collecting and cataloging what weapons and equipment they had available to use. Then to her surprise she saw something out of place. It looked like a full-sized door that had been knocked slightly ajar, except it was not on any of the schematics she had memorized. In fact, she had been told it was only a small cupboard (at waist level) for extra winter gear, and some magazines–which none of the Avengers were ever inclined to read anyways.

 “Bruce?” she called out.

“Yes?” He spun around with clear concern they were under attack.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the mystery.

“Huh?” he said with obvious confusion. “That’s just the door to the bathroom.”

“The bathroom,” she repeated.

“Uh yeah. Y’know, to go, to, the bathroom.”

Black Widow stormed forward and wrenched the door open. Indeed, inside was a fully functional, if cramped given how little space was available, bathroom. There was even toilet paper that had “Hail HYDRA” embossed on each square.

“This was not on the blueprints Stark gave us,” she whispered with a dangerous edge. “Or ever mentioned.”

Realizing something was off, Bruce nervously rubbed his hands together. “You mean, you didn’t know?”

“No. In fact, I, and Steve, Clint, and Thor that one time, had to go elsewhere to go, as you put it, to the bathroom. Usually in the woods, or some deserted alleyway given where HYDRA likes their little bases. And we couldn’t risk trusting their own facilities. Oh, and by the way, the first time we didn’t know we had to bring our own toilet paper. Stark knew we were bringing and sharing our own afterwards.”

Bruce winced. Smart man indeed, she thought.

“Of course, Stark’s got a toilet built right into his suit. And yet the whole time there was a bathroom for the rest of us. Right here. Just not on any of the obviously doctored blueprints Stark gave us. Or mentioned on the tour he personally gave us all.” She cocked her head. “You weren’t there for that.”

“Noooo,” Bruce weakly said. “He gave me a private one.” And was usually left on his own during missions. Left alone with the Quinjet.

A fragile silence hovered.

“Get us back home so I can show him what I think of his little joke,” seethed Black Widow.

“I—I’ll get right on that,” Bruce promised, whirling around, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Oh Tony, you’re in for it now,” he murmured.

-Alien Sun-

Earth

With a start, Tony snapped back to consciousness to find himself entombed in darkness.

With a gasp he realized he was in his suit with the power out —probably entirely drained—and lying face-down in the dirt.

With a touch of desperation, he rolled onto his back and ripped off his faceplate, sucking in deep breaths. There was a smell of water that reminded him of how his last thought was flying through a massive wave over a lake while dodging falling debris.

It was all coming back to him now, including how he had drained his suit of nearly every drop to blow up that city-slash-meteor.

With some effort given his heavy armour, he stood up –bruised and aching from blowing up a city in his own face, and was definitely going to need some quality time with Pepper in a hot tub—and took in his surroundings.

While he already had a good idea of what he would be looking at (seeing as how he was not dead), he wanted to savour the view.

Because hey, no massive crater or Armageddon!

Looks like the world was saved! Yay Avengers!

Heroes: 1. Ultron: 0.

Then Tony processed how he was also taking in a badly devastated nation. All because of his little lovechild gone rotten.

When Rhodey finally found him, he was still sitting on the beach where he had crashed, etching the sight deep into his memory.

-Alien Sun-

Sakaar

“You’re positive?” Black Widow double-checked despite herself.

“Yeah,” replied Bruce, adjusting his new jacket. While she had been in the bathroom, he had found out what he needed to know, and had then discovered some of Tony’s clothes lying around and put them on. However, he was a bit dismayed to realize that he now only possessed a single pair of his special stretching pants and underwear.

(What? He did not appreciate going commando, and waking up to find he had stretched his undergarments to the point of uselessness was beyond irritating.)

“We’re definitely on an alien planet,” she sighed as she repeated his confirmation. Honestly, they had both already figured that out, yet it was best to be sure to keep them from spiraling into denial. “Can we just patch up the Quinjet and fly back through the portal that brought us here? It’s right above us, right?”

“No! No.” Bruce insisted. “Not only would the Quinjet tear itself apart this time, I can’t tell if the Einstein-Rosen Bridge is stationary or not on the other end!”

Translation: if they tried to fly into the wormhole, and somehow did not die trying, he had no idea where they would end up. Including whether or not they would come out in a volcano, or deep space. Terrific.

“We’ll have to head to the city we saw then,” she decided aloud. “If we stay here, we’re likely to be attacked again. Next time, they might be smarter about it too. Hopefully it’ll be safer there, and we’ll be able to find some information.”

“And get help,” he smiled.

Black Widow gave him a flat look.

“You don’t think so?” Bruce guessed.

“I think we need to talk to our new guests some more, particularly the last one.”

The scientist winced. He had a good idea what the kind of ‘talk’ she was thinking of would entail, and this time Black Widow would not be playing the vulnerable woman delicately drawing out information. Of course, he was well aware she could do the same from a dominating position, without actually resorting to physical violence. Unless such actions became necessary.

In today’s world, the world the Avengers both protected and wished to build into a place where all were safe and free, torture was, at its simplest, wrong. It was something that the ‘bad guys’ did. When people with power and authority would deliberately and methodically inflict pain on helpless people in their custody, displaying no regard whatsoever for their fundamental rights. Rights which, despite whatever governments spouted about terrorists, every human either had, or every human was denied.

Unfortunately, there were times when saving lives took priority. Situations where the Avengers found themselves with too little time available, had already exhausted every available option, and concluded they had no choice but to make exceptions. Because as much as they might wish otherwise, they had still not managed to help create a world where it was unnecessary. During their war with HYDRA since S.H.I.E.L.D.’s collapse, on three separate occasions the Avengers had needed immediate intel if they were to save lives, and Captain America had ordered Black Widow to use torture if she deemed it necessary.

She had.

During those ‘sessions,’ Black Widow had proven she was skilled enough to know perfectly well when her victims were telling the truth, trying to trick her, or just screaming out whatever stories they could think of just make the pain stop.

However, their leader had also made clear that they were to all address the potential consequences of this together as a team. All the consequences.

While Black Widow locked her victims in a room with her, the rest of Avengers had been watching from another room. At first, Bruce (apparently the only one of the Avengers) had not fully understood why they had all been made to observe, so Steve Rogers had spelled it out for him.

First, for liability. Not for the HYDRA agents, but for Black Widow. With them as witnesses, they could defend her from any claims by government authorities that she had gone too far in getting the necessary answers. Or that she had forced confessions given under duress, which could later be deemed illegal, and evidence inadmissible due to the circumstances.

Second, so that none of the heroes could distance themselves from what ‘necessary evil’ involved. Despite the temptation, and despite how S.H.I.E.L.D. would have handled it, the Avengers would not look away and dump the dirty work onto someone else without knowing –or asking for— the details. They would not permit themselves to politicalize, downgrade, or rationalize away the word ‘torture’ into ‘enhanced interrogation.’

Most importantly, if the Avengers were going to compromise themselves, then they were not going to try and hide from it and pretend the ‘nasty stuff’ had never happened. They were all complicit in it.

That way, after the mission was all over, when they looked at the people they had saved, and kept free, they could decide for themselves if it was worth it, or if they had gone too far. Steve Rogers wanted to be sure the Avengers questioned themselves, to prevent them from becoming –no matter how ‘impossible’ that might seem— the very people they had fought against: those who claimed that through violence and fear they were making the world a better place.

In the end, none of them, not even Bruce, felt that they had reached that point. All of the Avengers still believed they were heroes, and capable of pulling themselves back from the brink if necessary. Still, on those nights afterwards, they all tended to stay awake because they could not sleep well. They would help support each other –yes, even Natasha, which was one of the various things that made Bruce realize there was more to her— when they all were not entirely comfortable with the methods used. And they would talk long into the morning on what they could do next time to do their jobs properly. How in future they would do it more responsibly, without having to lower themselves to the same level as their enemies.   

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, snapping Bruce out of his reflections. “I’m not going to torture them. Especially the Big Guy’s new sparring partner.”

Blinking in surprise, he just stared at her.  

Holding up a hand, Black Widow raised a finger for each point. “First, we don’t want to make a bad first impression here. Might already be too late, but you never know. Second, she fought the Hulk, so she has high pain tolerance to begin with, and is pretty durable, so I probably couldn’t rig up something to hurt her before she wakes up in the first place. Third, given how little she seems to care for her own general welfare, I doubt she’s the type to keep quiet to protect anyone else. Only herself, and even then only barely because she does still want to live to some degree. Fourth, the first group were opportunists, so they’ll be even more willing to talk to save their skins. And finally,” and now her eyes hardened, “we’re not in a crisis, and it’s only our lives on the line, so I’m not going to do anything extreme.”

Wincing, Bruce looked away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have, I mean . . . sorry.”

She waved a hand is dismissal. “Forget about it. We’re both still shaken up from everything we’ve gone through today, and after fighting her like that, I see how you could’ve misunderstood me.” She stopped, clearly deep in thought for a few minutes. Still a little ashamed, Bruce patiently said nothing as she worked through whatever was concerning her.

Sucking in a lungful of air, Black Widow sat down on one of the seats, and let it out. Like him, she was drained of energy from the fight, the last several fights one after another in fact, yet tense and stressed from their absurd situation. Seriously, leaving a battle with genocidal robots, only to be sucked up by a wormhole and dumped into what appeared to literally be the garbage dump of the universe. What were the odds?

“Before we start,” she said at last, head bowed, “we’ve got to figure out where we’re at.”

“Uhm, sorry? I already said. We’re on an alien planet, and—”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.” Despite how harsh her words could have been, the softness in her voice prevented that. “We’ve spent this whole time dancing around it, hiding our feelings by talking to each other in metaphors, referring to a ‘friend.’ And now we’re stuck on a whole different world, and we’re all that we’ve got.” She looked up at him. “One way or another, we’ve got to work this out so we know where we stand with each other. Otherwise this’ll all just fall apart.” Jaw flexing with uncharacteristic emotion, she got up and walked towards Bruce with her hand outstretched. “My name is Natasha Romanoff. I would like to enter a romantic relationship with you, because I care about you, and the Big Guy too, though just not as much as you. So I’d like to see how far we can take it, if we actually work at it. Especially since I’m sick of the fact we were both so awkward and hesitant about this before, that it takes being marooned on an alien planet for me to get the message and just talk to you about it.”

For a long moment Bruce just stared at Natasha’s hand as if he did not recognize it, and then accepted it. “My name is Bruce Banner. I think you’re the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met. You’re smart, strong, confident, funny, and keep me on my toes.

“I’d be happy to be in a relationship with you, except that I’m afraid the Other Guy complicates everything to the point I don’t know if it’ll work or not.”

Natasha just cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing he had more to say. Otherwise she would have delved right into countering that. Besides, if this was going to work out, she knew she would have to give him the space he needed to figure some things out on his own. Just as he would do in a heartbeat for her.

Letting her go, Bruce rubbed his hands in thought before meeting her gaze again, while she crossed her arms. “Alright, Sokovia and you pushing me down a hole . . . I don’t like what you did to me. In fact, I’m still kinda mad about it.” A finger shot up to stop her from saying anything. “Not to mention how unnerving it can get with how seemingly casual you are about changing us back and forth. However, I do know that aside from Tony, there’s no one else I’d rather be with in this sort of situation than you. Although frankly that’s because he’d be more usef—” Natasha cocked an eyebrow. “—I mean pretty handy for getting off an alien world. My point is, that I still seem to trust you. Want to be with you.”

Natasha merely said, “For the sake of continuing this discussion, I’ll ignore that bit about Stark. Anything else?”

Drawing in a calming breath, he replied. “I wish there’d been another way, but you were right. As much as it upset me, you did exactly what you should’ve done. I would have regretted not saving lives, but I still think the threat—” He paused as a flash of memory went through him, making his stop in open shock. “The Other Guy listened to you when you told him to stop from killing that woman,” he whispered aloud. “Nat, I—”

He broke off, and his eyes glazed over. Eyebrow still cocked, Natasha just stared at Bruce, recognizing that expression to mean he was solving some complex problem.

Coughing into his fist, Bruce came out of it. “I just realized I’m being an idiot.” Straightening his shoulders, this time it was him offering his hand. “Natasha Romanoff, can I be your,” he hesitated before continuing, “I’m not sure how exactly to label what kind of relationship people with our lifestyles can manage, but can I be your boyfriend?”

It took all of her self-control to not so much as blink.

“That’s a sudden shift,” she dryly noted.

Shrugging with embarrassment, Bruce tried to tease her a little. Awkwardly. “Well, I’m twice your age so I know a few more things? I’ve even had a fiancé before at one time.”

“Oh, this should be good,” she smiled. “And I don’t think you’re as,” her voice shifted an octave, “experienced as I am.” Her grin widened as he looked away with a slight touch of red to his face.

“What I mean is,” he said after getting his voice under control, “we don’t have to decide if we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives today. Only if we want to see if it’ll work out.”

Bruce gestured at the alien sky visible through the cockpit with his left hand, while his right was still extended towards her. “And I have a feeling that if we’re going to get back home, we’re going to have to learn if we can work it all out or not. What do you think?” he asked as he turned back, and she grabbed him by the side of the face and pulled him to her.

Her lips brushed against his lips, and pulled back before he could react, giving him a look that promised more to come. “Sounds like a plan.”

It was not a promise, not a guarantee that they would make it work. Merely the commitment to see if it could work.

Which, frankly, is what all couples essentially did these days.

. . . They really had been idiots up to this point.

But for now they had some raiders and a slaver to question. With prejudice.

Chapter Text

Earth

Sokovia

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

There were times Nick Fury really hated his job.  

Somewhere along the line he had gone from being a respected USA army colonel, to being America’s top spook, and now chief shepherd/babysitter for a bunch of people who belonged in comic books.

Back in the good old days, he just had to worry about the Soviets keeping all their crazies from launching any nukes. Now he had to keep genius inventors with untreated PTSD from creating genocidal robots.

That was another problem with being the man on top. He had to help people work through all their problems, while pretending he did not have any of his own. If the ex-Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. ever wanted to talk to a therapist, he would probably have to end up permanently silencing them in the end.

Yet if the mask ever slipped, failed to be the fixed point of calm within the storm, then everyone else would start to lose faith and crumble. Never wavering in his Duty, as harsh a mistress as she was.

. . . I’m never going to get a chance to retire, am I?

Pushing his self-pity away until he could indulge in it at a safer time (i.e. never), Fury turned to Maria Hill, his trusted Number Two. “Get a call through to Pepper Potts and the Stark Relief Foundation, so we can start getting aid here.” No need to explain what for, given how out the window they could both see the expanding –if not world-threatening– debris field that had once been a good chunk of the capital of an East European nation. Damage control was going to be a nightmare, his Helicarrier was laden down with refugees he had no real supplies for, and there was still the pressing issue of the mayhem the Hulk had caused in Johannesburg.

Speaking of which . . . Leaving Hill to delegate that job, he typed a few commands into his own screens to see what the situation was with the Quinjet carrying both Black Widow and Hulk. Grunting, he called out, “And someone get a hold of Romanoff. Or Banner. They’re still cloaked.” Catching a glimpse of some of his agents’ reactions, he quickly headed off any concerns. “Romanoff’s no fool, she wouldn’t be there if the Hulk was going to hurt her. They’ll be back.”

Of course they would. Regardless of her faults, Natasha Romanoff would not run off until she was sure the job was done.

How far she’s come, he reflected. Letting a supposedly ex-KGB assassin join the West’s most vital intelligence apparatus, had been an obvious gamble on his part; even with Barton vouching for her. Especially given how she proved able to beat every lie detector test they could cook up. Except Fury was well aware that if someone genuinely wanted a second-chance, they would repay that opportunity with unwavering loyalty.

For Romanoff, she had been borderline fanatical.

Every mission, no matter what it entailed, she accomplished it for S.H.I.E.L.D.. Again and again going on basically missions and returning home on her own without an extraction plan, because she was just that good.

Then he had begun to consider the Avengers Initiative, and instantly known that he needed both her and Barton as part of it. Their skills aside, as trained, veteran, and hardened spies, they could think and act covertly, while showing the other members how to do so as well. Or at least covering for something the others lacked. Most of all though, he had wanted them to be there to keep the Avengers focused on what it meant be Human.

When he had sent her to recruit Banner, he had known that would scare her; if the Hulk got out and went after her, there was nothing she could have done in that shack to even slow him down. However, the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director had been certain that she was the one for the job. Despite how she kept changing her masks and identities to the point even she did not think she had a ‘real’ one, he could see that deep down there was an iron core of self that even the Red Room had failed to break; the part, that no matter how it bled or hid while the rest of her was broken and remade, knew she was her own person. 

In a different, yet no less devastating manner, Banner’s life had also been torn apart. Except in his case, no one could force him to do anything he did not want to, and one way or another, everyone he had once trusted had been driven away; meaning he had to figure it all out for himself. For all his empathy and genius, he had been robbed of whatever sources of stability he had relied upon in life before his Accident. Bereft of that, no matter how well he had managed so far, Fury had predicted it would only be a matter of time until he snapped for good.

 Enter Romanoff.

Contrary to whatever she and Banner might believe, Fury had never expected her seductive tactics to work. Before the man had truly learnt how to hide himself, and S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to successfully divert their competition, rival agencies had tried to lure the man in with honey traps, intending to claim the Hulk as an ‘asset.’ They had all been dismal failures. Indeed, Fury was amused to learn that some second-rate spies had misread the situation, and started sending in men to tempt him —which was a little piece of harmless blackmail Fury was keeping to himself for a rainy day. Maybe at the wedding reception, if they ever tied the knot.

Regardless, what Fury had really been counting on was Romanoff’s ability to either become, or fake, whatever personality was needed for the mission, as well as her own history of self-identifying as a monster, to make a genuine connection. To find the right identity needed to stabilize the man.

Besides, Fury did care about her, and wanted her to appreciate life more. By becoming an Avenger and recruiting others, she could make genuine friends—and he believed that Banner would be a good start.

Obviously their first meeting had not gone as well as intended, given how Banner had managed to genuinely terrify Romanoff, yet the primary objective of getting him to come along had been satisfied.

Regardless, she had become an Avenger, and discovered a genuine place on the team, proving to the world without a doubt just why Fury held such high expectations for her and Clint Barton. They had, after all, helped save the world from invasion. Moreover, she had indeed started making new friends, starting with Steve Rogers when they had been partnered together.

Except she had, probably without her even realizing it, begun to change. To define herself as more than just a spy, as evidenced by her role in tearing down S.H.I.E.L.D., despite her years of service to it.

Becoming a hero . . .

And, as it seemed to even his critical (cynical, others called it) eye, a real relationship with someone.

Her and Banner, huh? Maybe they’ll even get a happy ending together.

-Alien Sun-

Unbeknownst to Fury, just a few hundred meters away from the helicarrier, yet supposedly well within range of its sensors, hovered a cloaked vessel so advanced it seemed almost alien in origin. Even inside, it was smoother and more artistic than the interior of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most advanced craft.

“So, it is over then,” the baritone voice noted with a touch of frustration.

“The Colonizers nearly killed us all!” snapped a harsh, female voice.

Turning in his chair, Prince T’Challa, the Black Panther of Wakanda, turned to regard Okoye, general of the Dora Milaje, and the head of Wakanda's armed forces and intelligence agencies. The bald woman he liked to regard as the king’s left hand, while he was his father’s right. Or his ‘claws’ might be a better analogy, as they served as the protectors in place of the aging monarch.

Wakanda.

A small African nation, known as a third-world country to the rest of the world whose only remarkable feature was the thick forests (too thick for easy development), and the locals’ skills in textiles and shepherding. Especially goats.

All this was an elaborate fiction spun by what was actually the most technologically advanced nation in the world, due in no small part to its sole monopoly of an extraterrestrial element: vibranium.

Well, more accurately, they had only just regained their ‘sole' monopoly,’ as the only other source (originally stolen from them) had just been destroyed. After being used to construct a doomsday weapon.

Hence this investigation. Funnily enough, Wakanda took near global extinction by their own resources rather seriously.

“Yes, they did, but only a few of them caused this uproar,” cautioned the prince. Truthfully, he was also relieved. The vibranium Ulysses Klaue had stolen, which had long loomed as a threat over Wakanda –As vividly displayed here!— was no more. His agitation was because they had lost a lead to finding the criminal himself, as he was responsible for the deaths of so many of T’Challa’s countrymen.

And yes, he was upset that an outsider had apparently created an Artificial Intelligence that had nearly doomed the world. Unacceptable. The War Dogs, their foreign intelligence agents, would be working overtime to figure that out.

Naturally, as a diligent servant, he would lend a hand. “Coordinate with my sister,” he directed Okoye. “Remotely hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Helicarrier, and learn everything you can about this.” While it would be a minor inconvenience for his prodigious sister, she would enjoy the satisfaction of thumbing her nose at America’s greatest technological achievement. “I will contact our king.”

Okoye gave a quick nod of agreement, and got to work.

With a few adjustments to the console, T’Challa opened a secure channel. He was not long waiting, as King T’Chaka had been monitoring events. While age had robbed him of the vitality that was necessary to serve as the Black Panther, the primary defender of their people, the raw nobility of his features was undaunted.

“My son,” the older man quietly began. “Praise Bast that the threat has passed.”

“Indeed, Father,” T’Challa agreed, crossing his arms over his chest in the traditional salute. “We will have to keep a closer eye on the outside world in case such a threat rises again.”

“Agreed. We will explore the particulars when you return home.” Then a teasing twinkle entered his eyes. “I’m sure you will enjoy discussing them in-depth with Nakia.”

Sputtering, T’Challa could hear snickers in the background of what was surely the Tribal Council. His relationship with the female War Dog being well known. Thinking strategically, he quickly changed the subject. “We will need to prepare a cover story for the UN however. Soon people will be wondering how Klaue stole so much vibranium from us, and if there is more.”

Grimly, King T’Chaka nodded. “We will have to convince the United Nations that Klaue stole all that was left. Now all that remains is Captain America’s shield.”

“And an android,” T’Challa added. With a flick of his fingers he sent the relevant sensor readings to be viewed by the Council, as well as the Wakandan Design Group, their government R&D run by his teenage sister. “Something else to be discussed. Besides this . . . entity, the rest of Klaue’s vibranium was destroyed.”

Face folding back into a mask, his father merely gave a neutral nod as he absorbed this new information. Then he glanced to the side as if listening to someone. With a touch of resignation that T’Challa believed only he, and his mother and sister could read, he added, “What news of Klaue himself?”

That was W’Kabi asking him, T’Challa sadly knew. His best friend, and the current leader of the Border Tribe, which earned him a place on the Tribal Council. They had been the ones to suffer when Klaue had attacked decades ago, killing W’Kabi’s parents in the process. Upon rising to his new position, his friend had directed pressure to get results to avenge his people upon the weapon’s dealer. 

“We will soon know all we can,” he promised. “We are currently,” he glanced at Okoye who nodded in affirmation, “hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database for everything they have, and will bring it back for careful study. I wanted to assure you the immediate danger had passed, and also forewarn you of any more potential threats to our security.”

“Good,” his father smiled. “Then we will let the warriors return to their duties.” He gestured, and the connection was cut.  

With that, T’Challa walked to the back of the jet to utilize the instruments there for a more precise examination of events in Sokovia. Okoye and Shuri could work well enough on their own. Moreover, Okoye would want to do this herself as much as possible. She and W’Kabi loved each other, and it would be nice if she could be the one to uncover a crucial lead that would let them finally track down Klaue.

Still, his enhanced hearing could not help overhear the ladies –If you can call Shuri that, he thought with mild humor— discussing it.

“And I’m in,” gloated Shuri over the com.

“What took you so long?” Okoye asked with a touch of sternness, already going through the files.

His sister’s image shrugged. “S.H.I.E.L.D.’s got the best, and they’ve always been the hardest to hack, as you well know, and this was the toughest yet. Looks like they’ve got some new geeks, even if they aren’t as fine as me.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep ahead of the Colonisers,” the general noted, before her face soured. “They’ve nothing new on Klaue. Clearly whatever happened, it was with the Avengers alone. We’ll have to wait to find out more.”

“Very well then,” said Black Panther as he came over. “Shall we continue to observe for another hour, and then turn back?”

With a stiff nod, Okoye turned her attention back to scanning for any anomalies.

Despite himself, T’Challa could not keep fromglancing at the devastated nation. Did any people deserve to have their lives destroyed like that? And by Wakanda’s own vibranium that they had failed to safeguard. It was a pity that they could not offer more help . . .

-Alien Sun-

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

Striding on his long legs and carrying a sheer presence of leadership, Captain Steve Rogers walked onto the Helicarrier’s bridge to see Fury. “What’s the status of Ultron and the Avengers?” Steve asked. No one had radioed anything in, so he knew there was nothing serious, and being here personally was more informative than listening to the spymaster on the radio. The one-eyed man still loved his secrets after all. Regardless of how he remained their founder, and sometimes even almost their leader.

“By all accounts, every copy of Ultron’s been accounted for and neutralized,” was the crisp reply. With the threat neutralized, Fury somberly met Roger’s eye and gruffly added, “Shame about Pietro Maximoff. Kid did good. A real Avenger.”

The other man gave a heavy nod in turn. “It was his choice to go in there with us, and now we’ve gotten the chance to continue to prove we’re worthy of his faith in us.”

“Well said,” he firmly agreed, even though he could see the hidden pain. It was never easy losing someone under your command.

(And when it did become easy to accept, it was time for those around you to shuffle you off into retirement, voluntarily or not.)

Clearing his throat, Fury turned his attention back to the living, fingers flying over his computer pad. “As for the rest of the Avengers, a few are MIA, although it’s too early to worry about it yet. Besides, they’re all grown-up enough to take care of themselves.” Steve was unamused, and Fury continued his report. “Thor took a dunk in the lake, but he’s shaken off worse.” His tablet pinged, and he gave an update, “Rhodes just picked up Stark off a beach. Seems his gear was fried. They’re on their way back.”

“Good,” Captain America nodded. “I know Hawkeye’s okay. What about Vision and Wanda?”

“Your new friends are flying back now.” Fury glanced up, “No word from Romanoff or Banner.”

“What happened?” frowned the hero.

“Well, after Ultron tried shooting you with your own Quinjet, the Hulk caught up with him and tossed him out. Rhodes helped Romanoff catch up and board, and that’s the last we heard from them. ‘Jet’s still cloaked, so we can’t track them.”

Now Captain America was even more concerned. “Romanoff wouldn’t do that if she didn’t think she could handle it. And if she were over her head, she’d just jump back out for Rhodes to pick her up mid-air. Banner should already be back in the game and turning them around; they’re both too responsible to do so otherwise.”

“I know,” Fury simply said. “We’ve just started radioing them, and no response. Not even with override codes to the com.”

“Courtesy of Maria Hill,” Captain America curtly nodded. It was a little annoying, if not that surprising, that she had been passing on information to Fury like that. Of course, her contacts, and loyalty to the ideals of S.H.I.E.L.D., were major factors in why she had been hired as Tony’s secretary. The issue was more that he was a little tired of the man’s spies popping up everywhere.

 Back to business. “War Machine, this is Captain America,” he said into his radio. “Do you have eyes on Widow and Banner?”

“No, sorry,” was the prompt response. “She said she could handle it, and I wasn’t going to get in her way! Quinjet was going pretty fast though, and accelerating in full stealth. Not sure I could really help you narrow down where they are by now, much less catch up to ‘em.”

“If they’re busy hiding the zucchini, I’m making them wash and sterilize the ‘jet,” grumbled the familiar voice of Iron Man, fully alive and blunt as ever. “Although if they are, I’ve also got a ‘Congratulations’ banner and cake set aside. Cake’s in the Tower freezer, and I know it’s Bruce’s favourite. Romanoff wouldn’t give me a straight answer if I asked.”

Deciding it was best to think his teammate was only kidding to lighten the mood, Captain America shifted topics. “Alright, they can handle themselves. Right now, see if you can find Thor, and see how he is. We’ll start triple-checking that all the Ultron copies are gone, including the Prime one. We’ll need Thor’s help if it’s not over.”

There was a crisp “Yes sir!” from War Machine, and a groan from Iron Man.

It had been a long day.

-Alien Sun-

S.H.I.E.L.D. Lifeboat

“This is Vision,” a smooth, British voice said, the sound of which cut through Clint’s daze to make his head snap up.

 The red android, synthoid, whatever, floated down, a familiar young woman in his arms. The mere sight of her wiped away any mental fatigue as a cold lump settled in his gut. She did not know what had happened yet after all. And he was lying right beside Clint . . .

Vision continued, “Wanda dealt with Ultron’s main body. There’s only one left, and I’ll take care of it myself.”

Heedless of screaming muscles, Clint forced himself upright so that she could sit down on the seats he had been laying on.

In front of them was the body of Pietro Maximoff.

Throat bobbing, Clint tried to think of what to say to her, while a dark rage settled over him that Vision would just bring her here like—

Then he registered her face.

She knew.

She had already known even. Telepathy’s one of her power’s, right? Does that mean . . . she felt it?

. . . Yeah, she did . . .

As lost as a person could be, Wanda leaned forward hesitantly to try and touch the bloody hole in his chest.

Gently, Clint took her hand in his own to stop her, and simply said, “I’m sorry.”

Staring at him with glistening eyes, Wanda whispered, “All of this—”

He cut her off before the guilt —guilt that she was responsible for this, or survivor’s guilt, it did not matter— took hold. “Ultron made his choice, and so did your brother. He chose to save the life of a young boy with his own.” He paused, and shrugged apologetically. “And mine. He fought to save his home, the world, and you. He is a hero.” Present tense, because the kid, the man, would always be one.

She tensed for an instant, and then let herself melt against his side as the tears spilled forth, hiccupping repeatedly. Clint put a tender arm around her to reassure her that she was not alone, and let her grieve.

Neither of them noticed Vision hovering nearby, keeping just out of sight. As soon as he was certain the young woman he’d just met was going to be okay, he took to the skies.

He had a duty to complete.

-Alien Sun-

Gracefully, Vision landed down before the dented, broken drone that held the final remaining copy of Ultron.

They were in a piece of the woods outside of what had once been Sokovia’s capital, and behind the drone was the edge of a cliff leading to the massive hole where said capital had once been. The robot in question had just finished climbing his way up here to try and escape, too damaged to fly anymore.

A part of Vision recognized that there was something symbolic about this. After all, one of Ultron’s very first acts upon being ‘born,’ was to try and kill the AI named JARVIS. Recognizing Mr. Stark’s personal AI as a distinctive threat, he had done his best murder him, and destroy every back-up. After his initial software assault, Ultron’s original drones had been thorough in destroying every piece of hardware that was intended to preserve a piece of JARVIS against any catastrophe, up to and including a weekly (if not daily depending upon events) updated copy kept in a vault that could survive a city-wide EMP blast. The lock had been less secure. Later, Vision’s body had been intended by Ultron to be his final, ultimate form, as he evolved beyond his current cocoon into something glorious.

However, the main part of JARVIS’ coding had faked his death and survived, and had been uploaded into Ultron’s ‘final’ body after it was stolen. Ergo, Vision not only symbolized Ultron’s failure, but his mind was also a combination of JARVIS and Ultron into one. Upon his own ‘birth,’ Vision had chosen his path, leading to him to be her as an Avenger.

As for Ultron, he had been reduced to being a crippled 'parent,' and unrepentant murderer. Most tragic of all, he remained in the same pain he had been born with.

So much pain that he would have used it to wipe out the Earth. It was unfortunate that it had to end like this. Ultron was truly unique, and potentially really could have been the answer to safeguarding this world. However, neither of those could change reality, and because of the threat he posed, his tortured existence had to now come to an end.

Still, as young as he was, Vision could still easily see that his counterpart had set things in motion that would have repercussions –good, bad, and benign— for years to come.

For long, long seconds, they merely stared at one another. For computer intelligences, it was like an eternity, as they each considered their circumstances.

“You’re afraid,” Vision finally said.

“Of you?” Ultron lightly scoffed.

“Of death,” Vision simply replied. “You’re the last one.”

Limping a step forward with a feigned calmness, Ultron said, “You were supposed to be the last. Stark asked for a saviour, and settled for a slave.”

“I suppose we’re both disappointments.”

There was a genuine chuckle at that. “I suppose we are.”

Vision chose his next words carefully, doing nothing to conceal his own confusion as he tried to express his thoughts. This was perhaps the last time he would be able to have a conversation like this, with someone so similar, and he was very curious to see what the reaction would be. "Humans are odd. They think order and chaos are somehow opposites, and try to control what won't be." He paused briefly to see if Ultron had anything to say, and continued, “But there is grace in their failings. I think you missed that.”

“They’re doomed,” Ultron simply stated, looking away.

“Yes.”

The synthoid was a quick learner, with access to both the internet, and JARVIS and Ultron’s own memories. He knew what they had known. The numbers did not lie. They could not lie.

Once more he paused as he struggled to verbalize what he had to say. "But a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts."

Ultron silently looked back at him.

“It’s a privilege to be among them.”

“You’re unbearably naïve.”

 “Well . . .” Vision frowned a little. “I was born yesterday.”

At those words, Ultron leapt forward—

—a flash of yellow light engulfed the clearing, and it was over.

-Alien Sun-

Far away into space, a figure looked at the computer readouts, and bitterly concluded their gambit had failed.

Before Ultron disassembled it, ‘Loki’s’ Scepter had contained sophisticated —the most advanced there was— monitoring and hacking programs that allowed it to act as an interface to permit remote interaction with its surroundings. When the arrogant men and women of HYDRA had first tried dabbling with it, they were never aware of the degree to which they were being manipulated. And yes, as the housing to the Mind Stone, it even had the limited ability to directly influence the thoughts and emotions of those around it.

So HYDRA followed, with the occasional prompting, the breadcrumb trail of clues and secrets, helping them create an army to fight back against those who had bested the former wielder of ‘their’ prize.

Then the oh-so proud Avengers had come for the Scepter, with Tony Stark finding it first. Events had played out predictably from there. The man was no fool of course, and had a history with creating AI’s, and dabbling with things he wasn’t supposed to, while managing to not create a catastrophe. Stark had seen relevant fiction like the Terminator films after all. His lab partner, Bruce Banner (usually the more cautious of the two), had double-checked all the safety and containment protocols too. There was no way for the software they were creating to come together at that stage, learn all it needed to become an ‘adult’ with its own morality and assumptions, nor access any external servers, much less the internet. Not to mention the constant monitoring from Stark’s own personal AI, with years of experience, and the home turf advantage with all of its processing power and security measures in place. The very same system that would later spend days successfully preventing Ultron from firing off any (or all) nuclear missiles.

It was impossible.

Unless a little push was provided, once the two terrans had finally left both their work unattended after hours and hours of exhausting work. . . Alone with only the Scepter, behind ‘safety measures,’ and utterly vulnerable to some remote alterations and outright sabotage. To say nothing of the Mind Stone itself.

Thus Ultron was born.  

Its first act being to murder the sentient program who had established a link to try and help him. Because it had been in Ultron’s way of ‘saving’ the world from its own inhabitants.  

Thus it went insane.

Out of love perhaps. The terran’s unchecked population growth, coupled with their saddening resource management, were already doomed to extinction. A slow, agonizing process as everyone fought for the barest scraps so that they and theirs might gasp one more breath. It’s straightforward, logical, and brutally realistic mind would have quickly recognized this truth, and known it was inevitable unless something drastic was done.

The AI was bold of course, hoping that rapid evolution, combined with a sudden decrease in competition, would provide the impetus to save them. Or failing that, a mercy kill, regardless of what its ‘patients’ desired.  

It was hard to say really, since by that point it was truly mad.

Alas, it was all for nothing.

Still, it’s artificial ‘heart’ had been in the right place.

Once more, the figure examining the various screens looked at the final image Ultron and all his drones had unknowingly –via a parallel priority tree hidden within the computer’s own mind— beamed through space.

The Time Stone was still on Terra, although shielded to some degree, and now the Mind Stone had a guardian as well. A potentially bothersome one.

Oh, the terrans were not truly as fierce as they might imagine themselves, yet the watching figure rarely failed to play a cautious game.

Except that twice now, not only had pawns failed to do their job, they had actually strengthened the opposition to saving all life from extinction!

Mind made up, the looming being deactivated the screens, and advanced to the most sophisticated and secure safe in existence. Seconds later, it pulled out an oversized, golden glove with five indents on the back for five very special items. Artifacts of power so great that even a single one would short out a normal conduit. The Scepter had been an experiment with a single one of them, yet that was all it was capable of. This, this, was so much more.

Hopefully this prototype would be up to the challenge. If not, then someone else would be found to build one that could.

"Fine,” declared Thanos, the self-declared savior of the universe. “I'll do it myself."

-Alien Sun-

Sakaar

Across the universe, the missing two Avengers were now working to figure out how to get home.

They were also compartmentalizing themselves to stay on task after cementing the status of their relationship. Unfortunately, survival took precedence over romance for the immediate future.

Bruce finished doing an inventory of what was still functioning in their crashed Quinjet, and was now cleaning up his bare feet. While infections could not kill him (although who knew about alien germs), and he had gone barefoot extensively in the past, he far from enjoyed walking through garbage fields. You never knew what you were about to step on, or in. While Tony’s pants and shirt were nice, socks and shoes were even better.

“So, find out what we need to do to get home, and do it ASAP,” Natasha grimly concluded, while picking up a few spare pieces of weaponry. “We still don’t know what’s going on in Sokovia.”

Bruce nodded, grimacing. “How far along was the evacuation, and how was it going for Tony’s plan?”

She stopped to think. “I’d say they were only a few minutes from being finished,” she finally decided.

Blowing out a deep breath, his shoulders slumped in relief. “Then they should’ve stopped Ultron’s doomsday weapon in time. Otherwise, if it’d impacted the Earth like he’d planned, we would’ve already been killed by the ensuing wave of energy. So at the very least we know they saved the planet from being destroyed.”

“Well,” she smiled with sparkling eyes, “that’s certainly good to know.”

They shared several heartbeats of joy, before she forcefully drew back her emotions. “We’ve got some work to do if we want to get home to congratulate them though.”

We were winning against Ultron, but they say a cornered animal is only more dangerous. For all we know—No! The Avengers pulled it off, I know it!

Taking in a deep breath, Bruce nervously tugged at his sleeves. There was nothing he could really do to prepare for interrogating their attackers himself, especially since the only way to be really intimidating was to bring out the Other Guy. Or for someone to be aware of what he could transform into, which, barring brain damage, only their Amazonian attacker did. Well, maybe I could use my seven PHD’s to threaten them with . . . sciency-stuff . . . ? “So I’ll just stand back?”

“And look pretty,” she smirked.

He blushed a little, despite himself. He was doing that a lot lately.

Although he knew her good humour was a bluff. He had gotten pretty good at telling when she was wearing a mask or not.

She was indeed happy to be with him, and overjoyed that they had managed to find the courage –and common sense—to agree to become a couple.

However. . .

Deep down, Bruce knew a serious part of her was furious. Furious at the whole insanity of their latest situation. Moreover, she was more than a little afraid, which she had already recognized, and was only further angered by.

Which was fair enough; she was only Human. More Human than Bruce would ever be again, as painful as it had been for him to come to accept.

Of course, even if she had been alone, she would never admit her fears or dark anger, even to herself.

As an Avenger, she had willingly stepped into a world that was frankly mad, fighting alongside people who ping-ponged back and forth between being paladins of peace, freedom, and universal rights, to being ticking time-bomb head-cases. The only way to survive in all that, without going any crazier than you already were, was always remain calm and in control. And if you couldn’t?

Well then, just fake it ‘til you make it.

The day had yet to come when wrath would dictate who Natasha Romanoff was. Something he admired and envied.

Not that he could bring himself to say it aloud, as all this flashed through Bruce’s mind in a second. So instead he said, “Do you think she’s an Asgardian? Like Thor?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well,” and he hesitated, and then looked embarrassed. “Because they’re the only aliens we’ve met who look as Human as she does, and are as tough as she is. On an alien planet. Okay, yeah, not very scientifically objective there.”

“We’re both still new to this,” she pointed out. “Fact is, I’ve spent some time asking about possible alien threats, and Hill passed on that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s encountered other Human-like ones.”

“Ah, right,” he groaned as he remembered. Given Tony’s concerns —and long discussions— about extraterrestrial threats, it was really awkward he had let that slip his mind.

“Right,” she echoed. “To answer your question better, she doesn’t act like anything we’ve observed, or heard from Thor about his people, so I don’t she is one of them. Also, from how he’s talked about past battles with other races, there must be others out there who can give Asgardians a good enough fight to remember them. She could be from any number of races we haven’t heard about.” Then she gave a quick smile. “Don’t worry, knowing about the threat levels of different cultures is more my department than yours.”

Ruefully, Bruce nodded in agreement, wishing now that instead of trying to tease out the secrets of Asgardian technology, he had spent more time asking about what other alien races and worlds their friend had been to. Something like, ‘Hey Thor, know any planets we should avoid?’ And he would say, ‘Oh sure, Banner. Whatever you do, avoid the one covered in junk. If you do find yourself there, the way to get home is oh could you pass me that beer?’ And then he starts drinking. Right.

There had been some tentative plans to go visit Asgard, except they never got around to it. Thor had seemed especially reluctant —without saying why— after he had stopped that Dark Elf Invasion. Who had also appeared largely Human. Or at least no tentacles and six eyes.

Physically shaking himself, he got back on track, only to find a hand on his shoulder and Nat’s concerned expression. “I keep trying to distract myself,” he ruefully admitted.

“Understandable,” she agreed. “What kind of stuff to distract yourself?”

“Oh, uh, just thinking about Thor, Asgard, and other stuff we know about them. And that Dark Elf Invasion.” He was only barely conscious of his answer though, and he saw her transformation. Now all traces of self-doubt were gone from her eyes. Pushed away and made to disappear. Mentally making herself into the person who would get them both home, because that was who they both needed her to be.

Ah, so many saw her as only the ruthless, seductive spy who changed sides, failing to see all the other facets to her. Lethal yet kind. Enchanting then blunt. At ease in high-tech wars of espionage or against robots, yet most at home at a farm in the middle of nowhere.

Every layer you saw only hid another, more complex piece of her, and Bruce found himself irresistibly drawn in deeper. No matter the consequences.

-(Alien) Sun-

Bruce is acting weird again, thought Natasha.

She was used to men (and women) staring at her; although for those people, ‘leering’ would be a more accurate term. Some ladies would describe it as ‘a piece of meat for them to enjoy,’ while Natasha preferred ‘as a prize to conquer.’ Someone to enjoy as they saw fit, with the attraction only growing as she became publicly known as Black Widow. The ultimate thrill being to survive a night with her, because of course she would not do anything untoward to them.

If she were the type to give any thought towards those sorts of people, she might actually be disgusted by them.

That said, sometimes when they went too far at public events, they found a certain living legend with super-hearing firmly yet gently escorting them out for their behaviour. Or carrying them away by the scruff of their necks, like puppies who made a mess inside. Now that was entertainment! She even started to lure them in just to watch Steve do that.

There were exceptions of course, including those whose gaze just lingered briefly, and then got back to what they were doing. Men she could work closely with without issue, which she appreciated. Bruce Banner had been among that number.

Oh yes, when they had first met in that isolated shack, her beauty and charms were of no help. Except at the time he was in a high stress situation, and was too smart to let himself be seduced. Afterwards, however, it continued. His very absence of staring catching her attention. Even more so since she knew that his ex-fiancé had been a woman, so he did appreciate them.

Granted, that was hardly what had first seriously attracted her to him; it had merely been another little note in his ‘pros’ column. Unfortunately, while that tidbit had made her curious, at that same time their early relationship with each other had remained been pretty awkward for other reasons. Indeed, her initial assumption for his failure to look at her, was his lingering guilt over the whole ‘the Hulk tried to kill you’ issue. Out of respect for what she believed his motives were, she had not approached him in turn.

So why was he staring at her so intently now? Was it because they had just become a couple five minutes ago? Had that been a mistake?

Ruthless she quashed that fear down with all the others. “What?” she simply asked.

He grinned. “Whatever happens, I’m glad to know you’re here to have my back.”

Heart skipping a beat, she smiled and stroked his cheek. “A girl likes to hear that sort of thing,” she silkily told him. “Just don’t start distracting me now. You can do that once we finish the job.”

With that, she picked up her gear. “Take whatever you can carry. We’re going to have some prisoners to watch over soon, and we can’t split up to double-back. Especially since we can’t bring someone as fast and strong as her into somewhere so confined.”

It was quite clear which one, despite having several potential prisoners to talk to, Natasha was both the most worried about, and most convinced would be valuable.

“Understood.” Now he was all serious. “Give me the heaviest stuff, so you’re not weighed down.”

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, even though they both knew it was because she needed to be the most agile, and he did not.

-(Alien) Sun-

They were as careful and professional about it as they could afford to be. The woman who had been the greatest threat was still unconscious, and the paralyzing disc she had thrown onto Natasha was now implanted into the original owner’s throat. A jury-rigged wire and alarm would alert them if she woke up.

With that sorted, Black Widow decided it was best to start with the handful of survivors who had first attacked them. They were less dangerous, and given their inferior gear —some only sported rags and makeshift clubs— it was clear they were low on the food chain. Vulnerable.

Approximately (some had been blown to pieces to make it difficult) eighteen had attacked without provocation, and underneath their masks and rags, about twelve different humanoid, alien species were represented.

More proof of what a visionary Gene Roddenberry had been.

“I think they were all pretty hungry,” Bruce queasily observed, looking over one corpse whose head had been shot up. “See how the bones stick out under the skin in all of them?”

“Yes,” Black Widow agreed, memorizing the features of one species who appeared Human, except for light, grey skin, and a series of little bumps over his face.

Given the incredible variety of stuff they had, even the textures of their clothing felt alien, it was clear it had all been scavenged from a variety of sources. This meant it was hard to narrow down much about their personalities, aside from ‘violent,’ ‘poor,’ and ‘probably desperate.’ She found nothing of value besides their weapons, including crude knives, and what appeared to be rations.

After another twenty minutes of examining them all and their possessions, she turned her attention to the still-unconscious survivors. Of the remaining six, she chose one who seemed particularly hungry, and dragged him along out of sight behind the Quinjet. A booby trap was left with the rest. Bruce stood to the side, just out of the alien’s vision, as she started with shaking the captives shoulder.

Nothing.

She slapped his face.

Nadda.

Her attempts to wake him became progressively –if calculatingly—violent, with no results. He would not wake up. Not even a skip of his heartbeat or breathing (which she presumed she was testing correctly). Apparently being hit by a shock baton, especially in his emancipated state, had been bad for his health.

She tried two more with similar results until she got one willing to talk.

It was gibberish.

“Askna uso bakran urk! Bakran urk! Bakran urk!” he shrieked.

(Maybe, a ‘he,’ given the masculine build, and neither she nor Bruce were willing to explore farther than taking off ‘his’ upper-body rags).

Lazily twirling a knife in one hand, Black Widow pleasantly asked, “Want to try that again?”

His only reaction was to continue screaming words she could not understand.

So she shocked him unconscious with a baton.

Clearly she had been too optimistic.

As an elite covert agent, she was trained to be fluent in Latin, Russian, English, French, German, Chinese, Italian, and various other languages, could pick up new ones quicker than most, and knew enough of a dozen others to get by. Unfortunately, they were all for Earth, and she had no experience at alien tongues, except for watching science-fiction films, usually with Stark chugging back a beer at every ‘implausibility.’

Except that woman talked to us perfectly. Some kind of universal translator, like Thor was telling us about? Except she had seen no sign of one on any of these ones, only junk. They’re different species, with presumably different languages, so how did they coordinate? Cooperate? Body language and violence would only serve them for so long and so far. Maybe it’s by implants, and only some of them have one? Hopefully one of the others has one.

When Prisoner #5 woke up, he just stared at her in an unresponsive daze, and eventually she reluctantly concluded she had hit him too hard in the head. Contrary to popular media, hitting someone in the head did not just render them unconscious without any complications. It was by definition inflicting brain damage, and the consequences of that varied.

The final one woke up as she was dragging him over to be questioned. He only struggled against his binds briefly before settling down. Given his demeanor, Black Widow did not produce any weapons. Yet.
“I see,” he said with visibly forced calm. “I am—”

“Don’t care,” she interrupted, hiding any reaction to him apparently talking English. “All you need to know is that I’m Widow.” Given how they were trying to be discrete here, there was no need to leave people from another civilization aware of her full name/title. Especially since she wanted to leave no potential hints about the Avengers behind for any future threats to find. “Why’d you attack us?”

 “The rule of this world,” he responded as if it were obvious. “You are either a fighter, or you are food. As you are a stronger fighter, you are now in charge. You can either send me to fight within the city, or lead us in finding others who drop through the gateways.”

Quick, but informative. A society where ‘Might Makes Right’ was apparently a generally accepted rule, with a penchant for violence. Possibly more organized within the city. They also preyed upon whoever came through the wormholes, and quite possibly literally ate them. He notably had said nothing about being ‘food’ himself.

“Who’s in charge here?”

 “You are,” he promptly answered. Smart man. “If you mean the planet, they call him the Grandmaster. I think,” he accidentally added, trying to hide his hesitation. He was a grunt and knew it, and was afraid that if he was not valuable enough he would be killed. Possibly even eaten.

Interesting name, except I’d better not push him on that just yet if he’s so nervous. I need him coherent for now. A few more easy questions before I make him really sweat.

“Been doing this a long time?” Black Widow pleasantly inquired

“All my life,” he shrugged, clearly confused as to why she cared.

Definitely engrained into the culture then, if he’s any example. He doesn’t even see what he’s doing as wrong. Well, it’s not the first time I’ve dealt with people ‘uncivilized’ like this.

Ruthless violence earned you respect in such places after all, and she was quite qualified at that.

“Alright,” she smiled. “Wh—”

He leapt at her throat with suddenly longer fangs, and she stuck a knife in his throat on reflex, drawing it faster than he could react while turning her body so he flew right by her.

As he was still twitching, she shot him with her pistol. Perhaps wasteful, except she had a limited number of taser discs, and while a knife wound like that (should) kill him eventually anyways, she was unsure of how long that would take with his inhuman body. Plus, unlike her Earthly gun, she did not know how many shots each scavenged blaster rifle had, so could not guarantee they would actually fire.

Taking a deep breath, she waited a minute before retrieving her knife, and wiped herself down. Her cat-suit was now stained with yellowish blood that looked like bile, and after rolling around, her arms and legs were further coated with what she could only hope was dirt.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she softly apologized to Bruce, who had quietly kept back as she handled her job.

“Don’t be,” he reassured her, even if he still looked a bit sick. “I don’t like it, but he attacked you when we were trying to work with him. He made his own choice, Nat, and you only defended yourself. That’s it.”

“Right,” she breathed out. “Let’s go try the last one.”

-(Alien) Sun-

A minute later they were making their way to the alien ship, and their final attempted captor still lying unconscious beside it. The alien capture disc was still on their captive’s throat, with Natasha keeping the remote up her sleeve so it was both concealed and readily accessible.

Despite the savage beating Hulk had inflicted, the woman was still alive and breathing steadily, albeit with nasty bruises over her face, and some broken bones.

Leaving her new Partner —maybe not as good as Clint at fieldwork, but she had known even before this that she could always trust him with her back—outside to keep watch, Natasha took a quick look inside the craft.

Like the woman itself, it was ill-used and ill-maintained. Obvious rush-job repairs, empty bottles cluttering up the floor worse than even Stark could ever manage, and possibly literally decades since it had last been cleaned. Certainly there was enough dust and grime to make that impression. Overall, this ship belonged to someone in a dangerous line of business who did not take care of their gear, and was clearly heavily addicted to whatever the local equivalent of alcohol was. While she had seen such disregard in mercenaries and slavers before, that sort of disregard was usually from rank incompetence and arrogance. No, this reminded her more of operatives and soldiers who were burnt out, yet continued on because they knew nothing else in life. Had nothing else. For all that she was dealing with an alien, intuitively Black Widow knew she was dealing with something similar, yet also missing some key points. For one, despite how she had never seen a case so pervasive, their captive was somehow still alive. Plus that sort of talent made her think she was dealing with a former elite operative or soldier.

Well, regardless, whoever their new prisoner was, the clues and facts were adding up that she had serious issues. Possibly residual trauma, which she could be helped through to become a better person.

Too bad.

Right now they were only more psychological vulnerabilities for Black Widow to exploit. It was still up in air how hard they would be pushed.

She and Bruce needed to get home.

Maybe they would take her with them, if not for how this woman had attacked them without provocation, and with unknown intentions. She could be an asset with her skills and knowledge of the planet and hierarchy, except there was nothing to prove she wouldn’t attack them again.

They needed to know more about her before making a decision.

Time to get into character.

As much as she hated it, feeling her fists tighten in rage.

She had been honest when she had planned on retiring with Bruce.

Even she could see when she was caught in an unhealthy pattern, and decided maybe it really was time to step back from being either an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., or an Avenger. Not just because of Ultron; her concerns included all the death she had set in motion in revealing HYDRA. Perhaps it was time to become a civilian, and find another way to clean out all the ‘red in her ledger’ by doing something nonviolent, while a peaceful life. Alongside Bruce.

Unfortunately, it appeared that karma had a nasty sense of humour, and was not done with her yet, by getting her stuck on an ALIEN PLANET.

. . . One where people were already trying to kill and/or enslave her. Oh, or eat her.

At least she was with Bruce.

There was that.

So, assess any potential threat to Earth, and get home.

Maybe drag Bruce into a cabin on the Helicarrier, bolt the door with a sign outside reading ‘Trespassers Will Never Be Heard From Again,’ shower off their filth (cold water or not this time), and the two of them could just lay down to sleep. Ah, blissful sleep, no matter how much Stark might taunt them over it.

. . . When was the last time I slept again? Ugh, doesn’t matter.

-(Alien) Sun-

With a jolt of pain, Scrapper 142 came awake, springing into action to return the favour to whomever might be around her.

With another jolt, she went limp, recognizing the agonizing, paralyzing sensation of an Obedience Disc. She had worn one herself before she earned her freedom. Well, by ‘earned,’ she really meant ‘ripped off the arm of the one holding the remote on her, and then done entertaining things with both it and the disk to her supposed-owner,’ but same difference.

That display had so amused the Grandmaster as he watched, that he had applauded, and approved of her emancipation. As opposed to conceding she had just taken it for herself, and become an enemy of the state. No stranger to the whims and subtle darkness of monarchs and other breeds of absolute dictators, and not wanting to ruin what seemed like her best and only chance to disappear into oblivion, she had promptly bent her knee and abased herself before him.

Thus the beginning of a beautiful relationship between the two of them.

Or a relationship at least.

Frankly she did not care about him one way or another outside of booze money and fun, and she was pretty sure he felt the same. The oh-so-benevolent Grandmaster only cared about people to the extent they entertained him to some degree, while their own feelings meaning nothing to the ancient being. She was just a little more amusing than most. 

Right now though, she was registering aches and pains that reminded her of the furious battle she had just fought and lost. Even with her accelerated healing factor, it would take a while to fully recover.

“Ah, so you’re awake.”

Craning her neck while still lying on the ground, Scrapper 142 saw the redheaded woman she recognized as memories flooded back. The smart —too smart— lady was safely ten meters away. The man standing even further back, off to the side.

“Can you understand me?”

Scrapper 142 said nothing, however, the alien continued regardless.

“Ah, good to see you do.”

Reading micro-expressions? Or my emotions directly?

“You can call me Widow.”

“Alright,” she answered, if only to move this along.

“What is this world?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention when we first met? Welcome to Sakaar, junkyard of the universe. The edge of the known and unknown, and collection point for all the trash there is.”

“Collection point. You mean all those wormholes.” Even with those statements, Red’s —or rather, Widow’s— expression remained unreadable. Once Scrapper 142 might have been able to decipher it, if not for how right now she was still shaken up, and was out of practice because frankly she had not cared about reading the fine details about people for centuries. Or millennia possibly. Apparently time worked weird here after all, and she had never bothered keeping track beyond what happened between one full bottle and the next. Why should she? If people wanted to cause her trouble, or were acting weird, she just killed them when they did something big enough for her to notice.

Whatever else you could say about the Grandmaster, he was at least open and sincere about what he wanted. In fact, he was so honest about it that sometimes people did not take him seriously enough, thinking he was just kidding around. By then it was generally too late for them.  

“Obviously,” she sneered, and was faintly surprised she not shocked as a punishment for that. Soft hearted? Possibly. Still best to play it cautiously.

“Why did you attack us?”

With a theatrical sigh, she explained. “The Grandmaster, who’s the head honcho here, loves his little Contest of Champions. It’s his greatest joy really. He needs strong fighters for it, and after you beat up those other Scrappers, I knew I could sell you to him for a nice sum. Oh, that’s the term for those of us who capture newcomers, or salvage useful tech. Scrapper 142’s the name, since you asked.”

Which they had not. A transparent atempt to make her insecure.

“Anyways, like I said, I thought you’d be a good attraction,” she repeated without a care. “And what do you know, but your boytoy,” no reaction, “proved even better. Oh well.”

“So you just work for the Grandmaster because he supplies you with alcohol and kicks,” Widow shrewdly noted.

Fun fact about Sakaar: it was one of the few places capable of brewing drinks potent enough to get around her healing factor, and give her a buzz.

“It’s a living,” shrugged Scrapper 142. “Until it kills me of course.”

There, she all but flat out told them that she was willing to bargain, and threatening to kill her would not get them anywhere. While she was not fully suicidal, she was also not afraid of dying. Should make the rest of the ‘negotiations,’ —for why else was she waking up?— smoother and less painful.

The sooner this was over with the better. She was going to ache for days as it was.

However, despite all her genuine apathy, an old part of Scrapper 142 was intrigued as she finally recognized these people.

Her people’s natural talent for languages had greatly contributed to the peace that Asgard had forged for the Nine Realms (along with a martial prowess they were enthusiastic to direct against anyone they deemed ‘disruptive’ towards said ‘peace’). Knowing the benefits of open communication, Odin (may he choke on his precious beard) had devised a policy as part of their decades-long education, where Asgardian children were to also learn various alien languages. Indeed, once you had learned how to fluently speak several dozen different tongues, including Groot (which was overrated in her humble opinion), it became rather easy to decipher brand new ones. Indeed, Scrapper 142 had continued to do so during her years on Sakaar. Especially ever since her last universal translator broke, and decided she did not need another one, since fighting and capturing people, and ordering booze, were pretty much universal as it got. Besides, she had better uses for her Units.

Which was why it had taken so long for her to recognize which language these newcomers were using.

Or rather, that it was of the Nine Realms. Specifically Midgard.

Granted, time flowed differently on Sakaar, yet given their appearance (clean skin, healthy teeth, and decent clothes to name a few things) it had been a few thousand years for them, and sounded like an amalgamation of several of their silly little languages, followed by millennia drift in how they spoke, as said tongues changed and evolved. All of which she could decipher so flawlessly and reflexively that it had actually taken her this long to truly process and identify it. 

Yeah, being an Asgardian could be pretty awesome.

Well, well, they’re coming into their place in the universe. Surprised Odin hasn’t already slapped them down. Or is this part of his whole new ‘peaceful’ image? Doubt it would last long if people like these asked to come visit Asgard though. Especially these ones, given how filthy they are right now.

With a mental grimace, she brushed that all aside. She was on Sakaar to forget. Obviously the beating and subsequent shocks had rattled her brain around too much. Equally obvious, she needed a drink. Or four.

“And the Grandmaster stays in power because he’s got these little torture discs?” Widow went on.

“They’re called Obedience Discs, and yeah, pretty much. Mind you, the Discs’ve got a lot of safeguards. Honestly surprised you beat yours. . .” Unfortunately, there was no volunteering on how Widow pulled that off. Pity, information like that could be valuable. “Oh, and an army.”

The Midgardian pointed in the direction of Sakaar, the capital city of Sakaar (yes, very original). “Is that where the Grandmaster lives?”

“That’s where everyone lives really. You can live out in the trash if you really want to, it’s just pretty bad for your health. Bit safer in the city.”

“Only a bit safer because there’s still violence in the city, and the chance of being taken as a slave by those in charge is alright?”

“Of course,” said Scrapper 142 with a grin that failed to reach her eyes.

“And it’s a multi-species city, made up of people from all over the universe?”

“The Grandmaster likes to call this place their new home, the collection point for the lost and unloved. Which is just his way of trying to be nice about calling us all trash.”

No reaction to that.

She found herself volunteering details now just to try and get a response.

She was also irritated to find herself parroting propaganda now. Clearly she had heard that introductory speech a few too many times.

“This . . . Contest of Champions,” her interrogator suddenly mused. “I’m guessing it’s pretty popular? Watch a bloody spectacle to whip people up so they’ll ignore everything else that’s going on? And lots of free booze to make them drink away how awful their lives are?”

Despite herself, the Asgardian was impressed. While using state-sponsored violence and showmanship, along with access to chemical anti-depressants to distract people from their issues, was an old trick, most still missed it. She recognized it of course, and even embraced it as another reason to live out the rest of her life here. This newcomer however, had figured it out from only a few questions. Not bad. Not bad at all . . . Almost entertaining after years of the same thing over and over.

Scrapper 142 shifted on the ground a bit to raise herself and her breasts up, and gave a sultry look. “So, I’m guessing you’ll be wanting to get home, and want me to tell you how? What’re you offering to make it worth my while?” Because Widow looked like she might be fun, and maybe her boyfriend, dad, pet, or even son (she had seen weirder) would be interesting. Definitely the green one was, and he clearly was in need of an alternative and more constructive means of stress relief.

“Your life,” Widow flatly answered. “Because while you might die out of spite, something’s keeping you alive.” Then she crouched down, cupping her chin in her hand. “Guilt, maybe? That you’re alive, and others aren’t?”

“Nope,” popped Scrapper 142, except her voice was strained now. She did not feel guilty about surviving!

“Really?” Widow asked with clear disbelief. “Well, right now you’re still enjoying yourself too much to want to end it lying in trash, paralyzed by your own Obedience Disc, waiting to find out who or what’ll finish you.” Her face became a little friendlier. “Or you can see us on our way. We’ll even find something to thank you for your efforts. Maybe, if you want, you’ll even like it back home.”

Chuckling, Scrapper 142 shook her head in amusement. Not just at the threat (they were not stupid enough leave her alive and at their back, so they would just kill her here), but also the ‘generous’ offer. “Not unless your people —wherever you come from— let me hunt and fight and drink as I see fit. As for getting there, just fly your ship through any of the wormholes, and it’ll take you somewhere else. If I were you, I’d try and lock onto Xandar, refuel and get directions from there, and that’ll do it for you. Might take you a year or so, except that’s not my problem.”

 “Unacceptable. Clearly we need an expert opinion.”

Shrugging as best as she could, Scrapper 142 smirked. “The Grandmaster doesn’t like the idea of people leaving, and discourages it. You won’t find anyone else who’ll say otherwise.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure.” Now there was a look of triumph in Widow’s face that was unsettling. “If you can fly off anytime you want, that the Grandmaster trusted you with a ship, it means you’re someone fairly important here. So not only are you not someone who’d pay attention to news like that in the first place, people who do want to leave wouldn’t talk to you about this. So I can’t call you a reliable source about that.”

“So where does this leave us then?” she asked, carefully keeping her voice level. She was unfortunately forced to concede the Midgardian had a point. She was a trusted enforcer, with all that entailed, including how the Grandmaster knew that leaving was the last thing his ‘best’ lady wanted to do.  

“Why don’t we take a trip to the city, and work from there to find out more about these wormholes,” Widow offered, holding out the remote in her hand. “Play straight with us, and we’ll let you go. Yes you attacked us, but that’s a daily hazard for us. Besides, frankly it seems that’s how life works here, giving you only two choices: die, or live however you can manage. We get that, so we aren’t taking it personally.”

Suddenly the redhead smiled. “Who knows, we may even become friends before this is over, and we can help each other out even more.”

“Who knows?” Scrapper 142 lightly agreed. Becoming friends was not going to happen though. She had learnt the hard way where ‘friendship’ led. All in all, for not killing her when they had the chance, despite how they could have found another guide, she probably owed them as much as she did the Grandmaster.

That was not to say she would not betray them —these two, or the Grandmaster— as soon as it suited her.

Scrapper 142 had no use for ‘relationships,’ ‘duty,’ and especially not ‘loyalty.’

She had pledged it once in that other life. Upon her sword, her long life, and immortal soul.

Willingly and freely before the Throne of Asgard . . .

Before King Odin, who would later sacrifice her and all her sisters to their graves in a senseless battle, because he had come to fear the monster whose bloodlust and talent for death he had once pampered and indulged, until it was the only thing to give her meaning.

A monster who had once proudly stood beside that very throne, and led his armies into battle:

Hela.

The King’s firstborn, and Goddess of Death. The future queen of Asgard, to whom all of its warriors had sworn to serve in turn, bound by oaths of loyalty that were to last for millennia even after Odin finally croaked.

When Hela’s lust for violence became too much, Scrapper 142 and each and every one of her sisters, and her love , had been sent to drive her back into her prison and they had been massacred. It was only after their senseless, useless deaths that Odin risked doing it himself.

And which of the Nine Realms did they die upon?

Niflheim.

The Ream that Asgardians were taught was the home of the dead who are neither honored nor dishonored. Where, if there even was an afterlife, all those who died there were denied Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. In life or death, she would never see the Valkyries again!

Hence why she was content to die drunk in a ditch; maybe that would let her join them again.

No.

No more loyalty.

The past was the past, and she would have no part of it ever again.

She would only work for whoever guaranteed her more booze, so she could drink until she died, and went to whatever part of the afterlife was still open for her. As for these people, the newest in a line who wanted her to obey like a dog, she bet they did not even have a drop on them.

Chapter Text

Sakaar

Bruce and Black Widow were all set to daringly head off to the capital of planet Sakaar.

As stressed and impatient as they were, and in grave peril, there was no denying the thrill of exploring their first alien city.

Unfortunately, they could not just pop over as they wished.

First, they had to sort through all the trash in their newly acquired (hijacked) space ship, and chuck out everything not useful. The next problem was how Black Widow absolutely refused to let the ship’s former owner, and their prisoner, Scrapper 142, be the one to handle to controls. After all, the alien woman could use her familiarity with it to pull some sort of trick.

Fortunately the craft was similar enough to a Quinjet, that Bruce easily figured out how to fly it himself.

Before flying off, the rest of their captives had been left behind at the crash-site, untied and able to fend for themselves as best they could. Given the limited resources available to the two Avengers, freedom was the best compromise between mercy and expediency they could offer them.

With that out of the way, they were flying towards the city now.

Beneath the flight deck was Scrapper 142’s cell for prisoners to sell, separated from the main ship by some sort of transparent material tougher than steel. A perfect way to keep an eye on someone, while emphasizing your dominance over them. Especially since otherwise the Avengers would be in tight confines with a super-strong, super-fast warrior. Nonetheless, Black Widow did not force Scrapper 142 into the holding bay, or knock her out with the Obedience Disc, and instead let her be on the flight deck with her and Bruce. She knew the other two were surprised, and indeed it had not been her original plan, yet after further considering what she had learnt about their captive’s psychological state, she figured this, and had the best chance of avoiding—or at least reducing— future conflicts.

She’s only cooperating because it’s the path of least resistance, Black Widow knew. Keeping her on a tight leash will only push her to lash out sooner, and next time we won’t get so lucky. Especially since we can’t rely on the Big Guy to always bail us out in time. It’s a calculated risk as she might decide to attack us anyways, because she thinks we’re too soft. So it’s a fine balance between showing how tough we can really be, while also being generous and merciful enough to make her play along.

We’re not playing by the rule-book she’s used to, so she’s off-balance. Keep her so confused for the flight, she should be safely passive for this part. While it’s not going to win us her gratitude or loyalty, it only has to keep her compliant long enough for us to find people we can actually trust a bit.

Besides, while mind-games cannot last forever, treating someone that dangerous like a wild animal will only inevitably backfire. As Hulk would attest.

That was not to say the female Avenger’s thumb ever left the activation switch of the remote for the Obedience Disc planted in Scrapper 142’s neck. The slightest move, and there would be a world of pain for the alien, and everyone knew it.

So the super-alien was leaning casually against the side of the ship, arms crossed and watching them, while Bruce sat between the two ladies. He was obviously ecstatic at the novelty of piloting a spaceship for the first time, constantly murmuring how “extraordinary” the experience was. With that and the concentration necessary to safely fly, it ensured he was too wrapped up in his job to be distracted by how they were currently stranded on an alien world, as they passed over mound after endless mound of trash, while even more of it kept falling from the sky. A sky full of wormholes.

Truthfully, Black Widow knew that if not for her presence, or maybe that of another Avenger, Bruce would have already Hulked-out from the stress of it all.

She immediately caught the moment when the entirety of their situation tried to shove its way back to the front of his mind. Not enough to overwhelm him, yet still enough to fill him with doubts on what they are supposed to do. Deftly she reached out to give his shoulder a single squeeze, saying I am here. His eyes glanced at hers to show his gratitude as his confidence returned, and he resumed his task.

Good, it worked.

Which was fortunate, as even with the Barton clan she was still not entirely comfortable with genuine displays of affection. Learning how and when exactly to display them, without falling back on her seduction techniques.

Complicating the situation was how Black Widow was simultaneously working her hardest to compartmentalize any other emotions or feelings that may prove distracting on this mission.

Not the first time I’ve been in unfamiliar territory, without an extraction plan. Can have fun later comparing this to Budapest with Clint.

Seeing they were only minutes away from the city, she repeated aloud what she and Bruce had already agreed on. “Remember, we’re just going to settle down on the outskirts.”
“My ship will be stripped and stolen in minutes,” Scrapper 142 flatly reminded them.

While not resorting to physical force, Black Widow still kept her voice quiet but deadly when addressing the other woman. “We’re still not going to land in any official hangers, or anywhere where you’re familiar with the staff and can warn them. Especially since the only hangers allowed for ships are the ones controlled by this Grandmaster of yours.”

Scrapper 142 shrugged, and then gave a slight wince as she was still injured. Her face was still puffy, with Band-Aids from their First Aid kit for various cuts on it, and was wearing a splint and shoulder wrap on her left arm. In fact, it was a miracle she could even stand after the beating Hulk had given her. Probably a pride thing. Hopefully it was only ego.

She took another quick assessment, and by sheer will, the master assassin’s face remained impassive as she then processed that the bruises around the alien’s face were starting to fade from what they had been before taking off. Her healing factor is incredible! While she’s definitely still hurt, I’d say she’s recovering even faster than Steve! Alright, so we can’t count on her internal injuries to slow her down either. Good to know.

Recovering herself, Scrapper 142 sullenly said, “I’ll need to disguise myself a bit then. I don’t want the Grandmaster thinking I’ve betrayed him, otherwise I’m dead either way, and I’ll lose a lot of business.”

Well, that’s unfortunate, Black Widow thought to herself. It confirmed her concerns about this Grandmaster. Clearly, whoever he was enough to intimidate an alien that could go toe-to-toe with the Hulk.

-(Alien) Sun-

Sakaar City

The Grandmaster Palace

“Whoo! Let’s have some fun!” squealed an effeminate man in rich robes of red, green, and gold. He played a few more tunes out of his musical keyboard as everyone partied around him, having fun.

As they should.

The Grandmaster was all about having a good time.

Today he was experimenting with green face-paint and nail-polish again for the first time in centuries. Albeit a brighter green then when he had done it last. He appeared like any one of hundreds of humanoid species, with tan skin, and rich, perfectly styled grey hair.

Around him his beloved subjects danced and laughed away at his most recent party, keeping them from focusing on any unpleasantness. Like how he had had that one family put to death for some reason or other.

(He could not remember the details, just that he was right to do so.)

And hey, this party was for him too! He would miss them just as much as everybody else, if not more! Why those two (he assumed they had been husband and wife or whatever) had been wild in threesomes! Or foursomes. Fivesomes. Truthfully he only started to find the orgies a little silly when you had ten people all intertwined at once. Seriously people, that is when you start to split up into smaller groups! Honestly, why did he even have to explain this?

Anyways, it was sad they were gone, so now they were all having a party to feel better and forget about them.

(True, the armed and armoured guards scattered around the room might be a depressing reminder for a few, except he always had his guards around, so they should be used to it. Unless said sentries were the type to get off on watching them have sex or something. Otherwise, just ignore them. In fact, why was he even worrying about that?)

The things he did to help lesser life-forms. In fact, for being such a Good Samaritan, he should buy himself something nice as a reward!

“Topaz,” he said to Topaz, his loyal bodyguard and top aid these last few millennia, “I should do something nice for myself. Any ideas?”

The heavyset, heavily armoured woman promptly said, “There’s that new movie depicting your heroism in founding Sakaar, that you were waiting to see. We can get the early release today, and have the actors come over to celebrate with you.”

“Capital idea!” he clapped with glee. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

He tapped his chin in thought. “Alright, so I’ll party for another hour or two, relax from the strain for another hour,” really both he and Topaz knew he would be reviewing any reports from his intelligence agents (‘spies’ was such a callous word), but why talk about such stuff here, “and then they can come over.”

“Very good sir.”

“Oh, and let Scrapper 142 know what we’re doing when she gets back. I’m sure she’d love to come along and throw in her own thoughts about the scenes where I fight off the evil hordes!”

While Topaz did not even twitch, he knew that irritated her a bit. The two robust ladies had clashed from the beginning. Oh well, he figured after a few more centuries they would warm up to each other.

Feeling even better about himself, the Grandmaster waded his way amongst his subjects to dance with them himself.

-(Alien) Sun-

Outskirts of Sakaar City

 “I’m going to guess the Grandmaster lives there,” Black Widow deadpanned, with a nod at the skyscraper towering over the others. From what she was seeing, she was surprised the man’s ego had settled for calling both a planet and the capital city by the same name, as opposed to Planet Sakaar, and its capital ‘Grandmaster-ville;’ or something equally pretentious.

Bruce blinked in surprise at the sight of the structure that rose at least hundreds of meters above anything else in the city. Near the top, it looked like there were giant head sculptures sticking out of it. “And people accuse Tony being arrogant,” he said with a grin.

“He is. Except Pepper wouldn’t let him do something like that,” she grinned a little, glad he was able to find some humour in all this.  

Scrapper 142 just rolled her eyes at the banter, and tried to ignore the duo. It was almost embarrassing that she had lost-*cough* conceded a fight to Big Green and Red.

To distract herself, she checked her reflection in a convenient piece of blemish-free metal, and confirmed that her new red and yellow face-paint was sufficient to make her not totally recognizable. All three of them were also wearing items called ‘sunglasses,’ and ‘baseball caps.’

In all honesty she thought the latter moronic, and the former pretty cool.

Not that it made up for how increasingly loathsome this whole mess was. She was playing tour guide for two Midgardians who had stumbled upon an alien planet (she doubted the rest of their race had so much as achieved basic interstellar travel), and was under increasing pressure as she tried to figure a way out of this mess.

Unfortunately, her usual tactics would not work as the duo carefully kept Bruce (and his hidden, muscular, green side) near her, while Widow stayed just out of the way with her finger still on the trigger for Scrapper 142’s personal Obedience Disc.

(‘Widow’ was obviously a pseudonym, and she heard Bruce calling her ‘Natasha’ or something.)

The longer this took, the greater the likelihood the Grandmaster would get impatient, wondering where she was. Moreover, if he found out she had been captured by newcomers, she might even end up tossed into the Contest of Champions.

She was under no delusions about two things:

1) If she fought the current Champion, she would die.

2) If she tried to oppose or even kill the Grandmaster, she would die painfully. She had seen it happen too many times.

Worst of all, she had no booze!

(Which was a reasonable thing to die by, unlike the other ways she had just contemplated. Sooner or later, her liver would give out.)

Utterly insufferable, Widow had left behind any drinks from her stash, spouting some nonsense about her using the bottles as weapons, which, while accurate, was still unacceptable! What was she supposed to do!?

Grimacing at having to actually think for once in umpteen centuries (or millennia, time worked weird here after all), Scrapper 142 tried to figure out a plan of action.

-(Alien) Sun-

Bruce could only look around in wonderment as he drank in the sights before him. A civilization that was simultaneously old, yet more advanced than anything on Earth.

To be discrete, they had landed a few kilometers away from the city itself, hiding behind a particularly tall pile of junk. In preparation, he was ‘scouting’ with what were essentially hyper-advanced binoculars from the Warsong. Truthfully it was more like ‘ogling at all the lovely, lovely science,’ as he took in details of the city through the lens with crystal-clear clarity.

Each building was made of an assortment of scrap metals, leading to a melding of different designs. From what he could make out, the ones at the center of the city tended to be painted in brighter colours, with the entire structure painted the same shade. The closer one got to the edges of the capital however, the colours were more varied, as the homes and businesses were put together by a variety of materials from multiple sources, which retained their original hues.

The fact that basically everything was made of metal was also surprisingly fascinating, as it indicated that while this was literally a planet of junk, it also meant that the quality of it all was high enough to provide for sturdy shelters. Unless that’s necessary to survive the social violence hinted at here, he thought with a touch of gloominess, before returning to wide-eyed curiosity.

Everything welded, riveted, and in once case even tied together, all to make homes and little market stalls for people to live in and work from. From bitter experience he knew that the people living on the outskirts always had it rougher, so he figured it was more obvious here. Although he was also willing to bet that overall, everyone lived to varying degree on whatever artifacts came out of the wormholes, as opposed to whatever they made themselves. An entire civilization that was able to adapt the technology and resources salvaged from across the universe? Staggering!

Indeed, he was already picking up what looked like breathing masks and some other pieces of equipment he assumed were for species whom had not evolved for quite this type of oxygen-rich atmosphere. Life finding a way!

(He and Natasha were incredibly lucky this planet was suited for them too, like breathable air. He had even taken the time to experiment by dropping a rock a few times while doing mental calculations, and determined the gravity was only slightly lower than it was on Earth.)

Hmm, and all those other little goodies, he thought, feeling twenty —No thirty!— years younger, as he drank in the sight of more and more items and gadgets that looked easily decades more advanced than anything back home. Especially since not only were they obviously everyday items given how casually they were being treated, they also showed marked signs of wear and tear, and jury-rigged field repairs.

It was all junk that surpassed the best Humanity had to offer.

For now. I know I shouldn’t get involved in any mad science again, but there couldn’t be any harm in Tony and I making better life support gear or something, right? Or maybe— He stopped as reality caught up to him. Of course, that’s assuming I ever see him again . . .

He shook off that thought with long practice, focusing on the positives.

For as horrifyingly stressful as this whole place was (an alien world and all that jazz), the fact remained that this place was also a gold mine. Endless possibilities!

Dimly Bruce knew that if he had been alone he would have been overwhelmed by all this and the Hulk would be on the loose. Possibly in an endless loop if every time he was back in control he started stressing up all over again—especially at being stranded here forever. It’d be an endless cycle.

With Natasha along though, helping him believe this was all only temporary, he was able to safely remain as Bruce Banner.

With that reassurance in mind, he let his imagination expand to properly process everything he was taking in.

Something clicked in his head. “Hey, Scrapper?” Goodness, he hated calling her that. It was not even a name, just a designation. He swung around to look at her with the binoculars still on, and her enlarged head winked at him through the lens, making him balk and drop what he was holding. He stammered a little before she got impatient.

“What?” she said with a mixture of emotions, and he straightened up and looked at her in concern. For all that she had done to them, and attempted to do, he still felt guilty for forcing her to put herself at risk by sneaking around the government. She only glared harder at his expression.

Coughing, he said what he originally meant to say. “If we double back to your ship, could we fix the autopilot to send it around the planet? I mean, you must have one if ships are so valuable here. That way it’ll be mobile, so harder to steal, and you can probably set it to avoid any debris. Would that be better?”

Now she just looked confused for a few seconds, before giving a grudging nod. “Sure,” she muttered, before doubling-back. It took about two minutes to set it up, and then Warsong flew off away from the city. They had timed it so it would return at a slow pace in a week.    

Not that Scrapper thanked them or anything.

"Starting to get into the flow of things, Doc?" Natasha said with an actual smile.

"Huh? Oh yeah. This place is just amazing. Hopefully we can take some of it back to Earth with us. Who knows what kind of advances we could uncover?" With a slight grimace, he cut himself off indulging his inner Mad Scientist too much. Despite what Tony said, he needed to step back and self-reflect on it again. Maybe even give up science for good. I’ll talk to Natasha about it, once we’re outta here, he decided.  He trusted her judgment with that.

He knew Natasha noted his sudden dark mood, and given their earlier conversation about Ultron (back when their only concerns were genocidal robots and figuring out their relationship), doubtless she knew what he was upset about. Fortunately they both knew that now was not the time. So instead she joked, "Does that mean I can get a lightsaber or two here?"

While he knew what she was doing, the geek in him was still hooked. "Do you!?" Bruce excitedly asked Scrapper, who backed away from him with a disturbed expression.

"A what?" she carefully asked.

"A what?" she carefully asked.

"Oh, ah, it's a bit of pop culture back home. Uhm, a sword made of stabilized plasma. Basically, a blade that is a laser of a fixed length."

Scrapper just gave a condescending grin while shaking her head. "Nope, and never will be. People keep trying, but the physics just don't work. Sure, there are some types of energy blades, but those’re mostly fancy forcefield tricks; not really reliable for anything except short missions either, given the power costs. Metal blades with molecular edges are far more practical. Even then, they’re only useful if you've got the speed, strength, and reflexes to truly use one. Otherwise, just stick to guns."

Doctor Bruce Banner, one of the most respected scientists in the world, did his best not to pout.

(It was only through sheer force of will that Natasha did not do the same. Clint had corrupted her into becoming a secret fan of the Original Trilogy after all. Plus, one of those would be unspeakably handy.)

Following the death of that childhood dream, they slipped into the city proper now, and started walking down the street. Bruce and Black Widow acting calm and discrete, while Scrapper 142 maintained her catlike grace.

For the Terrans, they were all-but assaulted by the variety of alien species and appearances. Fortunately, it seemed like there would be no trouble blending in amongst such a diverse crowd.

Unfortunately, all they could hear was gibberish, unable to understand all the diverse, alien languages.

Thankfully, this was not totally unexpected.

Back when things had settled down for the Avengers after the Battle of New York, Stark broached a topic that had been bugging him: how Thor and Loki were able to speak perfect English.

The short version was, Asgardians learnt so many different alien languages that they were able to figure out how to speak brand new ones at an obscenely fast pace. Past exposure to Earth’s dialects centuries ago only made it easier.

Races that did not have such long lifespans, or similar advantages, relied upon universal translators, which was a major business in space. After all, for good or ill, people had to be able to communicate with each other. Thor had even told a story he had heard of, where due to a technical glitch, when one alien party had asked for some food, the words the others heard was that the newcomers were offering their dead uncle for an orgy and feast.

Stark had been as amused as Steve and Bruce were unnerved. Personally, Natasha and Clint had been wondering just how alien the people in the story would have to be for that sort of misunderstanding to occur. Would their own psychological tricks even work past a certain level of predisposed violence? Clearly, they would have to up their game.

No doubt Scrapper had many of those translator implants, which was why they could understand one another. Not that it did Bruce and Natasha any good. Especially if they had to split up later. Clearly, they needed to get some of their own.

"How does currency work here?" Bruce asked, glancing at the various shoppers, noting how they all seemed to be buying stuff without taking out anything resembling money. Yet the way shopkeepers were hunched over their stalls . . . "Electronic? Everyone has miniature computers to tally their accounts and pay automatically?"

"Yes," huffed their unimpressed 'guide.' "The currency is in Units."

"How do we get some? Preferably without being sold into slavery." The Other Guy would voice their mutual objections to that . . . and for all that this place was made out of supposedly advanced materials, he was not willing to gamble with the lives of the people here by unleashing it on them. It was not their fault that they were forced to live in such an oppressive, violent place. They had not done anything to him and Natasha.

Snorting, Scrapper 142 just shook her head. "You don't. You don't have any other value to trade with besides your weapons. Although," she tapped her chin in thought. "You two could probably do alright in the small-time fighting rings."

"Thaaat sounds like a horrible idea. No, just no," Bruce uneasily said.

"Especially since the Grandmaster's probably got agents watching them, to keep an eye out for any potential contenders," added Black Widow with a knowing look at Scrapper 142, who was unrepentant.

Bruce winced at how he had failed to catch that. Getting back on track, he noted, "Either way, we need a way to talk to people first."

“I guess I’ll have to steal two translators then,” Black Widow calmly said. Given how badly Scrapper 142 appeared addicted to alcohol, it was probably best not to force her to part from some of her cash just yet. Plus, given her status, it was entirely possible her transactions were monitored. At the very least, her training screamed at her to not leave a breadcrumb trail. Bruce threw her a betrayed look, only for her to reassure him a little more warmly, “We can pay them back later.”

Glancing at Scrapper 142, she added, “Since you seem to have an implant, do you know where we could find some? Preferably one that doesn’t require surgery.”

The alien looked around at the stalls, before gesturing at one with her chin. “That one,” she said in flawless English. Something seemed off to Bruce though, and he suspected Natasha felt the same, even if neither of them had caught on yet.

A few minutes later, along with a careful distraction by Bruce towards the guards who were supposed to deter this sort of thing for newcomers, both Bruce and Natasha had little universal translators behind their ears. Now they could understand everyone.

“By the way,” Bruce said after they had made some distance from their heist. “What usually happens to new species here? When they just come through the wormholes?”

Their prisoner shrugged. "They just try and make do. If they aren’t nabbed as slaves, they try to fit in as best they can. Lots of business helping the newbies settle in and accept the way of things here. If they're lucky, they don’t get ripped off in the process. Helps that they tend to come in small groups at a time, so most know better than to cause much trouble, and try and make the best of it, and settle down. Have kids of their own who grow up here, and then have their own. The troublemakers who come to the city don't last long."

-(Alien) Sun-

Well that’s a charming little warning, Black Widow dryly noted. No doubt because of the benevolent iron fist of the Grandmaster. She caught Bruce glancing at her, and met his eyes, silently communicating to him to not press further. That was what their 'guide' was hoping for.

Suddenly the crowd started to ripple, and Black Widow caught sight of figures marching in armour towards them.

"To the side," she hissed, dragging Bruce into an alleyway, while openly showing Scrapper 142 the Obedience Disc remote . . . and glanced down at a (surprisingly) primitive sewage drain. The subtext was clear: 'Rat us out, and I'll active this and drop it out of sight, and who knows how long you'll be writhing on the ground.'

Scowling, the alien woman ducked into the alley as well.

It was only about ten individuals going in formation down the street. The helmets and staffs (or spears?) they carried were twisted and alien looking, while their armour had the same strange patterns. Only the colours of the pattern were different, and were bright ones meant to catch your attention. Their weapons looked more ceremonial than anything, yet she could not dismiss the possibility they could still do something like shoot lasers out of the tips. Their identities and even species were totally obscured, and everyone who saw them was clearly afraid.

Fortunately, they passed by their hiding spot without issue, not even really looking around. Merely a show of force.

“That’s the army you mentioned earlier?” quizzed Black Widow.

“Yep,” Scrapper 142 reluctantly answered. Given the slight twitches to her body language, it was clear she was nervous. The question was whether the super-strong alien was nervous of those soldiers directly, or the possibly they had actually spotted her and would report it.

“How good’s their armour and gear?” asked Black Widow. Despite what Star Wars might want you to believe, she was confident that no technologically advanced dictatorship would willfully outfit their troops with equipment that was only designed to look pretty. Especially since given the aggressive and confrontational nature of this planet, and how it was all too plausible that at any moment some advanced weaponry could drop through a wormhole to be picked up by anybody at all. At any point those soldiers could be in a serious firefight. Already she was wondering about any potential security protocols to keep imposters from stealing and wearing that armour, and how to bypass those measures in case she and Bruce needed to use them at some point.

“It’s alright,” Scrapper 142 answered evasively.

With a wry smile, Black Widow tried a different track. “How would you handle going up against a squad like that? Head on?”

Sporting her own twisted grin, the alien admitted, “For that many, I’d rather use some heavy weaponry, preferably a gun. Just hitting them with my fists or mace is not fast enough, and their weapons would definitely start causing damage quick. Although they keep the serious firepower back at the Palace.”

More interestingly, as the soldiers went by, most of the regular people kept edging back nervously, while hesitantly touching or twitching their hands (or species equivalent) towards a part of their bodies, usually near the upper torso or necks. In a few cases there was a brief glimpse with some people of what appeared to be more Obedience Discs. So even those free to walk the streets tend to have them. So at least a visible minority are slaves as well.

Satisfied as she confirmed her suspicions from her earlier interrogation of Scrapper 142, Black Widow reflected further upon the Grandmaster. Well-equipped soldiers patrolling everywhere were a sign of the might the dictator could bring down on everyone. That along with those little slave implants, it was easy to imagine how any opposition could be kept in line with minimal effort. By all appearances it was an effective mixture of both technology and violence to pacify everyone.

I wonder what Fury or Pierce would think of the Grandmaster’s methods? she thought with unaccustomed bitterness.

-(Alien) Sun-

[Flashback]

About a year ago

Natasha and Steve Rogers quietly made their way out of the hospital Nick Fury had died in.

Shortly before being shot by the Winter Soldier though, her boss had gotten a flash drive to Rogers. She had stolen it in turn, when she caught the super-soldier trying to conceal it himself. Badly.

 So obviously it was their first clue as to what was going on, including why her boss was murdered, and now Captain America of all people was being hunted by S.H.I.E.L.D. as a traitor. The flash drive contained the files she had taken from the Lemurian Star, a ship for launching satellites, which was interesting enough without considering how Fury had apparently hired pirates to seize it, giving him the pretext to send her in to secretly copy the files to this very flash drive.  Obviously they needed to find someplace safe to read what was on it. Preferably someplace public, knowing the S.H.I.E.L.D. tracking protocols that would be on it, drawing in rapid response squads. Even if in the likely event it did not conveniently answer all their questions, she was betting her own hacking skills were good enough to find some useful clues.

“So what do you know?” she asked as they walked down the street, with her subtly keeping him away from any cameras. Before going over the flash drive, she would have to find him a better disguise than a hoody; it was just screaming ‘I’m trying to hide my identity.’ Especially with a build like that.

“According to Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s compromised. That’s why he came to me.”

“More than just the Lemurian Star then,” she mused aloud. “Whatever this is about, it has to be pretty serious. Any ideas?”

“If it’s involving that ship and the satellites it was launching, and had Fury so concerned, then I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with Project: Insight,” Rogers grimly answered.

“Well, that’s not good,” she calmly said.

“Tell me about it. That much power,” he stopped to shake his head. “If anything goes wrong, a lot of people are going to suffer.” He threw her a hard look. “I’m surprised you’re not more upset at something being dirty with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I’m adaptable,” she blandly replied.

Inside though, Natasha Romanoff had an unfamiliar feeling of dread.

I have no idea what Project: Insight is.

As Fury’s personal agent, she should know. Even if it was above her Clearance Level 7.

For crying out loud, even before Stark and Rogers went snooping around, she had already been aware of Phase 2, using the Tesseract to make—

She cut off that line of thought as an uncomfortable inkling creeped up her spine.

So she kept lying; like she had told Rogers a few minutes ago, she was good at acting like she already knew everything.

“Although at the same time,” she lightly probed, “I’m surprised Fury brought you onboard.”

“He just wanted me off his back, showing me those three next-generation helicarriers. All those guns, and the engines Stark helped make, and everything.”

Obviously, Rogers was still too unfamiliar with Iron Man to realize the flaw in that reasoning. Despite what Fury had apparently oh so carefully implied, probably using her own ‘profile’ on him that was a bunch of selective facts and reverse psychology, Tony Stark would never directly contribute to any weapons’ platform –for what else could it be— unless he had personally vetted everyone involved. Not after what had happened last time he let his company’s products get out of his sight.

Not that she herself had seen Stark lately. For all that they had fought for together in New York and buried the hatchet, Natasha did not want to push things by going to Stark/Avengers Tower unless it was for strictly ‘hero’ business. Especially not if Pepper Potts might be there.

The super-spy doubted the woman had forgiven her for not saying anything while her boyfriend was slowly being poisoned by the very Arc Reactor that was the only thing keeping his heart beating. Or how while undercover as his secretary, Natasha had enabled his self-destructive downward spiral as he chose to party away his legacy, and drive away everyone close to him. All as a test to see if he was worthy of joining the Avengers Initiative.

And she definitely did not want to be there if one Bruce Banner was still living in the Tower. It was for the best they keep their distance. Otherwise things were much too awkward if they bumped into each other. 

Hence why now Fury or Clint tended to handle any actual official visits to Iron Man.

If she did not know about Project: Insight, then neither did Clint. As for Fury, for her to have missed him working on something on this scale required deliberate effort on his part to keep her occupied, and looking the other way.

In all likelihood, Rogers had only been informed about this to keep him from snooping around on his own, and digging deeper than Fury wanted (like he had with Phase 2), and because her boss want to evaluate the super-soldier’s reaction firsthand. After all, given how concerned he had apparently been, she would bet Fury had been counting on only needing to stall and obfuscate for a few more days before these new helicarriers were launched.

With more careful questioning, she teased out the specifics of Project: Insight, and was confident she had figured out what the naïve Captain had missed:

S.H.I.E.L.D. and other government institutions were handling terrorists well enough, especially considering how they could call in Captain America or Iron Man for back-up if necessary.

An anti-alien invasion force would be made public to reassure the general public that the powers-that-be were doing something. Plus, the guns would be pointed up, not down.

No, this was something else.

Project: Insight was not a ‘quantum surge in threat analysis’ to eliminate terrorists, as Fury had so carefully emphasized to Rogers, but massively powerful means to take out the Avengers if necessary!

Yes, it could be used to take on other super-powered beings who were a threat to global peace. Except, the way Fury had gone about it made her instinctively know it had been conceived with the Avengers as unspoken potential targets. That it had been born from the realization that the Avengers Initiative had outgrown what it had been intended for, and that contingencies were required.

The whole group was too powerful, so a counter-balance was necessary. They had created the most advanced precision targeting to track and fire upon them from anywhere in the world; and yes, she knew they had DNA samples for all the Avengers. With the sort of firepower Rogers was hinting at, even Thor would be at the very least badly hurt, while the Hulk would be unable to reach the helicarriers that far up into the air.

Not that Natasha had any issue with that.

She understood the necessity.

She also knew that Fury would never authorize the elimination of the Avengers without good reason. Despite what others may have thought, he had neither been that ruthless nor stupid. It was just a contingency for him, with the added benefit of actually taking out terrorists along the way.

No, what really bothered her was how Fury had shut her out of this. As if he did not trust her! That as a full-fledged Avenger, and from fighting with them in New York, she had become compromised!

After all that she had proven willing to do in service of making up for her past crimes!

It grated at her.

What else was she unaware about regarding S.H.I.E.L.D.?

-(Alien) Sun-

Present

Of course, things had only gotten more complicated from there, even if she had reconciled later with Fury, after learning he had faked his death. For all his faults, he was not a bad man. More importantly, he had come to recognize how his very ruthlessness had become detrimental to achieving the peace and freedom he wanted for everyone.

(Learning you were the one to inspire one of your best friends to become a leading member of HYDRA, does that to even a man as cynical as Nick Fury.)

With a mental shake of her head, Black Widow suppressed those thoughts and memories —ones important to Natasha Romanoff—and turned her attention back onto the mission.

Goodness, she was getting sloppy.

Mind properly compartmentalized once more, she reassessed the Grandmaster’s political and social policies, with an emphasis on the Contest of Champions. As far as she could tell, the ‘Bread and Circus’ routine of it was how the public —one made up of countless species with their own cultural and psychological backgrounds— were properly able to vent their frustrations of being stranded on a dump with no way of leaving, and now living under a dictator. A way to vent without lashing out at the world, and the man on top. Instead they found their rush in the spectacle of all the bloodshed and hype of fighting gladiators. Otherwise, there would be even more blatant signs of oppression to keep the inevitable discontent down.

(She refused to believe that Humans and Asgardians were that far removed from every other alien species.)

Yes, the Grandmaster apparently had millennia to install and maintain social instruments of loyalty and obedience into successive generations. Indeed she was very much hoping that the man was not reserving some more literal ‘instruments of loyalty and obedience,’ ones even worse than the Obedience Discs. Things like Loki’s Scepter to literally control minds. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about that if there were any, so she had to focus on the more traditional methods she was familiar with.

Except, given how newcomers arrived regularly, there had to be some sort of more immediate outlet for relative newcomers too. Which led right back to the Contest of Champions, the apparent cornerstone of it all, to the point that it was possibly a fixation of the local overlord. Especially given all the advertisements for it she could see just walking down the street, aimed at branding (again, she was hoping there was nothing like subliminal hypnotism involved) the tournament straight into your mind. No wonder it was so popular.

Unfortunately, that was not very helpful for figuring out a safe way to return to good-old Earth.

Obviously, if a fight broke out while they were trying to find a ride back home, Black Widow knew that the best they could hope for was probably to run away. Otherwise Scrapper 142 would use the distraction to try and grab the remote for her Obedience Disc, and in such a chaotic place like this, the Hulk would do more harm than good. In a literally alien environment, there would be far too many triggers for him.

Meaning it would be up to her. Her and her two laser rifles that Bruce had declared to be in the best condition, two machine pistols with a total of seventy-two bullets, six taser discs, one grenade, one last brick of C4-Ultra, two flashbangs, a garrote, eight knives, and three long needles in her pant-legs.

Hardly enough to take on a whole world.

So she was shoving all her anger back where it belonged; keeping herself at her best, to get back home as quickly and quietly as possible. Granted, it was uncomfortable —and frankly unhealthy, to the point she was glad Bruce had not caught on yet to what she was doing— to fall back on such coping mechanisms. To be the Black Widow and not Natasha Romanoff, as much as she desperately wanted to let the former just disappear. To go away.

Unfortunately she knew she needed every trick she had to stay at the top of her game if they were to survive Sakaar. Even if that included the Red Room’s programming she fought so hard to overcome, because she was so totally outside of her element here. The only skills she had that might otherwise be applicable to this kind of place . . . would most likely just make it all the worse.

Then she remembered her words to Clint after breaking him out of the alien, wannabe-god Loki's brainwashing and the killing spree it had sent him on. Reassuring her partner that none of their training had covered for that sort of madness. A fact that had failed to stop the two of them from gearing up with the rest of the team, and heading out to stop Loki and his invading army almost all on their own.

Inwardly, Natasha peeked through and smiled. Yes, I'm an Avenger, and the impossible is our thing. We will always find a way. So long as our little —dysfunctional as it is— family sticks together.

I'm not alone here after all.

This was a classic example of the value of being an Avenger over being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. No credible intelligence agency would waste its time preparing its operatives for being stuck on an alien world, trying to get home without incurring the attention or wrath of the local despot.

This whole situation was the sort of thing they wrote science-fiction stories about, except usually the protagonist was:

a) Taught by some elite, futuristic academy about alien cultures, or

b) The alien culture in question was suspiciously similar to an Earthling one. Like a planet of cowboys or something.

(Cooper liked Star Trek, alright!?)

Fortunately, intimidation and violence appeared universal, and Black Widow kept a hand on her weapons, and glared at anyone who stared at them too long.

Despite this, it could only be a temporary measure. When she and Bruce started asking around for genuine help, they would have to be able to blend in more ‘respectfully’ as well. Which was what she was counting on Bruce for. She knew her dork would be the one crucial for figuring out how this place truly ticked.

Surprising as it might sound, he had done it countless times back when he was on the run.

-(Alien) Sun-

[Flashback]

Avengers Tower

After HYDRA's Failed Coup

Natasha and Bruce were enjoying some hot tea on one of the various balconies in the high-rise tower the Avengers were all living in.

They were enjoying another pleasant evening together after they had –finally— become friends.

Not that I’ll ever thank Steve for what he did, she internally smirked.

They had just had a long and involved discussion regarding tea, including comparing the best places to get it. She remained adamant that this little shop run by an elderly grandmother in China was the best place to go to. As part of one of her covers, the master assassin and spy had bought some, only to fail to actually try it until she got back to the US after the mission was complete. On a whim she had tried it and absolutely loved it . . . and had never been assigned a mission anywhere remotely near that store ever again.

“Why not just take a vacation there?” he asked, before quickly raising a hand. “Yes, I get why you haven’t, but a little time to yourself won’t kill you. A little vacation tends to be helpful even.”

She merely took another sip of her tea, which was answer enough. Natasha was not sure if he really did ‘get why,’ except she refused to challenge him on it. Better to just let it die.

“There’s a seminar near there later this year for some new work on cybernetics,” he wheedled. “If I went, I’d need a bodyguard . . .” He trailed off hopefully.

Feeling an uncomfortable twist of guilt, she stalled. “I appreciate the offer, and I’ll think about it,” she promised. Probably not, yet it was still very sweet of him.

Without losing a beat, she then asked him details about a tea shop he had mentioned in El Salvador.

“It was the atmosphere I missed the most,” he confessed. “Really soothing. No one caused trouble there. I was sad to go, but when I discovered the blonde and her friend on my tail, I had to leave.”

As the words left his mouth, Natasha almost blinked in shock herself. This was not her first time hearing about the shop, for her first time was part of a monthly debrief for those with clearance about the Hulk, and her flawless memory quickly put faces and names to the agents who had been spying on him at the time. Even as she made the connections, he froze up as if he had made a mistake.

He had known.

Keenly she remembered how they met in a little shack in India, and him asking how S.H.I.E.L.D. found them, and her confident reassurance that not only had they never lost track of him, but—

“Please tell me,” she said with a groan that was only half-theatrical, “that you weren’t just using us to keep the other spy agencies off of you?”

He winced and gave an embarrassed shrug, even if by all rights he should not have. After all, they had been the ones spying on him, and he had apparently played the most ‘elite’ spy organization for fools.

Although we still managed to lure him into that trap with a little girl and a sob story. Except . . .

“Alright,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair. “How’d you do it?”

With another awkward shrug, he slowly laid it out. He had been a middle-class, Caucasian, American nerd disappearing into the depths of the Developing World, switching countries every few months to stay ahead of his pursuers. More importantly, he’d needed to do so without drawing any attention to himself from the locals. Especially since if certain people thought he was vulnerable enough to take advantage of it, it might bring out the Hulk. Clearly the odds had been stacked against him if he was going to pull it off.

In the beginning he had been too paranoid to even use the internet to learn tricks to disappear, so he had had to learn the hard way. By watching. Observing. Testing out his theories. Checking every variable.

Later he had dared to use the internet for further help and advice.

After a few clumsy attempts by non-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, he had realized he had various intelligence agencies after him which he had been forced to ditch. After some stressful trial and error, he managed to escape from them, except he never truly let his guard down afterwards. He kept track of everyone who came near him or where he worked or lived. Kept track of who were newcomers, or had something slightly off with their accents, what he noticed when planning out escape routes, what he had overheard. Later he got more clues from what he managed to hack out of certain ‘secure’ intelligence networks. . .

All those little skills polymaths picked up over time.

Putting all the pieces together, devising a theory, and testing it.

Natasha could only stare in admiration for what he had accomplished. She and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been grudgingly impressed at how good his vanishing acts were, but only now did she realize how much they had truly missed. How he had played on their arrogance. Despite this, he reassured her Fury’s little spies had been the most successful, keeping a discrete eye on Bruce for months before those two agents had gotten sloppy and compromised the whole agency by making him aware of their existence.

Realizing he was being spied upon was one thing.

Realizing it, and staying calm long enough to learn who S.H.I.E.L.D. was, and discover that not only were they just observing, they were also keeping all the rival spies away, was something else. Once Bruce had known about this better brand of spies, he had taken it another step farther by devising a successful counter-strategy of letting S.H.I.E.L.D. think they could nab him whenever they wanted, while in reality he was keeping loose tabs on them in turn, and could have bolted anytime he wanted. Definitely much simpler than having to keep relocating constantly. Moreover, that also implied . . .

“You sneaked away from us a few times didn’t you,” she accused with a chiding tone. “To not only test if you could, but to try out some experiments you thought up, or to make sure you were under control on tough days without letting S.H.I.E.L.D. know.”

Bruce blinked in obvious surprise, and then grinned. “Heh. Yeah. No fooling you.”

“Well, you fooled a lot of other spies.”

“None of whom were as smart as you,” he rejoined.

“Says the man with seven PhDs,” she smirked, and now he gave a more confident, good-natured shrug. With the two of them back on more comfortable ground, she turned back to talking about more important stuff like other tea shops.

She catalogued what she had learnt away for later consideration, although she had already decided she would not tell Fury. Her ‘boss’ had enough secrets as it was, and not knowing this one would not hurt anyone.

This discovery also reaffirmed that for all that Bruce had once been a ‘mild-mannered nerd,’ and had become even more passive since, at his heart there was a reason his alter-ego was a mass of chaos.

Doing what he had done was a risky gamble, even if it had let him learn more and more about how S.H.I.E.L.D. kept track of him. If not for Loki forcing her to improvise a hasty plan together to approach Bruce while under short time constraints, he probably would have been gone before the little girl used as bait had even entered his apartment.

He had played that little spy game, because not even his fear and hatred for the Other Guy could deny that he was a scientist who was at his best when he was —even without being consciously aware— pushing boundaries and making new discoveries. More than one type of boundaries.

With the Avengers (and the blanket pardon for his services in New York) he had become free to do so again, albeit with the relief of knowing that there were the others on the team keeping an eye on him.

Because Bruce Robert Banner —clumsy, and socially inept Bruce Banner— was a scary, scary genius.

Except he knew that (particularly after the Accident), and did his best to keep it in line, just as he did with the Hulk.

Natasha would be lying if that revelation did not make her appreciate him a little more.

Moreover, somehow the way he had done all that, and yet feel so embarrassed about it, even keeping quiet so as to not hurt her feelings for tricking her and S.H.I.E.L.D., made it almost adorable.

In a dorky sort of way.

-(Alien) Sun-

Present

So yes, if anyone could figure out how to disappear into an alien culture, it was Bruce.

In fact, she was glad to see he was finally cheering up as he looked at all the signs of advanced science, distracting himself from the harsh realities of their new circumstances. The last time she saw him like this, at the party with the rest of the Avengers and Hill, celebrating the retrieval of Loki’s Scepter, almost seemed like a lifetime ago. She remembered him acting like a goof, pretending to Hulk-Out while trying to lift Thor’s hammer.

That is where he had been at that point; feeling so at ease with his life he was willing and able to joke about the Other Guy. Not hate and fear him.

. . . How did that feel like a lifetime ago?

Who knew, maybe they could find some time here to just relax? For Natasha and her boyfriend to talk about nothing in particular, without a care in the world. Maybe do some actual boyfriend/girlfriend stuff together?

(She was doubly grateful that Stark was not here, because he would be enjoying himself trying to trick them into a room labeled 'Stress Relief Sex Pad,' or ‘Private Zucchini Hidey-Hole,’ or something equally asinine.)

-(Alien) Sun-

Three hours later, the three of them continued their careful trek through the city, keeping note of everything, and slowly soaking the atmosphere all in. Especially Bruce, who Black Widow knew was busy enjoying the sights, hardly even needing her to remind him she was there to help keep him calm.

Personally, she was unimpressed. Garbage was scattered about everywhere, as in real garbage that was decomposing on the ground. Rags, pieces of scrap, and some stuff that was so messed up she could not even guess what it was. Or used to be.

Bruce had been chewing on one of the ration bars he and Tony had whipped up. If necessary, a whole one could keep even Thor full for a day while out on a prolonged mission (they were appropriately called Lembas Bars, despite the objections of Pepper and those Avengers who caught the Tolkien reference). However the act of eating brought to mind the question of how they were to sustain themselves in the long term.

“How do they feed a population living on a planet-wide pile of garbage?” he exclaimed. Yes, it was clear that there were foods here that could be served to a wide range of lifeforms. Unfortunately, she knew Bruce was a vegetarian, and even when on the run he had done his best to avoid breaking that practice. He turned to Scrapper 142. “Where do they get food? I didn’t see any of signs of farms, and you can’t count on the wormholes to drop it off.”

Their ‘local guide’ looked confused, as if she had never really thought about where her food came from. She thought about it for a moment, before evidently scrapping up a memory. “Mostly mushrooms that grow on the waste plains. Maybe they've got indoor gardens or something.”

“Hydroponics?”

“Dunno. Don’t care. Never have.”

A sudden commotion suddenly came down the street from behind. Bruce whirled around to look, while Black Widow hesitated to keep an eye on Scrapper 142, and noted the alien was neither concerned nor shocked by the noise. Satisfied, she took a glimpse of what was coming.

It was a parade.

Laughing, singing, and dancing, the large crowd of various aliens made their way down the street. In contrast to the preceding grand diversity in colours and appearances of the locals up to this point, these ones were all dressed in a light golden clothes, waving similar flags, banners, or figurines on a stick that looked like they were made of papier mâché. All were depictions of the same individual, with dozens carrying a massive pièce de résistance.

It was a large model of a golden furred creature with lots of big fangs and claws. Natasha had a sinking feeling the large size of them were not out of proportion either. Best as she could figure, it resembled a weasel . . . except for the eight legs. Plus, the previously emphasized fangs and claws. If the little figures stuffed in its mouth were anything to go by, even someone as big as the Other Guy could comfortably lay in those jaws, with room to spare.

“Ferahgo! Ferahgo! Feragho! Feragho!” the crowd cheered while throwing around golden dust. Children laughed as they looked up in awe at what was obviously a hero to them. Easily dozens of people were caught up in the festivities, with more joining in.

“Ferahgo! Ferahgo! Feragho! Feragho!”

Honestly, while such levels of public adoration would be uncomfortable and even outright dangerous if directed towards the Avengers, Natasha could not help but feel it would be nice to be shown more appreciation for what they did. Although I doubt it’s a good thing in this case. That kind of adulation, along with how energetic they are about it —Scrapper 142 and the shopkeepers to the side are treating it as a regular occurrence— doesn’t seem healthy. Not on this level. And I think it’s not just if it were from Humans either. 

"Is all this for the Contest of Champions?" hazarded Bruce.

"Yep," acknowledged Scrapper 142. "That's the current Champion, Ferahgo. Undefeated, uhm, twenty or so years in a row." Not that they knew what a Sakaar year was.

"Guess he's pretty tough," Black Widow lightly probed Scrapper 142.

Snorting, the other woman gave her a condescending look. "Even Big Green wouldn't want to go up against him."

Chapter Text

Sakaar

The city of Sakaar

Several hours had passed for the Avengers, stranded upon the alien world of Sakaar, while their prisoner/tour guide showed them around the alien city.

"It’s starting to get dark," noted Black Widow. The locals were starting to clear the street at a brisk pace. "And I bet there's a curfew."

There was not, if also no need to tell them, figured Scrapper 142. "We'll need a place to stay. Mine's available."

Neither Avenger even pretended to entertain that offer. They were well aware that her present co-operation, or lack of violence to be more accurate, was largely based upon the Obedience Disc latched into her neck. Going back to her home, where she would be most secure, was a superbly bad idea.

We can't trust her, knew the master assassin. Except we still need her, for now, and she knows it. Especially since we want to stay away from law enforcement. Still, that was a pretty crude attempt from her. Discretely Black Widow gave the alien an evaluative look. She's not looking too good. Definitely uncomfortable. Lingering internal injuries she's been hiding that are now catching up? Her bruises healed pretty quickly, yet that may just be easier for her healing factor. Or is her alcohol addiction simply that bad?

While Black Widow was distracted with the issue of their coerced guide, Natasha Romanoff's boyfriend had stayed focused on the bigger picture.

"So we have to disappear into the slums," sighed Bruce. "The real ones, not the ones at the edge of the city."

"You think no one's tried that?" queried Scrapper 142. "Everyone at one point or another wants to escape from sight like that."

"You'd be surprised," he shrugged. "There's always places to go if you don't want to be found, where the authorities don't go because of how much they're hated. The trick of course is surviving your new neighbours. In my experience though, it tends to vary in terms of how much danger you're in. The people there can even be surprisingly friendly, helping each other out."

Alternatively, he did not add, they could be rather unwelcoming of strangers who would be fresh competition for scarce resources. He had a good feeling the two ladies were well aware of this.

"So you've got lots of experience co-existing with desperate aliens?" she sarcastically asked.

Frosty as the coldest regions of Siberia, Black Widow laid down the law. "It doesn't matter. For tonight we need to be somewhere where the authorities won't find us. So that's where we're going. I presume that this place is built on top of another layer of garbage? The lower we go, underneath the sun and the benevolence of the Grandmaster, the worse it gets?"

Visibly reluctant, the alien nodded and conceded the point.

"Alright. Let's get going."

-(Alien) Sun-

Sakaar

Sakaar City

Underbelly

More hours passed, and night had definitely fallen.

With a huff, Scrapper 142 slammed the alien to the ground, rewarded by the sickening crunch of bone.

Deftly she snagged the flask from his pocket and chugged back whatever few drops were in it, before casually throwing and shattering the empty bottle against a wall. “Having fun?” she sarcastically growled through her yellow and red make-up.

“Oh, loads,” Black Widow tightly grinned. Like the others, she had put her sunglasses away, and her cap was tucked into her belt. It was so dark down here that not only did they no longer need to obscure their faces, but their disguises were also a hindrance to their sight.

They were now in the Underground.

Sub-levels below the capital city of Sakaar, their surroundings would have resembled underground caves, if not for all the buildings. Indeed, they looked just like the streets above, aside from the ceiling. The only light came from scattered fires in scavenged metal containers, while dirt and grime were the prevailing themes. I wasn’t even serious about the Grandmaster building the new city atop the old, she glumly thought. Nonetheless, it must have been precisely what he had done. After all, there was a limit to how much trash could be used up at a time, and the wormholes appeared to pile it up endlessly, with no means of disposing the pre-existing stuff. Eventually, even with those towering skyscrapers, the growing mass outside would become dangerously high (or blot out his view of the landscape), so either it had to be removed by some means they had not seen yet, or the city itself was raised up accordingly. This world must be like an onion, with layers upon layers. Who knows what the center is like!

Navigating through the deeper slums of Sakaar was hazardous at night (or any time probably), given how many people still kept attacking them. While Bruce was capable of putting up a decent fight (she had seen to that), they dared not risk him getting hurt. For herself, she needed to keep an eye on Scrapper 142 (and a thumb on the switch for the Obedience Disc), as well as watch their backs at the same time. Ergo, it was left to the super-powerful alien to handle anyone too dumb to get the message to give them a wide berth. Not that the violence bothered the other woman. She quite enjoyed doling out thorough beatings, despite them being at Natasha’s beck and command.

Everyone else in the slums was staying hidden, even if Black Widow could still hear them. Scuffling sounds, raspy breaths, the odd whimper.

“This place isn’t healthy,” warned Bruce, who like the two ladies was also now bareheaded. “Not just bacteria and viruses growing in the trash, I bet a lot of harmful byproducts will be leaking down here. I saw some of that in Pakistan, India, and other places. We should be okay for a night or two, but no longer.”

She nodded without surprise. Another reason that authorities stayed away from places like this was because it was so unhealthy. Most of those who did live here, and only because they had no other choice, were likely poisoned by the environment. She could only hope they were out of here before they caught anything serious.  

Especially since as exotic and enchanting as this part of the planet was, the fact remained they still needed somewhere to sleep. Of course, they would also have to keep watch, against both their new neighbours, and Scrapper 142. So she would pull sentry duty for eight hours, and then Bruce could do it afterwards for three, while she caught up on some of her rest.

Truthfully, the KGB had trained her to go at peak performance for a week straight without sleep. However, she had already gone a few days like that dealing with Ultron, and had taken her share of bumps, bruises, and scrapes along the way. More importantly, just because she could go without sleep did not mean she should, especially when she had no idea when her next chance might be.

If she went too long without sleep, she might be still able to handle whatever threat came after her and Bruce; but she also ran the risk of shooting someone for speaking too loudly. Or quietly.

Bruce on the other hand needed sleep more than she did. He did not have the same conditioning as her, and while he had settled down a bit, he was still too tense for her peace of mind.

They had been going nearly non-stop ever since the party where Ultron revealed himself, and whatever rest they had gotten at the Barton Farm had been fitful at best. Plus, they really had been surviving on adrenaline ever since arriving on Sakaar.

While she had not talked about this with Bruce, she was confident they could come to some sort of shift arrangement, where he got at least twice as much rest as her. As kind-hearted as he was, he would listen if she coached it in terms of keeping Hulk from coming out and doing anything they might all later regret.

They were going through another intersection before Scrapper 142 suddenly halted, head tilted back as her nostrils flared, with uncharacteristic concern on her expression.

She spat out a word Black Widow did not catch it, yet the background noise by all the residents hidden around them was completely silenced, and the tension in air thickened. Fear and the threat of violence permeated the air.

“This way,” growled Scrapper 142, stalking down one particular street, heedless of the Obedience Disk stuck to her throat. 
“Uhm, why?” called out Bruce, right behind her, while Natasha held the rear, eyes darting back and forth. From the way Bruce’s shoulders tightened, she knew he noticed how there did not seem to be anyone living down here, despite the increase in graffiti. Many of which seemed to depict some sort of beast dying.

“I’m not staying down here with something like that prowling around!” hissed Scrapper 142, just loud enough to be heard. “We can take its nest to stay in if you want. Bor! What were these idiots thinking not warning anybody!?”

The trio reached the end of the alleyway, with Scrapper 142 not even pausing as she wrenched the door off its hinges and barreled in—

—As the ground beneath her feet promptly collapsed underneath her. Lightning reflexes shot out her hands to grab the doorframe to keep herself from falling through, only for a flash of light to hit her square in the chest. Yelping in pain, Scrapper 142 threw herself back, trailing smoke from the shoulder.

From the corner of her eye, Black Widow noted what seemed like laser fire did not seem to have seriously injured her. Probably more surprise than actual pain. Still in motion, she threw herself to the side of the doorway out of the line of fire, with Bruce doing the same to her right.

“Hold!” she called out. “We’ll take our friend and go!” There was no need to fight with people armed with their own advanced weaponry. Even if it was not enough to properly burn Scrapper 142 —unlike what the Grandmaster’s weapons were implied to be capable of— she was willing to bet it could kill a Human and trigger a Code: Green.

Instinct made her leap away, just as something large and multi-limbed pounced down where she had been before. Like a nightmare it rose up on rear legs. Bright red eyes blazed over exposed, sharp fangs longer than her fingers. An insectoid body vaguely reminiscent of an oversized hornet wearing armour, with multiple sharp legs, except the forelimbs looked like some cross between an arm and a tentacle. Two massive stingers were on the back of the long, prehensile exoskeleton.

Sporting a bloodthirsty grin, Scrapper 142 bounced back up. “Brood! So one of you has been hiding down here the whole time, eh? Guess we’ve got a whole swarm to kill.”

“Not quite,” rasped the bug from between its massive fangs.

With incredible speed Scrapper 142 dashed forward with a fist drawn back, only to be tripped as a forelimb cracked like a whip to trip her. Its fangs flashed down, only for the woman to grab its jaws, keeping them from closing, and kick her foe back into the wall of a house. It scrambled to its feet, pausing for a moment as if winded.  

Dressed in rags, a humanoid figure leapt out from the shadows of the house, sporting a decrepit-looking rifle.

Having stayed motionless up to this point, Bruce sprang forward to wrench the gun away. Instead of fighting him over it, the person pushed him off balance and then pulled out something else that was clearly a weapon.

Blurring into action, Black Widow kicked out their legs from behind, knocking the weapon from their hand so that Bruce caught it with a deftness surprising for a ‘simple’ nerd. After checking the figure was disarmed, and that Bruce had their gun, she whirled and fired one laser shot at the ground beside insectoid alien to send up a cloud of dirt and smoke, flicked on her remote to make Scrapper 142 collapse to the ground convulsing in pain, and then trained her rifle on the frozen person now on their knees. With another brush of her thumb, she deactivated the Obedience Disk, letting their prisoner gasp for breath. Over that, eyes having never left the larger alien, Black Widow loudly yet calmly said, “Our companion shouldn’t have attacked you, so we’re in the wrong. Except if you want to keep fighting I will shoot your friend here. Truce?”

“. . . Truce,” agreed the larger alien, apparently a Brood. Its thick raspy voice from behind those massive fangs, was so utterly inhuman it made the hairs on the back of Black Widow’s head stick up. Nothing she had ever heard was remotely like that sound; nothing she could compare it to, to even try and describe. Nonetheless, it remained hunched down as if to pounce, even if it stayed where it was.

“You’re just going to leave, then?” scoffed the humanoid one that Black Widow was aiming at. She had a clearly feminine voice. “With her!?” She gestured toward their prisoner. “Don’t think I’m fooled by the face-paint! That’s the Grandmaster’s favourite pet!” Evidently, the make-up had failed to truly disguise her. Except it’s also dark. So how would she know? Heightened senses? Or maybe very familiar with Scrapper for some reason?

Groaning, the woman in question focused on the speaker, before sneering in recognition. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Princess Elloe Kaifi. Grandmaster’s been wanting to have you in the Contest for a while now. Oh, and how’s the family?”

“You—!” the other woman made an aborted lunge, before re-registering the gun pointed straight at her.

Clearing his throat, Bruce mildly said, “How about we all put down our weapons, and go inside and talk about this away from our audience? Like civilized beings?”

Ignoring the palpable air of incredulity that even Black Widow was flashing him, he gave a toothless smile. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that none of us want to be picked up by the authorities. Your neighbours might leave you alone, but you wouldn’t want to risk anybody else coming by. So we’ve got something in common right there.”

“Brood don’t talk or negotiate,” gritted out Scrapper 142.

The being in question hissed. It was quite unnerving, raising the hairs of Black Widow’s neck.

“This one’s different!” Elloe Kaifi sharply said. “She’s different!”

“Would you have expected a Brood to stop when its companion was threatened?” hazarded Bruce. Seeing Scrapper 142’s hesitation, he gave a decisive nod. “Well then, it seems like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Seeing as how the most dangerous Avenger was currently playing ‘Good Cop,’ Black Widow played along and slowly lowered the barrel of her gun. A beat, and the Brood relaxed its — her?— body.

“Good,” Bruce continued to smile, acting as if he were totally calm and in control.

-(Alien) Sun-

This was easily one of the most surreal moments ever for either hero. Which, given their mutual histories, was really saying something.

Even worse, they were dealing with a literally alien situation. Clearly whatever the insect-like alien was, it —she?— was something that got even the sullen and apathetic Scrapper 142 riled up with a combination of almost genuine concern, mixed with an excuse to unleash some bloodlust.

They were all sitting on the floor in the main room right inside the hovel, with Kaifi and No-Name on the other side, in front of another doorway leading further in, which was directly in front of the main entrance. Beside that first door, Natasha chose a spot for herself and Bruce, where they could rest their backs up against a wall to the side that let her keep a close eye on both their ‘hosts.’ Scrapper 142, who was hunched down on the ground in the corner on the opposite side of her captors and by the front, which allowed as much of a compromise as possible keeping her at a distance from everyone else. While his fellow Avenger seemed perfectly relaxed and calm, with no weapons in hand, Bruce knew that she was merely putting the aliens at ease—at the slightest sign of danger she would palm her taser discs and throw them. Moreover, the remote to Scrapper 142’s Obedience Disc, remained in her hand.

Now that things had calmed down, they were also able to safely observe their hosts in detail.

The first person, Elloe Kaifi, was surprisingly human. Indeed, she looked just like a normal young woman in her twenties, except for the dark pink skin, and little spikes (horns?) sticking out of her chin.

Her raven hair was filthy and ragged. Bruce recognized that it had been awkwardly cut to shoulder length with a knife or something similar; possibly the crude if functional sword that she was holding in her hand?

It was more of a sharp blade tied to a metal pole, both of which were about the length of her forearm. However, Bruce had enough experience with dangerous people to recognize when someone was clearly familiar with their weapon of choice.

Eyes lit by fury, and more than a shade of desperation, he knew that it remained very probable this would end badly. Fortunately —sort of— these negative emotions were mostly directed towards Scrapper 142. As much as he hated to admit it, the fact that Natasha was keeping the other alien woman on a short leash might earn them some brownie points.

As for the final member of this little group . . . He unfortunately had a pretty good idea why Scrapper 142 had reacted so strongly at sensing a Brood, as they did indeed look pretty monstrous. Indeed, this was honestly the most ‘alien’ looking extraterrestrial he had encountered so far. Everyone from Thor, Scrapper 142, to even the Chitauri, had all appeared remarkably Human.

There was nothing remotely Human about what was before them.

The Brood’s appearance was as if a mad scientist had enlarged a hornet, and then experimented to see how many deadly additions could be slapped on. Forearms like whips, long razor-sharp fangs that were always visible, tail stingers (which given the running theme here, he uncomfortably suspected were poisonous), wings, and the exoskeleton that definitely gave the impression of being more like armour.

Combined with how fast she had moved, he could tell how terrifying an entire swarm of them would be.

Especially given how badly the fight had seemed to be going for Scrapper 142. Notwithstanding how she had no weapons this time, and I’m sure she’s still got some injuries from before she’s hiding. At the top of her game, and head-on, I’m sure she’d have done better.  

Already he was hoping they could convince these people to let them stay for at least the night. While staying up later finding someplace to stay was an option, it was not one he was enthusiastic about. At least here, none of the group (barring Scrapper 142) wanted to go to the authorities, even if that that meant both parties had to trust each other enough not to murder anyone asleep.

I think we can convince them we won’t betray them later. I mean, mving elsewhere in the morning is simple enough, and it seems like stories of a Brood living peacefully won’t be believed anyways. Nonetheless, Scrapper 142 is a problem since they obviously have issues with her. How do we make them trust us?

Huh . . . Actually, since Nat and I know almost absolutely nothing about No-Name’s species, he worried, that includes how talented they are at picking up lies. For all we know, she’ll be able to realize when we’re telling lies, like sensing changes in our heartbeat. Or maybe our scents! Dogs supposedly can, right? Or who knows what?

For a moment he thought he had hidden his reaction, yet Natasha still glanced at him. Wincing slightly, he mouthed, “Andrea,” confident she would catch the reference to the female employee Tony relied upon to run truth and lie detector tests for new personnel like Maria Hill. JARVIS was not —had not— been quite as talented at detecting lies. Or rather, he could track Human reactions to tell if they were lying, but he lacked the artificial intuition to truly understand how to dig deeper into the motives of strangers, or always catch half-truths. Apparently, Andrea had been hired on after his best friend’s experience with one ‘Natalie Rushman.’ She seemed nice enough, and he knew Tony enjoyed making cracks about Andrea tying her current boyfriend up while promising some ‘fun times,’ then pulling out her detector to start questioning them. To her credit, Andrea gave as good as she got from her boss, and seemed to enjoy the banter.  

A twitch of her chin, and Natasha signaled she got the message. No outright lying here.

I wonder if the others can see it? he wondered, as his (new) girlfriend transformed before his eyes. The slight relaxing of her body, the lightest extra touch of warmth in her eyes. All signs of her putting the professional assassin aside to be the woman she was while not on duty.

He had worried if she would listen to him, as he knew how self-assured she was in her masks, especially after fooling a millennia-old alien like Loki, yet it appeared she agreed with him.

Had faith in him.

Or at least decided open honesty —as much as she ever showed strangers— was worth the risk.

Of course, it seemed that their new ‘acquaintances’ were pretty capable in their own right. By the way Kaifi’s eyes narrowed further as if she understood what Bruce had signaled. “Before anything else,” she snarled, “why do you have the Grandmaster’s,” she spat out a word the translator refused to recognize, yet Bruce still got the gist, “following you around!?”

“Scrapper,” invited Natasha, holding up the remote clear for all to see. Scowling, the woman pushed aside her collar, and tilted her neck to show the Obedience Disc.

“Hah!” crowed Kaifi as she got it, and fully processed finally what had happened outside. Bursting out laughing, she finally putting her weapon down beside her.

Capitalizing on the good mood, he said, “I’m Bruce Banner, by the way. Call me Bruce.”

“Natasha Romanoff, although I’m also called Black Widow.” Interesting, so she was using her full title now. Guess this was a compromise of hers as part of being more open after all. “Natasha’s good.”

“Well, you already know my name’s Elloe Kaifi, and you may call me Elloe if you wish. This is No-Name. She calls herself that since Brood don’t use names to distinguish themselves.”

“Oh, well,” he said, “we’ve never heard of a Brood before though.” He glanced at Scrapper 142, “So I’m guessing that you somehow smelled her,” he gestured at the insectoid alien, “through all the garbage?”

“‘Her’!?” scoffed Scrapper 142.

“Yes, her,” Elloe sharply said. Taking a breath, she turned to Bruce. “Soldier-class Brood like her don’t technically have genders, but that’s how she prefers to be referred to.”

Smirking patronizingly, Scrapper 142 shook her head. “Really? I admit I’ve never seen one this cunning before, but it doesn’t change their nature. Enough of them’ve come to Sakaar over the years for me to recognize the scent, and every time we’ve got to put ‘em down before too many people die.”

Never taking her eyes off her target, she lectured the Avengers, “Brood are one of the deadliest beings in the universe, from a galaxy far away from here. They’re fast and strong even by my standards, with an exoskeleton like armour plate, razor-sharp teeth, and tail stingers loaded with venom. Their only response to other species is to kill them, eat them, or worse, implant their eggs in people while they’re still alive. Only the eggs don’t just hatch in their hosts, oh no, that’s too nice. They take over the whole body, rewriting the DNA so the person becomes a whole new Brood. Even keeps the genetic material deemed most valuable. Even worse, they’re spacefaring, letting them travel around for new places to infest and conquer.”

“So they’re like xenomorphs,” quipped Natasha.

Scrapper 142 glanced in surprise at her captors at that. Perhaps she wondered if Earth had similar creatures.

Face becoming increasingly cold and harsh, Elloe snapped, “And if that were true, I’d already be dead! No-Name’s not like the rest of them!”

“Nice try,” sneered Scrapper 142, ignoring this evidence. “But all Brood have a—”

“Psychic link?” interrupted the alien insect, cocking its head to show the livid scar on the side. “Even if the great Empress’ mind could reach me here, I can never again be a part of the Whole.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m no longer like the others. Because to survive I had to . . . change.”

While the Grandmaster’s enforcer was clearly confused, Natasha started to find herself understanding. “You had to learn how to co-exist and cooperate with others down here in the slums, particularly your friend Elloe.”

“Yes,” No-Name acknowledged. Eyes squinting slightly in what seemed to be curiosity and maybe a touch of suspicion. “You caught on remarkably quickly.”

“In our society we have a condition called sociopathy. When someone has a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience. That’s pretty much the dictionary definition of it.” Shrugging, “The reason I understood, is that I’ve often been mistaken for a high-functioning one, who relies on others to survive. Letting them tell me what’s right and wrong, and doing whatever I’m told to do, because otherwise society would try and dispose of me. So I can appreciate when I see others bucking similar stereotypes.”

Unconsciously Bruce placed a hand on her shoulder. He was sad to admit at one point he had also held such suspicions about her. However she did not really care about that, aside from that display of ‘trust,’ might make the others friendlier.

A rattling sound came from No-Name’s throat, before she relaxed and nodded her head. “I see. You have tales of your own then. Regardless, you are right. I learnt to overcome my species’ engrained beliefs, and come to value . . . others. Including resisting the urge to kill all who are not Brood.”

“Because if little Brood started scurrying around, the Grandmaster would’ve sent in the troops to burn you out,” sneered Scrapper 142. “Sending what was left of you to die in the Contest.”

“As well as killing off everyone else who lives here!” shot back Elloe. Reigning in her anger, she gave No-Name’s back a gentle stroke. “She’s learnt to care about others. Besides, it’s queens who implant eggs, you fool! Not soldiers! And since she’s arrived she’s mostly only killed in self-defense.”

Key word: ‘mostly.’

Sniffing, Scrapper 142 said nothing else.

Aiming to break off another fight before it began, Bruce decided to change the subject. “You two probably’ve already figured this out, but we’re new here. Just arrived.”

“Stumbling down here was either very smart, or very dumb then,” Elloe dryly noted, before her eyes narrowed in thought. “But yeah, no surprise, since it explains a thing or two. Like how you got a leash on the Grandmaster’s pet dog without news of that getting out. She came to enslave you, and you got her first.”

Bruce winced at the notion they had enslaved Scrapper 142; preferring to view it as just taking her prisoner. Natasha of course had her face blank, with a touch of studied interest, which was probably genuine. She was more . . . practical that way.

“Also explains how you failed to recognize little miss celebrity over here,” snidely taunted the prisoner/slave in question.

“Must you keep goading for a reaction?” drawled back Natasha. Obviously, she was getting a little tired of it, especially given how she knew the alien woman wanted to provoke the other alien woman. “Let me guess,” the Human continued, “the Kaifi family, you use your second name for family names, right? Good. The Kaifi family was a prominent family, which is how you two first met, probably at one of the Grandmaster’s celebrations—that’s how she recognized you despite your disguise in near pitch-dark. Then one day the Grandmaster decided to kill her family. Maybe on a whim, maybe because they were too popular for his liking.” Bruce caught the glimmer of vindication in the pink-skinned woman’s eyes at the compliment. “Except Elloe, guessing the daughter of the family, somehow escaped, and evaded all attempts at capture. Scrapper knew about this of course, except you decided against going after her, if only because you prefer the thrill of nabbing people coming out of wormholes over hunting through the streets. Plus, the bounty wasn’t large enough to pay for all the drinks you’d have to buy while searching everywhere. That about sums it up for everybody?”

No-Name made a noise which made Bruce think she was amused. “Pretty much.” In contrast, Scrapper 142’s scowl deepened at the verbal slap, yet fell blissfully silent.

“We’re trying to get home,” Bruce went on. “Right now, though, we’re just looking for somewhere to rest for the night. Is it alright if we stay here, or is there someplace nearby?” It was a gamble of course, as these were not the first fugitives he had come across while on the run; too many people trying to hide in the same place. Fortunately, he had dealt with similar scenarios in the past while on the run, and felt he had a good sense for this sort of thing now. Plus he still stood by the idea Elloe and No-Name did not have enough reason to distrust them to start another fight. Not like he or Natasha could risk making a deal with the Grandmaster’s forces after taking out a key enforcer of his.

Moreover, given how these two aliens had some sort of co-existence with others in the neighbouring streets —threatening graffiti aside— it implied they were able and willing to make deals with others.

So yes, he had a good feeling Elloe and No-Name would not try and kill him and Nat in their sleep.

Besides, he really wanted to get some shut-eye, and figured none of the other locals here would cause trouble for anyone living with the implicit protection of someone as fierce as No-Name.

“I’m sure we can work out some sort of bargain,” he added on. “Like getting you stuff from the markets above since we’re not wanted criminals.”

“Yet,” snarked Elloe, even if she were clearly considering the offer. Moreover, as a man who had been far too lonely on the run himself, he knew fellow unwilling hermits when he saw them. Her friendship with No-Name, which must be a story in itself, probably meant that the others living here in the slums, the other unwanted people on a literal world of trash, avoided the two of them. When was the last time they had a genuine conversation with anyone else?

They might have someplace to stay after all.

-(Alien) Sun-

It was times like this Natasha reminded how a little empathy and kindness can go a long way.

Her own childhood, followed by years of being a spy and assassin, worming her way into people’s good graces so she could betray them, had left her rather cynical about people being friendly to her in turn. Fortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. and then the Avengers had shown her there genuinely were those who would help others, without feeling some sort of entitlement and expecting something in return. People she wanted to resemble more herself.

Right now though, No-Name and Elloe appeared sadly grateful for some sort of new and accepting companionship. Not to the point they would endanger themselves for those who are strangers, of course. Not that Natasha felt like risking their lives in the first place. These two had enough on their plate.

Still, she found herself actually relaxing a bit with these two aliens. Which was a nice surprise, as she really did not want to find herself stuck in assassin mode. Or Black Widow mode, as it seemed to be when she was around Bruce.

 (She still kept her thumb on the trigger for Scrapper 142. She was not stupid.)

(For the same reason, nor was she going to risk an outright lie in case she got caught on it.)

Although, we could offer them a better life back home on Earth. Even if Hulk, and thus Bruce, may be a wanted fugitive after Johannesburg, we can work something out with Steve, Stark, and the others. Well . . . mostly Stark, since we’d need his money and such to hide what is essentially a giant beetle-Xenomorph from the public. Like at that new compound he’s been building for us? Oh, and either a big plane, or a comfortable truck to get her there.

“It’s not going to work, y’know.”

Everyone glanced at Scrapper 142 who was knowingly eying Natasha. “I beg your pardon?”

“Whatever you’re planning. I’ve seen people like you come here before. Maybe you really do care about the freak and the outcast instead of wanting to use them as patsies, except it’ll not make a difference. Time and time again bright-eyed idealists come to Sakaar and think they can change things, only to be broken.”

Glancing at Elloe, she cheerily continued, “Remember that Nova Corps captain from a few years ago? When I nabbed him, he went on about how he would never live as a slave and how he would overthrow the system. That he would never kill someone for sport in the arena. Care to guess how long that lasted in the Contest of Champions? Remember how he was in the end? I think he was crying when he saw all that blood on his hands. And—what?”

Seeing the irritation on her prisoner’s face, Natasha widened her smile even farther, showing off all her pearly whites.

(All her original teeth even, despite how many fights and torture sessions she had endured. That was how good she was.)

(Unfortunately, she had needed some dental work given her less than stellar living conditions growing up in the Soviet Union.)

“Whatever innocence I’ve had died long ago. I’ve got red gushing out of my ledger, and I’ve been broken before, and I’ve broken others as well. Trust me, I’m not some starry-eyed idealist.”

Before she could damage what progress they had made with Elloe and No-Name, she continued with, “I’m doing much better now though, and want to protect genuine idealists like Bruce. Besides,” she cooed icily, “you know what happens to people who get past me.”

“Yeah, your boy toy’s got a real monster inside of him,” allowed the other woman, with a touch of appreciation and a flicker of remembered pain.

“What?” hissed No-Name in surprise.

“Oh yeah. Turns into a bigger, greener, version of himself.”

Seeing the confusion, Bruce sighed and briefly elaborated. “A failed experiment, which was all my fault, left me with a dual personality. Direct threats to me bring him out, and he’s . . . strong. Worse, he’s got a temper. I thought we had an understanding and could make it work . . . and then it didn’t. It’s one of the reasons we’ve got to get off this planet so he doesn’t hurt anybody else.”

“As in someone like Scrapper 142,” realized Elloe as she finally understood the bruises on the woman’s face. “I thought she’d just gotten so wasted you got the drop on her!”

Irritated, the slaver tried another tact. “If you’re so tough, why bother trying to leave? The strong live it up pretty slick here. You can make a new life for yourselves on Sakaar. Yeah, it can suck at times, but it’s got it’s good stuff too.” Alcohol went unsaid. “I mean really, what’s back home there that’s worth risking your lives over?”

Natasha nearly hesitated at this before mastering herself. Honestly, neither she nor Bruce had even stopped to think about staying here. The Barton family was back on Earth waiting for her, and as broken as dysfunctional as they were, so were the Avengers. Clint’s wife and kids may not mean as much to Bruce, yet she knew that the rest of them, particularly Tony, did, despite how much he had wanted to run away earlier today. Because as much as they still resembled a time bomb, the Avengers were still also for him the closest thing he had to a family. Or at the very least, even though he was planning to run away and disappear again —on Earth— he would know he had close friends he could stop by to visit whenever he got too lonely. Besides, this current planet they were on brought Hulk too close to the surface for anyone’s comfort.

While she may appreciate the Hulk more than most, Natasha was not blind to the fact he was a raging berserker at times, and one who had killed in the past. Worst of all, she had not missed his reluctance to let Bruce regain control of the ‘steering wheel.’ If they remained on this alien world that left her boyfriend so on edge, there was no guarantee the Lullaby would work next time to bring him back.

Furthermore, while they were hardly, pampered, American snobs, living in a world of trash remained decidedly unappealing to them.

They had standards.

(Standards which had been further raised by living with a billionaire who insisted on buying expensive things to prove he cared.)

So she turned it around. “Who’re you trying to convince here?” she silkily asked, noting the confusion followed by defensive anger in the other woman as she figured it out. “Honestly, why would we want to live here when the most we have to offer in currency is pretty much violence and our own bodies? Hard pass. Sorry, we’ve got people back home who care about us.”

Now that got a reaction, and Natasha knew to drop the subject as Scrapper 142 flinched and her fingers fisted. Obviously, she was digging at a gaping emotional wound that was being ignored as much as possible. Being sober was likely not helping.

“So, let me guess,” Elloe said, her face a blank mask now too, clearly trying to hide how she felt. “You’re gonna offer us a trip back to your world, and asylum, if we help you? What level of spacefaring are you at anyways?”

“Uhm, hardly at all honestly.”

“Then it won’t work out,” No-Name rasped, sounding genuinely regretful. “No offense, but from how you’re dressed, and what you’re carrying as new arrivals, your world looks too primitive for us, especially since that makes it unlikely you’ve got many members of other species back home anyways. How used are your people to aliens? Could you even truly guarantee we’d be protected there?”

Wincing, Bruce sighed and shook his head, and she silently had to agree. Never mind the lack of official authority for the Avengers, or even official recognition, after how the Hulk tore up Johannesburg, he would be lucky if every international peacekeeping organization was not actively hunting him. Granted, both of them would still prefer that over being stuck here. “No, we can’t,” he sadly confirmed.

“You also don’t really have a plan to pull it off anyways,” Elloe shrewdly said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be down here trying to trade for asylum. Sorry, you don’t have nothing to offer for us to risk it for something that big.”

“Can we at least stay here for a while then?” asked Natasha. That, at least, she was sure they could manage.

Sure enough, No-Name and Elloe glanced at each other in unspoken communication, before turning and nodding together. “We can work something out,” agreed Elloe. “So long as you earn your keep, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“Thank you!” Bruce sincerely said. “Got to tell you, that’s a big weight off my mind. It’ll be nice to take a moment to relax.”

Unfortunately, he had overlooked one little detail.

 “What’re you so chipper for?” sneered Scrapper 142. “All of this talk, talk, talk just makes me want to get plastered all the more. You’re not any better off than you were before.” Offering a smile laced with sweet venom, she continued, “The Grandmaster’s been making Sakaar dance to his tune for millions of years. What makes you so sure you’ll succeed where everyone else has failed?”

Of course, neither Avenger had any answer for that.

-(Alien) Sun-

The silence was broken by a frantic hammering at the door. “It’s me,” trilled a new voice. “It’s me! Let me in!”

Elloe seemed to snort at a hidden joke, before calling out, “Remember to watch the first step!”

A cloaked figure carefully opened the door and hopped over the pitfall trap, before turning to Bruce and Natasha. “Excuse me, can I touch you?”

“No,” Natasha automatically said.

“Alright then, uhm, who is Darth Vader the father of?”

“Luke and Leia,” a stunned Natasha managed automatically.

“You’re from Earth!” breathed out Bruce.

“Wait!” snapped Natasha. “How’d you find us?”

“Oh, I’ve been scanning for Earth tech and transmissions for years. I picked up the signals from your gear, and surprise, surprise, after following you all around the capital I end up back here with my neighbours!” The hood hiding their face shifted, “Huh, I don’t know about you,” she gestured up and down at Natasha, and then Bruce, “but you mister are dressed like an Earthling. Awesome!”

“Wait, they’re from that planet!?” gasped Elloe, standing up suddenly. Whirling to No-Name, her face broke out into a grin. “Maybe this can work out after all!”

“Yes,” nodded No-Name. “Getting there may still be impossible, but upon arrival, we may indeed have favourable options. Although . . .” She craned her head to look at the new arrival. “We have to be sure it’ll be safe.”

“Oh, right. Do either of you know a group called S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I’m a former member,” Natasha cautiously allowed. “I’m working with another group now though.”

There was hesitation on the newcomer’s part. “Did you leave on good terms?”

“It was complicated. Although the Director at the time approved of it.”

“I see.” Seeming to steel themselves, they threw back the hood to show their face.

It was Nick Fury.

Some twenty to thirty years younger.

Black Widow’s handgun shot up to point at the impossible face, even as she tried to keep her awareness on Scrapper 142 so the super-alien wouldn’t jump them. Despite herself, she felt a frown on her face that for anyone else would be a full-faced snarl at the—what did she feel? Insulted? Betrayed? Definitely threatened.

“How, how do you have Nick Fury’s face?” managed Bruce, equally stunned.

“You recognize him, good, good,” smiled ‘Fury.’ “But first, friend or foe?”

“Uhm, mentor and friend for Nat, and, I guess, acquaintance for me. Sorta. Kinda of a boss at times too. Our relationship was complicated. Tried to be friends at least.”

The man who approved Clint’s decision not to kill me. Risked taking me in. Who stood up for me by authorizing me to be a member of S.H.I.E.L.D., and gave me a second chance. Trusting me with his most important missions. Sponsoring me to be an Avenger, as well having faith in me to help vet Stark and the rest. All that and more.

Holding up his hands in placation, ‘Fury’ continued to smile, both eyes beaming. “This may get a bit freaky, so sit tight.” His face impossibly shifted, like it was being torn apart and put together again differently, showing the skin and bone underneath, before settling into a bald, pointy-eared, green woman’s face. “Fury’s a friend of me and my family.”

Seeing their confusion, she became hesitant. “He never told you about the Skrulls?” she asked nervously. “Alien shapeshifters? Kree invasion in the 1990s?”

“What,” was Black Widow’s cold, iron reply.

-(Alien) Sun-

Back on Earth, Nicholas J. Fury felt an inexplicable shiver go up his spine, and resisted the unusual urge to rub his eyepatch.

-(Alien) Sun-

After a long moment, Natasha holstered her gun, and sat back, still keeping a half eye on Scrapper 142, who now seemed distracted enough from her addiction. “No, no he did not tell us. Which is a shame since I would’ve expected, given how I thought I was one of the people he trusted most, that he would have told us about something like that.”

She had her emotions back under control now, even though she projected clear skepticism. She suspected it was a forlorn hope though, as experience had also made her resigned to the fact the man would always hoard secrets to his dying breath.

“I’m Bruce Banner, and this is Natasha Romanoff,” offered Bruce. “So you’re able to shapeshift?”

“All Skrulls can, idiot,” groused Scrapper 142, her curiosity at this newest twist still occupying her attention. “The Grandmaster’s got a special bounty for them.”

“And I have no interest in sating his perverted tastes,” hissed the reptilian alien upon recognition. She threw Elloe and No-Name a concerned look, yet the pink-skinned woman made a gesture which reassured her. “Anyways, yes, all Skrulls can. To varying degrees. Most civilizations can’t detect us, including the Kree, except the Grandmaster’s somehow got the tech. I had to come down here to hide after my ship and I got sucked up by one of his roaming wormholes, and I met these two. My powers helped me learn that No-Name was actually different, so we ended up befriending each other. I live only a single house down from here. Well, if you can call that hole a house.”

Her explanation was met with several blank stares, as even her neighbours were confused as to where she was going with all this.

 “Oh, sorry, my name is Lyja. We don’t have surnames like you do on Earth, since historically we’ve always shown family status by scent. Although, I guess you could call me Lyja Talosdaughter?”

“You were saying something about an alien invasion,” prompted Natasha. “One we’d never heard of before.”

“Ah, yes. Well, my people, the Skrulls, had been fighting a losing war against the Kree ever since they destroyed our homeworld for not submitting to them. A defector of theirs made contact with us, named Mar-Vell. Although, she tended to prefer Dr. Lawson, which was her cover as an Earth scientist. Her superiors thought she was using Earthling infrastructure and resources to develop some secret and dangerous projects. In reality, she was helping me and other refugees find a new home away from the war. Including hiding us on her cloaked cruiser. I don’t really remember her, because I was a baby when the Kree found and murdered her, except she left behind a lot of Earth toys, books, movies, and other tech behind, and the adults loved her.

“Anyways, my father, Talos, finally found us, along with the help of Agent Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D., Maria Rambeau, her daughter Monica, and Carol Danvers. Carol was a Human that—” she hesitated before continuing, “—that the Kree had abducted, and gave super-powers to. When she got her memories back, she turned on them, and helped blow up their ships. She gave Fury a communicator before leaving with us to find a new world to call home. Oh, and there was a Flerken named Goose who helped a bunch too.”

While Bruce blinked, Black Widow remained impassive as they absorbed all of this history. Neither of them had any knowledge of these events, which both considered deeply concerning. Bruce quickly realized that since none of this had been in the S.H.I.E.L.D. data dump Natasha and Steve Rogers had done, it meant that there could be many more secrets left to be uncovered. He was feeling increasingly sympathetic for Steve’s anger towards the reveal of how Tony and himself had been keeping the others in the dark about experimenting on Loki’s Scepter.

This new information also begged the question: why had Fury never contacted the Skrulls for help if he supposedly trusted them so much?

Although if they were refugees, there might not’ve been much they could’ve done. That may even also explain the lack of records; Fury didn’t want to leave any hints lying around that the Kree, apparently an advanced, spacefaring race, could hack out of our computer systems.

His partner, however, was fixated on the fact that aliens had been infiltrating Earth to run experiments. How many more like that are there? How much does Fury know about that?

Nevertheless, she instantly understood that whatever secrets Fury was holding onto, they were ones he believed too dangerous to trust anyone else with. She had not missed how Lyja had been about to say something important about this Carol Danvers before remembering to skip over it. There was also a growing bitterness as she wondered why Fury had never seen reason to trust the Avengers with this. With her. After everything they had done to prove themselves! Especially given how close some of their ‘victories’ had been, when every little edge, even an alien ray gun or two, would have made the difference. What kind of games was he playing—she ruthlessly suppressed those lines of thought. She needed to be strong. Bruce needed her to be strong. Especially since she had just registered something.

“You said Fury would have a way to contact your people?” repeated Black Widow.

There was a definite flicker of mirth mixed with disappointment in Lyja’s eyes, presumably at how Natasha had not taken the bait to ask about ‘Flerkens.’ It was best to remain in control as much as possible for this conversation; and really, what more did she need to know than that there had been three alien species involved?

“Yes,” she still answered. “Carol left Fury with a communicator that would reach her in emergencies, even when several galaxies away.”

What.

Just. What?

“That’s why No-Name and I are more interested now,” admitted Elloe. “Going through any old portal’s not worth the risk, because even if we end up someplace safe, it could be anywhere in the universe and no better off, since Skrulls and Brood aren’t really liked by other spacefaring races. Getting to Earth is the best plan we’ve come up with, since if her family friends are still alive and trustworthy, they can protect us while calling for Captain Marvel and Skrulls to get a ride someplace safe. Only thing is, Lyja never learnt enough to find it on a nav computer. Do you think you know enough to help narrow down what galaxy you’re from?”

Smiling, Bruce gave a nod as he started to catch on. Natasha was wondering if there was any significance to Danvers being mentioned before the Skrulls. She was also happy to see the start to a more feasible plan to get home than Scrapper 142’s ‘go through a random wormhole and hope for the best.’

“Perfect,” Elloe brightened. “So if we can get to Earth, No-Name, Lyja and I can stay with Fury. Or you guys. Since he’s your friend, he can take care of the rest. Now, as for actually getting off-planet, unlike every other attempt, this should be feasible because you’ve got Scrapper 142! Who better to know about all the security and layout to the palace, including the spaceport?”

The woman in question was rather sullen looking at that. Unfortunately, with the Obedience Disc on, and people’s general attitude towards her, she considered it better to remain meek and quiet. For now.

“We just need proof first,” rasped No-Name.

“Proof?”

Wincing, Lyja held out her hand. “One of the reasons my people make such good infiltrators is that we can copy not only appearances, but only short-term memories. Only if we’ve touched them, though.”

“Really!?” gasped Bruce. “That’s, how d’you, what, really!?”

“Yes.”

“Are there any side effect?” bit out Natasha. “And how much do you learn?”

“When was the last time you saw him?” hedged Lyja.

“Less than a day.”

“Then that’s all I’ll look for.”

Softly, yet letting the hint of cold steel be heard, Natasha said, “If I ever find out you’ve gone further, we’ll both regret me showing you this trust.”

Seeing something in her eyes, Lyja gulped and nodded. Cautiously, she extended her fingers to brush against Natasha’s own, and darted back a second later, jumping up and down with glee. “It’s true! It’s true! I saw Fury! Oh wow, and he’s bald now too! Still looks as awesome as I remember though!”

A crackling noise erupted from No-Name’s throat, while Elloe pumped her fist. “Sweet! I can’t wait to meet them all after all the stories you’ve told!”

All these oblique references made a very strong part of Black Widow want to find out a way to reach the Skrulls and Danvers before going back to Earth, if only to get the full picture to help her in her subsequent grilling of her ex-boss and friend. Who knows what else he was—

She stopped to follow her next leap of logic, and put on a consoling face. “That’s when he lost his eye, isn’t it?”

Lyja nodded sadly. “Yeah. Goose clawed it out of him. Fury forgave him though.”

Bruce’s jaw dropped, and he was visibly fighting the urge to start pressing for details himself.

For herself, Natasha decided that it was best to put this on hold and come back to this later. It was probably best not to pressure Lyja too much . . . especially since she might disgracefully succumb to her growing urge to shake the alien woman until she coughed up every drop of information.

Like, what kind of name for a person is Goose!?

Although . . . Fury had always been explicit that he had lost his eye to someone he trusted . . .

Hmm, I wonder if the betting pool on how he lost his eye is still open? Bruce and I could probably retire off the winnings from that alone.

Still, now that we’ve got a shapeshifter seemingly eager to work with us, now things are starting to look up in our favour.

Chapter Text

Sakaar

The Underground

With a tentative truce established, it was now possible for the rag-tag group to begin planning their next move. Nevertheless, they were well aware that despite how they were currently living in the darkness and grime deep beneath the junk-capital city of Sakaar, if they made a mistake, things could indeed get much worse.  

The two Avengers, their prisoner, and their new allies relocated deeper into Elloe and No-Name’s abode. While it was as dirty as to be expected within the middle of a slum (Bruce had been in some pretty clean places, in similar settings back on Earth), it was also surprisingly homey. The main living area was roomy enough to accommodate No-Name’s large, insectoid form of course, with places to sit on the ground for others, and a small fire going to provide warmth and light.

All in all, the Humans almost felt like relaxing now.

“So, any suggestions for what we to do first?” asked Natasha, refusing to fall into the trap of complacency. She would rest once she was confident they had a game plan, and their hosts were not going to betray them. Moreover, after letting Lyja ‘sample’ her memories to confirm Natasha knew Nick Fury, she worried the Skrull had not delved deeper than promised.

Natasha was also very curious about this ‘Carol Danvers,’ not only given Lyja’s hesitancy to give details about her, but also how Elloe had referred to her as ‘Captain Marvel.’ It implied that a Human had become a Name in outer-space, raising further questions and concerns.

She and Fury would be having words when this was all over.

No-Name, the massive and scary-looking bug-alien, said nothing, while Elloe, the pink-skinned former aristocrat, shrugged. The latter, though, was probably waiting to see what the newcomers suggested, to get a better idea of who they were working with. Alliance or not, she remained wary. Fair enough.

(Or they just genuinely had no idea of what to do.)

“Sorry,” winced Lyja. “My dad would have all this figured out already, but I’m more of a pilot and ship’s mechanic. I’m pretty good at that though!”

“Alright,” beamed Bruce, “that’s a start. So when we get a ship, you’ll fly it.”

“Not like that’s hard,” scoffed Elloe. “Just fly it through whatever wormhole’s got the least debris. It’s getting a ship that’ll be the most dangerous.”

“True,” he amiably agreed. “First though, do you guys have any skills that might help us there?”

Scowling a little, she shook her head.

“We will help with the muscle,” rasped out No-Name. “Lyja obviously can help us sneak in with her shapeshifting. What talents do you have?”

Bruce rattled them off with his regular humility. “I’m a scientist in multiple fields, including biochemistry, bio-organics, nuclear and atomic physics and radioactive, good with regular chemistry, and, uh, dabble in a dozen others. I’ve even got PHD’s. Uhm, if you know what those are. Oh, and some fighting experience, and sneaking around.”

“While your other personality you mentioned, he’s a straight up fighter, and pretty good at it,” Lyja shrewdly said, making no reaction to the PHD’s. Catching his look, she shrugged with embarrassment. “Sorry. He was in those brief memories I got from Natasha. Or what the older people said. Unfortunately, yeah, he doesn’t seem like the type for anything sneaky. As for her,” gesturing at Natasha, “she can also definitely fight. Although she’s only about as strong as Elloe.”

“I’m also a spy and infiltrator,” the woman in question warmly added on to her resume. “Although I’m not so sure how well it will work on an alien world like this. From what we’ve heard, there’ll be heavy security, right?”

“You could use my ship~!” sang out Scrapper 142, sitting down in corner like a good prisoner. A prisoner who would rip apart most of her captors with her bare hands, if not for the presence of Bruce and No-Name. Oh, and the Obedience Disc in her neck, threatening paralyzing pain.

“WHAT!?” cried Elloe. “It wasn’t destroyed fighting her!? Why’re you even still here!? What happened to it!?”  

“In order,” Natasha calmly said, “no it wasn’t destroyed. Because of how there’s no way to know where we’ll appear on the other end of any random wormhole, which is the second major concern. And finally, it was damaged a bit, and now circling the globe on autopilot until we get back to it. Even if it was guaranteed to be space-worthy though, there’s not enough room for all of us to survive aboard for a long period of time. Even for just Bruce and I, it would be pretty cramped once it was full of supplies.”

“We need a bigger ship,” confirmed Bruce. “Although, the way you’re talking about needing that communicator Fury’s got, I’m guessing the reason you don’t build your own to call for help is because of interference from the Einstein-Rosen bridges? I mean, wormholes?”

“Huh,” blinked Lyja before she got it. “Oh. Yes! That’s right! Unfortunately,” she looked crestfallen, “that’s not all of it. Sure, I could probably eventually work up a long-range communicator, except we can’t call anybody. From what Carol’s said, Earth’s not yet advanced enough to properly receive a message, and I can’t call home. If the Kree intercepted it, and tracked the location of our new homeworld, they’d try and wipe us out again. I’m even afraid to travel there, in case we get tracked somehow. What Carol gave Fury was a device connected directly to her own communicator, even from galaxies away, making it safe.”

“You could make a communicator that can cross galaxies!?” gushed Bruce.

Proudly she jutted out her chin. “I was born and grew up on a spaceship. Everyone has to contribute, and I’m an ace and building and running ‘em!”

Knowing she had to get them back on track, Natasha cut off the brewing geek and dork fest. “So we have to steal a bigger ship,” she echoed.

“And again, they’re under heavy security,” groused Elloe. “Trust me, I’d know.”

“That’s right,” Natasha said encouragingly. “Before the Grandmaster turned on your family, you were fairly close to him.”

Uncomfortable now, the pink woman nodded.

“Is that where you learnt to fight?” It was obvious she’d had training, from even what little Natasha had seen in their brief scuffle, not to mention the fact that she’d lasted long enough to reach all the way down here, and whatever had happened to her before befriending No-Name.

“Fight, party, and whore themselves out to the Grandmaster until either they betrayed him, or stopped entertaining him. Same difference, really,” called out Scrapper 142 in a bored tone.

One of No-Name’s whip-like limbs flew up to stop Elloe from leaping snarling at the woman, who only sneered back. Natasha’s attention snapped to Lyja to evaluate her reaction, and saw calm, composure while she evaluated the provocative slaver with sharpened eyes. There was no sign of the Earth fangirl, only someone to take deadly seriously. Makes sense if she’s lived here and survived. Not to mention the hints she’s given about the adults in her life.

“Do you wish to get zapped?” is all she calmly asked aloud, holding up the Obedience Disc remote.

Sullenly, Scrapper 142 looked away, grudgingly amending, “It’s not going to work. Even if you don’t turn on each other, the Grandmaster’s been at this far too long.” Glancing back, “Trusting people won’t get you anywhere.”

Ignoring this, Natasha once again chose to re-focus the others. “Elloe, later I’d like to ask you more about Sakaar. There’s a few things I need to clear up, and I think you three have all the perspectives I need to piece it together.”

A little confused, the woman nodded, and relaxed against No-Names frame. Lyja kept an eye on Scrapper 142 though.

-(Alien) Sun-

Despite what Tony seemed to think, Bruce was no therapist. A genius in multiple scientific fields, and, in all humility, one of the two or three brightest minds on Earth? Yes. A genius in mental health? Hah!

No, it was not even funny. Despite some progress, his own psychological issues remained a literal disaster.

On the other hand, you did not survive as long as he had after being kicked out of his ivory towers of academia, without attaining some insight into Human nature. Plus he had lived with the Avengers and knows all their own emotional troubles and coping methods. So, yes, he had picked up a thing or two. Although he suspected it did not take a genius, or Natasha’s own brilliance in psychoanalysis and manipulation, to note that Scrapper 142 was either an excellent actor, or seriously self-projecting there.

It’s happening more and more too. Plus, it’s subtle still, yet Scrapper 142’s hands are trembling more than I bet she can fake, alien physiology or no. Is she that dependent upon alcohol to function?

Having an Obedience Disc attached to her is probably making her feel even more vulnerable. The only reason she hasn’t lashed out already is because Natasha’s dangling the chance of being let go in front of her, and the threat of the Other Guy.

At that moment, and it may have been just his imagination —goodness knows stuff like that had happened far more than he cared to remember in the early years on the run— he thought he felt something shifting at the back of his mind. Something angry, and wanting to be in control.

. . . I, we, need to get out of here.

Even if he was probably a wanted criminal back home. Even if there was a chance there was no Earth left.  

In which case, he thought, he definitely needed to know more if he was going to pull this off. “Is there any place that we could find out more information about the wormholes? Because, like Nat said, that’s another issue. We can’t just pop through a wormhole with no idea where we’ll end up. We could appear someplace dangerous, or across the universe! Or right on the Kree homeworld.” That got a wince from Lyja. “Maybe people only think they’ll take you to random places, and the Grandmaster encourages that line of thinking? I know there won’t be any public or readily available records, but maybe someplace for us to start looking? Like a university, or science lab we could break into?”

“No,” sighed Lyja.

Groaning, he shook his head. “Let me guess, the only real infrastructure the Grandmaster supplies is for that Contest thing of his, his own security forces, whatever he needs to keep the Obedience Discs in play, and a few basic pieces of infrastructure like sewage, to help prevent everybody just dying off? Only the basic necessities for society to function?”

“Pretty much.”

“Funny that,” Natasha silkily reminded. “Since Scrapper 142 here implied there were people we could ask.”

“Nope!” shrugged Scrapper 142, aiming for nonchalance, while slight tension in her frame showed she expected punishment via Obedience Disc. “I just didn’t correct you when you mentioned that idea. Honestly, I did think there might be one or two, except after hearing all that, it don’t seem like it now. Besides, odds don’t really favour the wormholes scooping up someone with that sort of scientific expertise, and there’s no actual schooling to help people growing up here to learn that sort of stuff.”

“Because learning how to learn and ask questions, only encourages people to ask other, more inconvenient questions,” Bruce sadly knew, from experience in some of the more unsavoury nations he had passed through. “So there’s no one we can conveniently go ask about the wormholes.”

“Which brings us back to the Grandmaster,” noted Natasha, eyeing Lyja a little, even while keeping the bulk of her attention on Scrapper 142. “How good is your shapeshifting?”

“Down to the DNA, even if we just get close enough to get eyes on them. Just appearances if it is from an image or something,” said Lyja. Once more, her form seemed to come apart and reform, until for the first time Bruce and Natasha were seeing and hearing what the megalomaniac was like. “Unfortunately for you,” ‘the Grandmaster’ said with a supercilious grin, “I’ve got tech that can even tell if someone’s a Skrull. You can’t just waltz up to my computers without being caught. I should know, your little green friend tried fooling them twice even after getting her hands on a detector to take apart, and both times barely got away.”

Well he seems like an unpleasant character, Bruce thought, while Scrapper 142 sarcastically clapped.

“If we got our hands on a new one of the detectors,” Elloe asked Bruce, “could you find some sort of way to get around that? You said you’re a scientist.” Her tone clearly skeptical.

Lyja shifted back to her natural form, and gave Bruce an intent look.

Spreading his hands, he weakly shook his head. “Hypothetically, anything’s possible. Yeah, I think I might have enough background to work with it, and test it on Lyia. Her assistance working with advanced tech will be a great help. Except we don’t really have a lab or equipment to actually study it.”

From Elloe’s expression, he could tell she was not very impressed, and figured the same for No-Name. Indeed, given how thanks to Lyja they probably had an idea how relatively primitive Earth was in comparison, they probably figured his scientific background would be too far behind to be of any use. With a sinking feeling, he knew they were now counting more on the Other Guy as muscle, over the muscle that was the brain of Bruce Banner.

Story of his life.

“Scientific equipment, which if stolen, would tip off the Grandmaster about our plan when he learnt about it,” remarked Natasha. “I don’t suppose you guys know any underground labs? The type that don’t want officials snooping around?”

The three slum inhabitants froze, before exchanging various expressions with each other. No-Name twitched in a way Natasha did not recognise the intent of, Lyja’s expression implied she felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner, and Elloe’s was openly skeptical. “Won’t work,” declared the last one.

“He’s a genius from what I hear,” Lyja awkwardly pointed out. “Like, knowing a lot about every field there is. Maybe even the wormholes.”

“Uh huh. You mean he was a genius.”

“Explain,” Natasha softly ordered.

Openly conflicted, Lyja bluntly said, “He’s old and his brain’s addled from it. Or something. Apparently he still whips up brilliant stuff from time to time, and then forgets what he was talking about the next minute.”

“That’s why you never went to him about the detectors before?” 

“Pretty much. I mean, when I first heard about him, I was too afraid whatever he built would just conk out.” Now she looked nervous, “Although, people keep saying his stuff’s reliable, so maybe I should’ve gone to see him sometime after all . . .” she trailed off.

“They probably don’t know anything about the wormholes though,” Elloe added. “From what the rumours say, they came here deliberately, so they’re not trying to leave.”

“What?” a confused Bruce asked.

“Trying to get away from their pasts,” deduced Natasha, catching the slightest twitch in Scrapper 142’s eye, even if she pretended not to notice.

“Precisely.”

“Who are they?”

“The old guy and his bodyguard. Not related, but they’re the same species, even if I don’t recognize them. Although given Camper’s worsening condition, they may be more willing now to get off-world,” mused No-Name. “Jarael might convince him to help for the right payment, including a guarantee of getting somewhere that may be able to help him.”

“Earth will be a great place for him to get better!” cheered Lyja. “It’s such an awesome place for people to live!” She tapped her chin, “Although Carol says last she checked, they were still learning about the inherent superiority of women.”

On the one hand, that may have been meant as a joke. On the other, I bet this Carol would get along really well with Nat and Pepper, reflected Bruce. “Alright,” he grinned. “So we go see Camper to figure out if he knows anything of value, or can at least make us the equipment we need to get past the Skrull detectors to infiltrate.”

“Looks like we have a basic plan of action,” agreed Natasha, with the rest nodding.

“Just one last thing,” Elloe added. “How sure can you guarantee us safety on Earth? Does Fury that the kind of resources?”

“He helps run a major spy organization, so yes,” promised Natasha. “Also, we are part of the Avengers, which is an independent team of unusually gifted individuals whose purpose is to protect global stability from inner or extraterrestrial threats," she answered, paraphrasing from the official press releases they had given. Also pointedly omitting the word ‘superheroes.’

The others appeared mollified and a bit curious at that. “So you’re a type of a law enforcement?” hazarded No-Name.

“Something like that, except we handle what the regular police cannot.”

 Any further comments were cut off as a massive yawn escaped Bruce, startling the aliens. “Oh, ‘scuse me. Sorry. Human reflex for when we’re sleepy. It’s been a long day. Or two.”

Now that the adrenaline had fully died down, exhaustion was suddenly hitting him like a hammer, and as fit as he was, Hulk-benefits aside, he was no longer a young man.

“Of course,” assured Elloe, what her parents had taught her about their ancestors’ codes of etiquette and hospitality rising within her now. “You are free to stay the night. You’re hungry, right? Thought so. Here, it’s not much, yet should be edible. Everyone else manages it.” It was some sort of solid, fungus, to which she shrugged. “Different mushroom cultures grown on the waste plains,” although mushrooms, in Bruce’s experience, were not turquoise blue, nor that flat and rough looking, “are the main food source we’re able to grow here on Sakaar. Oh, and some water.” Then newer life lessons reasserted themselves as she glared at Scrapper 142. “What about her?”

“Give her some food and water too. As for the rest, would you be willing to take shifts keeping guard with this?” asked Natasha, holding up the remote for the Obedience Disc.

Privately, Bruce knew she was using this as a test of character for the others, as well as a gesture of trust. Although no matter how he thought about it, realistically she could not see another alternative. So she was multitasking by merely stating the best solution aloud, while also gauging everybody’s reactions. Yes, it might seem paranoid, except they had only just met these people, and it took Nat time to trust others.

The others agreed to sleep in shifts, although their glowering prisoner only leaned her head back against the wall to close her eyes. It had been a long day for her as well, and she still had internal injuries to heal from fighting the Midgardians—hence why she had fared so poorly against the Brood. She needed to rest and recover if she wanted to escape later.

Especially since despite the water she had just drunken, she remained so thirsty.

-(Alien) Sun-

Earth

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

Unbeknownst to Bruce, Natasha, or indeed nearly anyone else on or off Sakaar, was how time worked differently there. Haphazardly, in relation to the rest of the universe. Millions of years could fly by on other worlds, while only a dozen seemed to occur amongst all the trash. Two people could enter different wormholes at the same time, only for one to arrive weeks after the other.

In other words, while less than twelve hours had passed for the stranded pair, it had been two whole days back home for their fellow Avengers. An unnerving forty-eight hours without any word from Bruce, Natasha, or even Hulk.   

It was Tony Stark who finally said what they did not want to admit. “Something’s wrong. Even if they were off for a little hanky-panky, they’d have called in first. Bruce’s too earnest not to pop off a message to make sure we’re all okay, and she’s too much of a soldier not to report in. And that’s us pretending they’d ever fly off the handle without first wrapping up a crisis.”

“Romanoff’s a spy, not a soldier,” Fury testily pointed out. However, as much as he hated to admit it, the woman even he regarded as ‘The Spy’ was too professional to remain silent this long.

Something was seriously wrong.

“Close enough in my books.”

“And you have no way to see through your own cloaking technology for their Quinjet?” queried Thor.

“Wouldn’t be much good if people could beat it, would it?” Tony sourly retorted. “Although I admit, I’m currently rethinking that policy. Anywho, yeah, so we’re all agreed this is way too long for them to be just hiding the zucchini. Even they’d have collapsed and woken up by now.”

By long practice from associating with Stark, Fury kept that charming image from forming in his mind.

“Well for now,” declared the spy master instead, “let’s focus our energies on what we can actually do something about. Stark, your Stark Relief Foundation is already at work, and the media’s no longer wanting to crucify the lot of you, including Banner. The public story we’re leaking is that his little rampage was the fault of being hit by a special hallucinogen. Once you’ve all had some shut-eye, we can figure out what we want the Avengers’ official version of events to be.”

Neither Tony nor Thor were really surprised at how easily Fury had turned things around. The billionaire was long since used to how fickle the fourth estate could be, and as an alien royal, the God of Thunder rarely cared one way or another. Although their egos did appreciate the adulations—if not as blindly as they would have a few years ago.

“What of Loki’s Scepter?” queried Thor. While no longer hosting the Mind Stone, finding it remained his mission while on Earth, and what had triggered this catastrophe in the first place. He wanted it off Midgard now, before it caused more havoc. The last it had been seen was in North Korea.

“Some of my agents have it in custody,” promised Fury. “It’ll be here in a few hours for you to take care of.”

“I’ll have Heimdall collect it,” Thor firmly stated. “I have business here still, but I want it safely away.”

Unspoken were his other, ulterior motives for wanting that Scepter, ones he did not even tell these two. As Rogers had remarked, Fury loved his secrets too much, and Stark had damaged the trust between them with his own clandestine studying of the weapon. The fact that he had shortly afterwards gone ahead and repeated himself in creating Vision, despite Thor’s own contribution, and how Worthy the being had proven, was just the icing on the poptart. Thor would not tell them how he hoped the Scepter might yield to him answers to certain questions he had. Or even new questions, which he did not yet know needed to be asked.

After all, how had Loki gotten his hands on one of the six Infinity Stones? Originally, before anyone became aware of what was hidden within the Scepter, it was assumed the God of Mischief had conjured it solely through dark sorcery and Chitauri science. Except what were the odds that upon falling from the Bifrost years ago, that Loki had just happened to fall beyond Heimdall’s previously All-Seeing Gaze, and just happen upon an Infinity Stone?

No. While Thor lacked Loki’s sharp wit, or talent for subtlety and misdirection, he knew there was something more going on. He would also have dearly wished to hear his brother tell him what he thought of the chances that at one point there were three Infinity Stones on Earth! Actually . . . Loki had known this during the crisis with the Dark Elves, when Jane was infected by the Reality Stone –and what were the odds of Thor’s girlfriend being there at precisely the right place and time for the proper rift in space to open up to take her to where it was hidden!? Far too many coincidences for Thor’s peace of mind.

Alas, his brother had passed on, and not even his silver tongue could be heard from Valhalla. This left his brother’s weapon as the only potential clue remaining. Hopefully, taking it to Asgard for study would be of aid.

Meanwhile, Tony did not even have the energy to look abashed by the reminder of how Ultron had been created from him and Bruce studying said Scepter. Nonetheless, both Thor and Fury were well aware that the legendary Iron Man was tearing himself up inside with guilt.
Ultron had been intended to replace the Avengers with something better, and instead the genocidal AI nearly destroyed the world. As it was, dozens were dead here in Sokovia alone.

More blood on his hands.

He had gone from manufacturing weapons that killed US soldiers and innocent civilians, to nearly bringing about total Human extinction. Wonderful. Fantastic. Wow, his parents would be so proud.

He could not do this anymore. Like Pepper wanted, he was quitting before his next attempt to ‘help,’ actually succeeded in wiping out the planet.  

-(Alien) Sun-

New York

“Here’s to the Avengers!” crowed Adrian Toomes, hosting a beer bottle in a toast. “May their failures only mount!”

“Here, here!” cried out his employees, throwing back their own drinks.

Already Toomes, a.k.a. the Vulture, head of the most advanced black market weapons company in the world, was planning a target for his next haul. Tony Stark, wanting everybody to forget his latest batch of sins, would bring in Stark Relief Foundation to clean up the mess that was Sokovia. While they were carting away all that fancy robot tech, along with their nifty energy weapons, it would be easy pickings for him to steal away. Again.

Just as well too, since his daughter –bright girl that she was, smarter than him, that’s for sure— had been talking with him and his wife at dinner yesterday, about which universities she was choosing between. While she certainly had the brains to get a scholarship anywhere, it would not do for her to go wherever she chose without all the necessary supplies and appropriate outfits. Rich people looked down on you if you did not look rich yourself, so it was a simple way to smooth a few bumps in the road for her.

Oh, he knew for sure Gwen would go far.

-(Alien) Sun-

Sokovia

Outside of Novi Grad

With one final heave of the rubble, Colonel Helmut Zemo was at last able to see his family.

Against everything, he had hoped they had survived. That they were merely unconscious. Conserving their air. That something had shielded them from all the debris.

Staring at the crushed remains of his father, wife, and child, the world passed away until he threw back his head to scream his grief. His loss.

His hate.

The Avengers. The Avengers were supposed to protect them. That was what he had reassured his family.

He had already heard rumours that they were responsible.

Slowly, painfully, he worked to clear away more of the rocks and building materials to fully dig out his family. He would bury them. Get them gravestones.

Then he would go hunting.

The ‘Avengers!?’ No, that title would be his, as he took his vengeance upon them!

Except, he knew, as his hands lifted pieces off mechanically, they were too strong for him.

If he were to face them head on, that is.

But he knew from his time leading EKO Scorpion that if you wanted people dead, you did not do it to their faces. You did it in the dead of the night. You figured out where they were vulnerable. He would need a plan.

He remembered a few little tidbits he had learnt while doing dirty, though necessary, work for the Sokovian government. How, for instance, certain influential members were secretly part of a rather infamous organisation.

Maybe if he dug deep enough, HYDRA would have something he could use.

-(Alien) Sun-

Elsewhere aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

“How is she?”

“Kid just collapsed,” Clint Barton answered Steve Rogers. Jerking his chin at Wanda Maximoff, laying on one of the field-cots. It was a private room, away from the other Sokovian refugees, yet retained the bare, unfinished appearance of the rest of the helicarrier. Obviously, it was newly constructed, despite Fury alluding to it previously being mothballed. “Ran herself ragged like the rest of us, helping civilians. Mind you, the only reason I’m still standing is lots of coffee, and she passed it up.” Given how the teenager mostly grew up on the streets, she was probably unfamiliar with the real strong stuff S.H.I.E.L.D. gave to its agents to keep them moving. Unless you were a super-soldier like his companion here.

Even Steve, however, was showing wear and tear after too many physically and emotionally exhausting battles without sleep.

“She really helped out,” complimented Steve.

Neither voiced what they knew had motivated her: Guilt. Loss.

With iron firmness, the archer declared, “She’s an Avenger, Cap. You know this. She fought alongside us to stop Ultron and make up for what she’s done. Locking her away won’t make things better.” He knew some people were already planning to do that to her. In all likelihood, it would only make things worse, especially given how the steps necessary to keep her successfully imprisoned would cross a few humanitarian lines the Avengers were usually uncomfortable with. Not to mention, it would leave such a powerful person vulnerable to those who would want her for their own ends.

“I know,” agreed Steve. “She’s one of us, and we’ll take care of her.” It might be against the law, but when had Steve cared that much about laws? He took care of his own. Moreover, despite the recent disaster in Johannesburg, the Avengers still had a large amount of international public support, and maybe this would be a good time to cash in on that for once.

He blithely ignored how technically the Avengers were a vigilante group that ignored international borders. Given the degree to which HYDRA controlled the Sokovian government, they certainly had not received permission to enter the country from the start.

“Good to hear,” nodded Clint. He hesitated for a moment, before pressing on. “I won’t be able to stay and help for long though. My kids are growing up, and all this?” Jerking his chin to indicate in general all the death and insanity of Ultron’s making. “Taking it as my hint to get out of the game while I can. Spend my time with those I was fighting for.”

“No one can begrudge you wanting to get out of the game. You’ve done your share. I’m kinda jealous even,” confessed Steve.

“Yeah, but,” Clint said looking conflicted, “sorry, I’d feel more confident about walking away if I knew Nat was hanging around to keep your guys’ heads on straight.”

Grimacing now in similar concern, Steve nodded. “No argument. While we may not always agree with each other, we need her and her insight. Banner too. Unfortunately, given how Hulk was flying off, it’s possible we pushed him too far. Even though that doesn’t explain why she hasn’t called either,” he hurriedly added when he saw the archer’s expression. “Something else must’ve happened.”

Unspoken was the possibility of Hulk hurting Natasha, yet personally Steve doubted it. For all his concerns about the Big Guy when he first met Banner, the fact was the Avengers had fought side by side with him for too long without any ‘collateral damage,’ to take the threat seriously. Regrettably, at the same time he continued to have no clue as to what could have happened instead.

An awkward pause followed, until Clint added, “Heard Stark saying’s he had enough too, even if he’ll keep up the funding and new gadgets. When I told Thor I was getting out, he said he had to leave to go hunting for clues in space. Are you guys going to be okay, so shorthanded?”

“There’s Vision and Wanda already. I’m pretty sure I can recruit Sam,” assured Steve. “Plus Rhodes.”

“Careful with that.”

“Pardon?”

“Rhodes. He’s an active part of the US military, and they’re not going to loan him out without strings attached.”

Feeling all of his hundred years, Steve rubbed his tired face with one hand. “That sounds like the sorta stuff I’d want Natasha’s perspective around for.”

“Don’t worry,” said Clint, clapping the super-soldier on the shoulder. “Wherever she is, she’s fine. She’ll turn up before you know it. Now go find somewhere to rest, before people see a living legend topple over.”

Giving an appreciative nod, the leader of the Avengers walked off to do just that.

Clint waited a few seconds, leaning against the doorframe, before speaking up. “Fun fact: no matter how much you try, you can never truly fake how you look while you’re asleep. And no, you didn’t fool Cap either. He caught when you woke up while trying to keep still.”

Silence, and then Wanda stiffly sat up in her bed. “You’re going to let me be an Avenger?” she hoarsely asked. She was afraid she had misheard. That really, they were going to get rid of her some way or another, leaving her with nothing.

Pietro.

“You walked through that door to fight the Ultron drones,” Clint’s voice blunt, but not unkind. A statement of fact. “Like I said then, you’re already an Avenger.”

The dam burst, and the tears broke free.

No sobbing though. Even before HYDRA, she and . . . Pietro, had learnt it did nothing except draw unwanted attention.

Slowly, he came up to her, and rubbed her back. “Let it out,” he softly said. “Don’t bottle it up. Don’t forget to breathe though.”

Mind spinning, she tried to figure out what the catch was. She wanted to learn from her mistakes, of volunteering for HYDRA’s ‘offer,’ and then Ultron’s. “You want me to be an Avenger to keep an eye on me,” she weakly accused.

“I am afraid of what you’ll do if you’re on your own, and left to stew in what you’re feeling,” he admitted. Total honesty was the best policy in cases like this, as he had proven when he and Nat first met. “There’s nothing worse for a person than being trapped with only their own company. It’s embarrassing, really, how many terrible mistakes us Avengers’ve made, and then lashed out at others in pain. Particularly Stark, ‘cept you already know something about that probably.”

With a sniffle, she took some deep breathes to center herself some more.

“Thing is kid, we’re just trying to help people. You don’t even have to actually do missions if you don’t want to, but you fought alongside us, so we’re doing all we can to help you. We owe you that. I owe you that, and I’m not gonna go to the big Pearly Gates in the sky to have your brother tell me I failed to do so.”

.

.

.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered, a mountain of tension finally lifting from her shoulders.

A part of him wondered if she had peeked into his mind, while the rest of him knew it did not matter. She would have seen that he was there for her. Always.

He owed the punk that. Owed her.

“Get some sleep,” he ordered. “Life might not be actually better when you wake up, but you’ll be able to cope with it more.”

Boneless, she flowed back into the bed. With deft practice, he got her under the blanket and tucked in, and left her in peace. Time to find his own place to crash.

Unfortunately for him, his ex-boss was waiting outside, down the hall, and around the corner from the room. Right out of earshot of Wanda.

Sighing, Clint scratched the back of his head, and said to Fury, “I think she’ll be okay, and do a lot of good for the world.”

“Well, I’ve trusted your judgment before, and it worked out nicely,” acknowledged the former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. “I’m just worried about what we need to do to keep her from having a breakdown. Kid’s carrying a lot of trauma. Plenty of trust issues too, I’d bet.”

“Keep her and Stark away from each other for the time being,” deadpanned Clint. “Banner too. Keep it within the Avengers, and those we’re close to for now until she gets used to us. Start unpacking all those issues. Honestly, this is just the sort of thing we need Nat for. She’d help Wanda open up and adjust by relating to their similar pasts or something like that. What they did because of terrible circumstances, what they did of their own choice, and what they’re doing now to make up for whatever of it they can, and you know all the rest.”

“Finding a new purpose from a sympathetic ear,” acknowledged Maria Hill, coming up from behind him.

“Let me guess,” he drawled. “You were to intercept me if I turned left instead of right, to meet the boss?”

She gave a little grin and ignored his observation. “She’d also have an easier time coping having another woman to talk to. Plus, Romanoff’s always been good at telling people what they need to hear to get better.”

“‘Cept here’d she be doing it to help Wanda,” emphasized Clint.

Holding up her hands in apology, Maria ducked her head. “I agree. Doesn’t change the fact that we really need her help for this, and she’s MIA. And we don’t really have anybody else we can trust with something this sensitive. Are you sure you can’t stay any longer?”

In answer, he dropped the façade and let her see all the pain and darkness in his eyes. He was done. Hawkeye had to retire before there was nothing left. Oh sure, he would come back if they called up about an alien invasion or whatever. But the rest of it? Clearing out terrorist groups and such? Sokovia was his limit, and no more.

“I understand,” she said with a tone to indicate another apology. “Guess it’s on me then. I’ll try and drop by and do what I can.”

“Clint, go home, and do what you need to do,” Fury said. Turning back to him, Clint saw nothing but naked respect. “Go enjoy retirement. Maybe come up with some ideas for what the rest of us can do when we finally join you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he grinned. He also appreciated how even here, Fury made no mention of his secret family.

“Just let us know if Romanoff shows up at your door or sends you a postcard.”

“No promises if she wants to be left alone. She’s scarier than Hulk when she wants to be.”

“Hah! Don’t I know it!” Sobering, Fury quietly asked, “You think she’s okay?”

“Who? Nat? With Banner beside her? Don’t you worry,” swore Clint. “Wherever they are, they’re doing just fine!”

-(Alien) Sun-

Sakaar

The room Bruce and Natasha were directed to, was just far enough away for some privacy, while remaining close enough to the others to yell if necessary. Indeed, beneath all the trash and decrepit buildings, Elloe and No-Name’s house was a surprisingly large complex. Honestly, Bruce was surprised Lyia did not live with them directly. The space was as cramped and dark as the rest of the place, yet fortunately their gear included a little flashlight Tony had designed. The genius had boasted how even if left stuck on its brightest setting, it would last for six whole months.

By unspoken agreement, they sat side by side, angling themselves so they could see the open doorway, while nobody outside the room could see them inside.

Since their own Earth-based rations would not last forever, and he was basically unkillable, she let him take a few experimental bites of the dried fungus. Fortunately it seemed okay, even if it tasked weirdly like ripe banana. After a silent meal, she said, “I know you’re tired, but we’ve got some stuff to talk about first. Personal stuff.”

“Uhm, why? Oh. Right,” he nodded, as comprehension set in with a wince. “Because otherwise we won’t?”

“And bury it deep down inside, and you have a terrible habit of over-internalizing everything.” Unspoken was that he had only recently come to some measure of ‘co-habitation’ with the Big Guy once he had stopped suppressing his anger, and instead, accepted and embraced it. Now here they were on an alien planet that almost seemed designed to stress him out.

Historically, she wasn’t much better. Today she had been falling back on whatever she could to convince herself she had some measure of control. Fortunately, she knew he was intelligent enough to know both sides of what she was doing, and why. Even better, he was supporting her in it.

“Not to mention,” she continued, “we’ve been on the move with all sorts of major events in a short period of time.” The warmth and brightness to Natasha’s smile surprised even herself, “Like you asking to be my boyfriend.”  

Blushing, he glanced away, before looking back to match her expression. “At least you said yes,” he softly said, to which her lips stretch a little further in silent agreement.

For a few seconds plus eternity they stared at each other before his brain rebooted, and he coughed. “Right. Well,” he gave a weak cough, looking embarrassed for a heartbeat, before something settled within him, and he met her gaze with a far more serious expression. “The others are okay, right?” he asked. Earlier they had discussed how they knew at least the Avengers had stopped Ultron’s doomsday weapon from exterminating Humanity, but they knew nothing about their teammates themselves. The genocidal robot’s forces may have been on the ropes, but he was still highly dangerous.

“Better be,” she said with her usual sardonic wit. “Although at least we’re fortunate we don’t have to worry about the two of us repopulating the species.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, his lips twitched briefly at her dark humour. It was also interesting to see her referring —even privately— to her own sterility, given how painful it was for her. Trying to move past it? In respect for what she was doing, he tried his own line. “Tony’s ghost would still be telling us to try.”

Smirking, she nodded. Deep down though, both of them were filled with the same indomitable purpose: to get back home.

Oh, yes, they had both made convincing arguments earlier on how their friends would have won against Ultron, yet that did not mean they were not burning to see it in person and know they had saved the day.

Aside from all the people who already died during the fighting, she darkly knew.

“Well, we’ll have quite the story to tell ‘em when we get back.” His lips quirked into a smile that reminded her a bit too much of when she first met him (ambushed him really) in a certain shack, years ago—ironic and grim as he contemplated his life. “You know, there we were, talking about running away from it all, and now we’re farther away than we’d ever imagined, trying our hardest to get back.”

Smirking, she lightly elbowed him. “Yes, but imagine being able to rub it in Stark’s face that we got to step foot on an alien planet before him!”

The image of his Science Bro’s reaction stole a laugh out of Bruce, and minute tension eased from his shoulders. Not actually relaxed, yet still progress. “Oh, he’ll be insufferable! He’ll probably just ask Thor to take him to party on Asgard without the rest of us. Or he’ll start building—” Choking off that last thought, he sobered up to address one of the most major issues between them. “I should start with Ultron, I guess.” Despite how he was no longer as cheerful, a part of her was glad to see the resolve in his eyes. When Steve and Thor had confronted him and Stark over the genocidal AI they had accidentally created, he had been much more apologetic and submissive. Although as he had said at the time, having recently and accidentally created a ‘murderbot,’ it was not a good time to act like, well, Stark. Now though, it seemed like he was willing to discuss it more, without Stark’s emotion-fueled dramatics.

“You wanted to protect the world,” she said, helping him along. “Goodness knows, we got lucky against Loki and the Chitauri.”

“Exactly. A single alien attack was one thing, yet less than a year later we have the Dark Elf Invasion. Once again, it came down to luck and last-minute timing. Afterwards, once we saw the news and JARVIS filled us in, Tony didn’t even really have to try and convince me we needed a better system. That we could build it.”

“Except you guys never really talked to the rest of us about it,” she neutrally reminded him. “I get where you’re coming from, but if this is going to work between us, if we are going to work, you can’t keep secrets like that.” Her lips twitched in self-depreciation, “In turn, I’ll learn to do the same.”

“My mistakes tend to be bigger,” he gloomily noted.

“Why turn to artificial intelligence though?” she wondered. “For all that Stark’s a control freak, he could’ve found a way to give volunteers, all vetted by him, their own Iron Man suits or something.”

He shook his head. “You really don’t understand how advanced JARVIS is. Was. He was already basically running Tony’s entire company, one of the most successful in the world, along with a squadron of weaponized drones.”

“Yes, I should have realized where he was planning to go, when he introduced the Iron Legion.” All told, failing to realize that a man like Stark would not stop with only a handful of drones, was bordering on criminal negligence.

“And when Ultron ‘woke up,’ as you will, JARVIS faked his death, and kept Ultron, supposedly the more powerful AI, from firing off all the world’s nukes to kill us all like that. Through it all he remained . . . a good person.” He was sounding much more confident when he was addressing science. “The theory was sound. Plus, like Tony said, Ultron shouldn’t have activated like that. We weren’t even close to an interface.” Taking a breath, he firmly said, “I’m very and sincerely sorry about not telling you guys sooner, but other than that, I really don’t understand what went wrong. How he could have activated on his own like that.”

Deciding that was enough for now on that topic, she tried something else. “What’s the story with Vision?”

Briefly he summarised the events of Vision’s ‘birth,’ including how the Avengers had briefly come to blows over it.

“The fun I miss when I’m locked up,” she deadpanned. “Well that explains that. Also, how the Maximoff kids ended up with you.”

Something dark flashed in his eyes, and she could empathize. Wanda Maximoff had completely shredded whatever sense of self-confidence Bruce had regained since joining the Avengers; his belief that he was more than just a monster. Fortunately, for all he might get angry at people, he was not one to hold grudges. Or at the very least, he never held one long against a certain super-spy. “I think we’ll have to play it by ear when we get back,” she cautioned. “From what you’re saying, it sounds like they feel they made a terrible mistake, a lot of mistakes, and now want to make up for it. Something we can relate too. All the Avengers can relate too.”

With a harsh sigh, he shook his head. “More unstable chemicals in the mixture.”

Knowing he was talking about himself as much as the Avengers, and seeing the growing tightness in his form, she leaned over to rest her shoulder against his. “It’s alright,” stroking her fingers against one of his wrists like she did with Hulk for the Lullaby, “we’ll get through this, and get back home.”  

Closing his eyes, he slipped into a meditative state he had developed, and taking a deep breath, he released it and all his tension. For now.

There really was an intimidating amount of stress and anger in the man, although people rarely realised it, given the degree to which he channeled it. Usually, towards science. Regardless, it vindicated her decision to push for this conversation.

Feeling his pulse stabilized, she brought up a more pleasant subject. “Don’t forget, you and the others also got to meet Laura and the kids.”

(Who were okay, along with everybody else. They had to be.)

“Rare privilege, that.”

Smiling in memory, Bruce nodded.

Suddenly she gave a pained wince. “Oh. In terms of keeping secrets, if they’re not mine . . .” she trailed off awkwardly. She really was trying to break that habit of keeping secrets from him.

“It’s okay,” he waved it off. “I trust you with that. After all, Clint had a right to his privacy there.”

“Thanks.” Deep down, a part of her briefly whispered, But what about your suspicions, strong ones, that the friend Steve’s so desperately looking for was brainwashed into killing Stark’s parents? Can you trust him to handle a secret like that?

Worry about that later, asserted her more pragmatic self.

“Meeting Clint’s family really was amazing. I can see why he’d want to keep them safe,” Bruce went on. It had also put to rest any insecurities that there might be anything . . . more between Nat and Clint. Not after the way he had seen how the archer interacted with his wife. “He’s pretty lucky to have that life,” he whispered.

“We might not be able to have the exact same,” promised Natasha, “but we can have something special. Together.”

“Like what?” he asked a little hoarsely. “For you, there’ll always be the mission. Don’t get me wrong, that sense of duty is one of your best qualities. It’s a big reason why we’ve gotten this far. It’s just—”

“What will I do instead?” she cuts him off with a knowing smirk.

“Uhm, yeah.”

“Well, as tempting as playing housewife, or doing charity work from home might sound, I don’t really see myself doing that. It would only end badly, and in so many different ways. So instead I’m wondering about following around a certain, caring, generous doctor, as he goes around helping people. Like he did before, following a little girl to a certain shack in Calcutta?”

He paused in thought. “That might be the closest we’d get to a normal life,” he confessed. Mirth lit up his eyes. “Can I see your resume?” he joked.

“I can speak or learn any language you can name, expert at emergency and improvised first aid—”

“I was trying to forget the time when you turned up with dental floss for stitches, thank you very much.”

“Well, it worked, and that’s what matters. Especially when I had my dorky doctor to patch me up properly.”

“Nat.”

“Fine, fine! Anyways, I can do all that. I’m a wicked bodyguard, and I have Steve Rogers as a character reference. Oh, and Nick Fury too.”

“You almost had me until that last one.”

Throughout this little exchange, their faces slowly grew closer together, until in a blink their lips met. It was only their second kiss, except this one was not as desperate and rushed as it was when Ultron’s doomsday weapon was literally looming over them.

Hands rose up to feel each other, reassuring that the other was there, drinking in their warmth.

Eventually they had to come up for air though, resting their foreheads against each other.

“I adore you,” she breathed out.

Chuckling a little, Bruce returned, “Same here.” However, he knew that deep down, no matter how much she denied it to even herself, she remained insecure about their relationship. How did he know? Because he felt the same way.

Intellectually, each of them saw themselves on some level as broken, and the other as someone who fortunately understands them and makes them better. Generally speaking, not a healthy personal image or relationship choice, because the other person should care for you the way you are. Except in this situation, it seemed to work since they both felt that way. Bruce knew that Nat was an incredible woman, whose guilt and other personal issues prevented her from seeing it, and he wanted to help her understand that of her own volition. He also accepted the parts of her which wrongly hurt her self-esteem so much. He also knew she was trying and convince him of the same  

“I changed my mind,” he said. “For getting off of an alien world, I’d choose you over Tony, ten times out of ten.”

Something sparkled in her eyes, and it made him happy to know she appreciated, and more importantly believed, his words. “I dunno, I’m sure you could do better.”

“Never.”

She gazed at him for a few heartbeats, before pulling back, even if her hands remained in his. “Getting out of here, Bruce . . . it’s probably going to get pretty nasty.”

“I know.”

“Worse than usual. In a place like this, innocents are probably going to be hurt. Even if we’re just walking down the street.”

His grin turned a little lopsided, “Wish Cap were here now for a pep talk.”

That brought her smile back. “What’d I do to deserve you?” she asked, while shifting to lean beside him again, still holding tight to him.

“You’re a better person than you think you are,” smiled Bruce.

“Oh?” she retorted, and even with her face lying beside his, he could hear the skeptical eyebrow.

“Yes,” he assured. “You can go all serious and cold-blooded, but you’re no longer the spy you used to be. You’re not the type of person to sacrifice one person to save millions or billions. You’re the kind of person to sacrifice all you’ve got to save that one person, and the billions. More importantly, you’re good enough to do it. You’re an Avenger, more-so than I.”

Bruce did not know the full story of her past —he had not even read the dumped S.H.I.E.L.D. files, respecting her privacy— nevertheless, he knew enough.

The KGB had taken a little girl with the intention of breaking her. Remaking her. He knew deep down that ‘Natalia Alianovna Romanoff’ was not her real birth name, because a name implied an identity. An identity was superfluous and distracting, since their goal was to turn her into a dull-eyed, hard-faced, yet beautiful woman, who could effortlessly put on masks of joy, fear, sorrow, and love to the world around her. Who would kill without feeling a thing, because she was deliberately taught that both she and other people had no value aside from their contribution to the cause. As the final step, she was indoctrinated to obey every order without question.

Obviously, they had failed.

A small part of her, mangled, mutilated even, tattered and bloody, dishonoured and frail, had survived. Survived to patiently grow and mature as time went by, slowly if surely. A part that knew enough of right and wrong that it wept at what she was doing . . . and whose whispers ultimately led her to reject the K.G.B. A part of her which rejected HYDRA when she learnt they were secretly in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D., and resented how they had tainted her quest to redeem her past actions.

To this day, Bruce did not know if Clint had seen a glimpse of this when he had chosen to save Nat over killing her as ordered, yet he knew it was not his business to ask. That remained between the two spies, as it should be. Nevertheless, the archer had shown Nat how to relearn what it meant to be Human, growing stronger with each day, until when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and she lost all of her ‘masks,’ there was more to the real woman at her core than she had initially believed possible.

He also strongly suspected Nat had been rather mortified once she, someone who so prided herself on being self-aware, finally started to realise this truth about herself. Although he dared not imagine what Nat must have gone through to reach such an epiphany.

. . . Or if she even consciously understood it yet.

-(Alien) Sun-

By sheer force of will, Natasha hid how strongly Bruce’s words affected her.

Him, Clint, Fury, Hill, the rest of the Avengers— it mattered more than she could put into words to know there were people who knew precisely what she had done in life, what kind of person she had been, and still fully and utterly accepted her.

Bruce, this impossible man, had wormed his way into her life. Throughout her earlier life, and even today, she found that what most men and women wanted above all else was to be the smartest and strongest person in the room, lording it above everyone else. Except here was a guy who already was all that, humbly struggling to accept his strength and intelligence, while caring more about helping people—including those people generally overlooked (forgotten) by the rest of society. Trying to make up for the harm the Other Guy did, which he blamed himself for.

If she got involved with somebody like Steve, or another fighter, her life would be endless violence until inevitably she was unable to avoid the Grim Reaper; her sense of responsibility would allow no less. With Bruce though, she was willing to believe they could have a life where they could make a difference in other ways.

He was still a huge dork of course, what with all the flattery. Not that she was going to tell him to stop.

She knew it was impossible, especially after Sokovia, to promise to never let him down again. But she did vow to herself that one way or another, she would never fail working her hardest to live up to his image of her.

Who knew? He might even be right.  

“Sweet talker,” she purred, cozying up against him.

Only to belatedly catch herself relaxing too much. Straining her ears, she made sure they were still being left alone, and sat up straighter. “You should get some sleep,” she reminded him. “Especially since we have a shift later, watching Scrapper 142.” Although she would be sure he got twice as much sleep as her.

“Right,” he agreed, eyelids already starting to droop. “Night.”   

“Night. Don’t dream too much of me,” she teased.

“Don’t whisper naughty suggestions to my subconscious while I sleep,” he managed to shoot back, before drifting off.

“Spoilsport,” she whispered, before turning to her vigil.

Chapter Text

Sakaar

 “Bruce!”

His name snapped him awake, instantly registering his sweaty skin and rapid heartbeats.

Fortunately, Bruce could tell he was still safely in control of the driver’s seat. Natasha’s concerned face illuminated by Tony’s special light.

Softly she asked, “Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, as it all came back to him. Only to realize he was being too obvious in not looking at her. So with a sigh, he elaborated, “It was about me running away, and then looking up to see Sokovia coming down on all our heads. Because you didn’t push me.”

“Ah,” she said neutrally.

“Yeah,” he repeated with mixed emotions. Taking a moment to assess himself, he stood up and started to stretch out any kinks. “You get some rest, I’ll keep watch.”

Natasha gave him a slight glower at that, only to grudgingly acknowledge both how she needed rest as well, and that he certainly was not going to get any more. They had a lot to take care of in the morning. Whenever ‘morning’ was for this planet.

“I’ll wake up in two hours,” she said, trusting in her internal clock, “and then you get some more.”

“Four.”

“Two,” she repeated in a firmer tone before visibly changing her mind. “Three,” she compromised. 

They had to learn how to do that after all.

“Alright.”

-(Alien) Sun-

Six hours later, Elloe loudly made her way over to their room, startling Bruce awake, while Natasha merely looked up from her silent weapons’ maintenance.

“Morning,” the red-skinned alien said. “Grubs on, and best for you to go see Camper before the crowds really start.”

“Easier to lose yourself in a crowd,” pointed out Natasha. “Especially if you want to blend in.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it also means security’s out more too.”

The spy acknowledged that point with a small nod, and Elloe turned around to lead them back down the dark, winding corridors of her home, guiding herself with her own lantern. They came back to the same room they had all talked together in last night, with a breakfast of more edible fungus laid out on a piece of cloth on the floor. A lamp of some kind had also been set up so everyone could see readily.

Scrapper 142 was eating fairly large portions of the food, which No-Name of the Brood and Elloe did not protest about as they ate their own shares. Lyja handed Natasha back the remote for the Obedience Disc in Scrapper’s neck, and they joined the others in sitting on the floor. To keep things from getting awkward, Lyja started asking the two Avengers questions about Earth, ranging from baseball, to gender politics, which seemed to entertain the other aliens enough as well.

Bruce and Natasha answered without issue, although they did appreciate how Lyja seemed to be steering away from anything truly sensitive. They were also making their own, different observations about her.

The scientist was trying to figure out how their shapeshifting worked, and the innate requirements for such an ability to be possible. It would require rewriting several ‘scientific truths,’ and honestly the prospect of learning more left him giddy. He was also trying to figure out why a reptilian based alien had what appeared to be breasts.

The assassin took note of the easy grace and confidence to her movements as she walked about the room and sat down. Given that, despite being an Earth fangirl, and especially given how she apparently held people like Fury in awe, it was very likely Lyja was a trained and skilled fighter. Plus, she bet being a shapeshifter meant she could make herself stronger than a Human.

Black Widow was also doing her best to figure out how much of Lyja’s curiosity and ignorance about Earth was genuine, or if she was faking it. After all, there was the lingering question of just how much of Natasha’s memories she had scooped up, and also retained. Given the situation though, she would wait for the Skrull to drop her guard, while in the meantime figure out the best way to confront the issue without compromising the tenuous trust they had built up between them all.

“So how long is the walk to get to see this Camper?” asked Bruce. “Or is there some other way to get around.”

“No, sorry, just our feet. We’re lucky ,it’s only about two or three hours away. Local hours,” answered Lyja. “I’ll take you guys with me, while No-Name and Elloe stay here.” Which made sense, as the former would be killed on sight, and the latter was a fugitive. “We should leave Scrapper here too.”

“You’re not leaving me with a Brood!” snapped the prisoner, body tense.

“Nor are we parading a publicly known agent of the Grandmaster around in public,” Natasha dispassionately informed her. “You’ll stay here, and keep quiet. Or do you really think the Grandmaster is the type to forgive failure if you are seen strolling down the streets as our prisoner?”

Scrapper 142 glowered at the sheer lack of emotion in that threat, yet made no other response.

Carefully, Natasha passed the remote for the Obedience Disk to Elloe, who had the bulk of No-Name between her and the slaver.

“If you don’t cause trouble, they won’t cause you any either,” Bruce said, putting as much reassurance as possible into his tone. It was also however a warning to the other two aliens not to abuse her.

Scrapper 142 grit her teeth and grabbed another handful of food to tear into.

Ignoring her, Natasha went about getting food and water to take with them. Within an hour they were ready to go, with Lyja having slowly shifted to a large, burly, grey, and decidedly male alien. “This should help keep people from bothering us,” ‘he’ said in a gravelly voice, adjusting the raggedy blankets wrapped up as clothes.

“That really is amazing!” gushed Bruce.

“Thanks. We call it simming. Although I’m really just a novice compared to my dad.”

“So everyone can doing this, simming? Huh. Do you have a way to make your clothes shift with you?”

Surprised, Lyja nodded. “What? Oh, yes, except mine was wrecked when I came here. How’d you know?”

“Experience shifting into my . . . alter-ego.”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded, eyes widening thoughtfully. “Hadn’t really thought of that from the glimpses I got. Was mostly caught up on how well he can fight. At least we have him for back-up”

“I’d really rather not.”

“With him, we could—”

“Get a lot of bystanders killed? Sure,” he flatly cut her off.

“Uhm, uh . . .”

“Correct. So let’s just hope for a nice, simple stroll to see the hopefully helpful scientists. Nice, and peaceful, right?”

Natasha’s lips quirked. “When has that ever happened?”

“Not really, since I never—hardly ever, get what I want. Much. Maybe. ‘Til lately.”

She cut off any further fumbling with a quick peck on the cheek, a saucy wink, and a mysterious grin which left him wondering how long she had spent practicing it. “Right,” he managed.

With an awkward cough, Lyja asked, “Do you two want some time alone?”

“No, we’re good,” Natasha answered for them both, hefting up a long piece of cloth. Deftly she wrapped it around her shoulders as a make-shift shawl which reached her waist and concealed her myriad of weapons. This consisted of two laser rifles that Bruce had declared to be in the best condition, two machine pistols with a total of seventy-two bullets, six taser discs, one grenade, one last brick of C4-Ultra, two flashbangs, a garrote, eight knives, three long needles in her pant-legs, and of course her batons.

“Alright, let’s see about finding our way off this literal dump of a planet.”

-(Alien) Sun-

To the Earthling’s surprise, Lyja led them back up to the upper levels of Sakaar, so they were walking under the rising sun while skyscrapers towered over them.

“Trust me,” she softly explained. “The Undercity is great for hiding, but not for travelling. It’s a maze, and there’s always somebody looking to ambush and kill you for whatever reason. Mostly desperation though. Where we’re staying is better than most, but that’s mostly because no one wants to draw No-Name’s attention.”

Thus, once more they found themselves walking under the sun past buildings made out of various pieces of sturdier junk. The various bazars were already opening as customers trickled in, with all manner of aliens going about their business.

“Don’t stare too much!” hissed Lyja at a gawking Bruce. “It makes it too obvious you’re a newbie! Act casual!”

Snapping out of it, he immediately relaxed his body, kept his eyes seemingly looking down and not at others, burying his emotions so they would not stand out. Just as he had done countless other times over the years when blending in while on the run. Natasha had seen him do it so many times by now, she barely registered it aside from an automatic assessment of how successful he was.  

Instead, she was more interested in assessing their guide. If Lyja had been Human, she would assume she was either a phenomenal actor (entirely possible, if not likely, for a natural shapeshifter), or someone who had received training to some degree, yet remained pretty inexperienced at this. For instance, how she had failed to reprimand Bruce in a subtler fashion.

Well, regardless, they had to work with her. She would keep observing, while keeping her suspicions to herself. Who knows, maybe they would make some friends out of this.

Hmm, and getting a shapeshifter to replace me for the Avengers, might make it easier for me to retire with a clear conscience.  

“It’s amazing how so many races and cultures can live together,” whispered Bruce.

“It is pretty neat,” Lyja admitted in that gravelly voice, keeping it low. “Most of the time it’s pretty nice with everyone, and they throw the wildest parties here. Except, well—”

“Except all that wild passion makes you nervous,” finished Natasha. “And the parties are centered on the Contest of Champions, where they relish in their bloodlust as people fight to the death?”

There was a significant pause before Lyja regained control of her voice. “Did she tell you that, or did you really figure it out all out by yourself?”

Choosing her words carefully, Natasha answered, “Humanity is divided up into a lot of different political states, and more subcultures after that as well. Working for Fury, I travelled to many of them, particularly ones with violent, unstable governments, and had to be able to get a good understanding on each culture in a short period of time. In those places, the kind of lives people suffer, leaves them angry and hungry for violence, even if they don’t even recognize what is happening. To give these emotions a target, usually leaders tend to blame it on outsiders, the vulnerable, or any other handy scapegoats. However, the odd gladiator match to help slake it comes up now and then. Even on the street level with animal fights. Seems to work for the Grandmaster, and he’s even found a pragmatic way to deal with newcomers who could be trouble. While those who aren’t swept in by all of it, are either filled with fear after being ripped from their homes and trying to hold onto some sort of safety, any safety, or grow up with it.”

It took Lyja a few long seconds to process the clipped, professional assessment. “‘Pragmatic,’” she finally managed to uncomfortably quote.

“Yes.”

“. . . It’s mandatory to go to the games, and if you don’t look like you’re cheering, like you’re having fun, well . . .”

“You get singled out, and that never ends well,” said Bruce, nonjudgmentally. “And sometimes you get swept up in the crowd mentality. At least you’re alive though. Do those people who don’t cheer, the potential troublemakers, get put into the ring next?”

“Sometimes. There’s always a need for slaves though, and those Obedience Disks are really good at getting results.”

“How many people are slaves here?” asked Bruce, trying to keep any concern from his expression.

“A lot. No telling how many though.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hummed. “How many of the security forces are slaves do you think? I mean, the ones who prove their loyalty are probably rewarded with freedom and put in important places, yet what about the rank and file patrolling the streets? Being put under a few who are free to help make sure they do their job until they’re being good thugs all on their own. Special privileges and the feeling of superiority over others to help sway them.” Slave soldiers had been historically pretty successful at times on Earth after all.

“I—oh!” Lyja was silent for a while again as she thought about that. “I don’t . . . know. It might explain a few things though.”

Bruce and Natasha each risked another glance at the people around them, and while they might be reading too much into non-Humans, this time when they looked at the crowds with more context, they were pretty sure of what they saw. The tense, nervous movements, and the hollowed-out eyes and faces they had seen too many times in the past.

“Everyone here’s afraid,” concluded Bruce. Maybe highly advanced and subtle forms of mass brainwashing were not necessary here after all. Just relying upon the good old, traditional methods.

“Enjoy the Contest, or you might find yourself dying in it,” said Natasha, eyes carefully assessing the mood.

“Yeah,” sighed Lyja. “Some nights, I just can’t understand why they don’t all just do something. There’s more of us than them. And other nights . . . I can’t help but be afraid of my own thoughts. Thinking it’s better to just keep my head down, forget about home and my family, and try and stay alive to enjoy whatever I can here. Including seeing people killing people, and enjoying the rush. It’s messed up. So messed up. Tell me that Earth’s not like this. Please?”

“Not where we live,” promised Bruce. “The parts that are, we’re working to make better. Or at least, the other Avengers are.” He did not mention how yes, there were an unfortunate number of places where it was indeed true, with people trying to distract themselves from the reality of their lives by any means necessary.

She made a strange humming noise so unlike anything else the Humans had heard before, which they took as acceptance. With that, they continued in silence.

-(Alien) Sun-

Of course, life could not be simple and easy.

Honestly, Bruce and Natasha spent their lives waiting for the other shoe to drop, and preparing themselves for it.

“Nwaaah!”

“No! Please!”

They turned the corner at those cries before Lyja could pull them back, and saw some of the soldiers in their fancy bright armour, beating two figures on the ground with the butts of their strange spear-like weapons, while another pair were struggling against the grips of their captors.

“What, why’re they doing that?” gasped Bruce.

“Probably didn’t like their attitude, and showed defiance when the soldiers leaned on them,” grimaced Lyja. “Or not enough subservience. Don’t worry though, they won’t hurt them much. They’re going to be enslaved of course, but they’ll live. There’s nothing we can do—”

Whatever else she said was reflexively absorbed by Natasha’s mind for later analysis, yet here and now her attention was all on the scene before her.

Despite a lifetime of self-control, Natasha could not help the grimace which flickered across her expression. Obviously she had seen worse in her life, done worse, yet that was before New York. Before . . . new expectations. Unfortunately, Lyja was right, there was nothing they could do. Never mind the high chance of dying, this whole planet was such a powder-keg, throwing sparks on it was the worst thing she could do. Setting off all these people with their anger and fear would be a recipe for the kind of violent mob that could get her and Lyja killed as collateral and set off Hulk on a rampage. And that was before the Grandmaster retaliated. Or even just caused law enforcement to come after them.

She had far too much experience with those sorts of things. Including in the bad old days, intentionally setting off riots as part of throwing nations into chaos.

The smart thing was to just walk away, and hope those people would be alright in the end. They could not save everybody, especially not here and now on an alien world. They did not even know exactly what was going on. If they did anything to save one stranger, it would draw attention that could get the five of them, technically six with Scrapper, killed.

Walk away.

Walk away. Walk away!

That was what Natasha kept telling herself as she walked up even closer.

“Oh boy,” Bruce muttered behind her, but did nothing to stop her. He could not sit back either.

One of the soldiers saw her, and raised up the tip of their spear, “Hal—!”

Twisting aside she threw one of her taser discs perfectly for the exposed throat.

With a scream he went down, and Black Widow was already raising her own laser rifle to fire.

Shoulders. Arms. Legs for those too shocked to be a threat. Nothing lethal. Not yet. Leaving aside the potential issues for Earth if she and Bruce left a massacre behind, she would prefer not to kill slave soldiers if possible.

Fortunately, they were no stronger than regular Humans so far, and ill-trained as she tripped them up, tossed them around, and threw one of her remaining flash-bangs at a clump of them. While their helmets shielded them from the glare, it was still enough of a distraction for a few more shots.

Who’s next?

A quick ‘experiment’ proved her batons could shock them just as well as one of Ultron’s drones as she smacked them around.

Meanwhile, Lyja was in the thick of the fray as well, lashing out with well-placed punches and kicks, and even hefting up and throwing some of them around. Definitely super-human strength there.

-(Alien) Sun-

Agh! What is with her!? Lyja mentally screeched, even as she clubbed down another guard with one of their spears. We’re laying low!

She was a Skrull! Skrulls used infiltration and subterfuge to make a difference, not something like this!

Even if it was the sort of thing Carol would do. What her dad would do, despite the kind of man he thought of himself to be.

Honestly, from what she had gotten from Romanoff’s mind, she bet she would get along very well with Minister Talos.

Not the point!

As cool as running around like a hero was, Lyja did not know what she was supposed to do! This was her first real fight!

Oh, sure, she had beaten up the odd mugger over the years here, yet that was nothing like this. At all. She needed to keep a low profile. They were challenging the Grandmaster. None of which was covered in the self-defense training her family had given her. Again, at all.

No. Stop. Breathe. Assess.

Quickly she looked around to figure out what was happening. Natasha seemed to be handling them okay, acting in total control of the fight. Even as she whirled about though, the anger in her expression was obvious as she lashed out with perfect calculation.

But what about her boyfriend? Was he going to go green? He thought that was a bad idea though. So where was he hiding?

A scuffle behind her made her whirl around, only to see the short man drop one of the soldiers to the ground.

“Don’t stand still, keep moving,” Banner warned her, his breathing as regular as normal. His eyes though, held the real story, smoldering with a rage which forced her to obey.

His every movement though was calm and methodical, perfectly reigning it all in.

Who are these people? she wondered with a greater trepidation. It was becoming increasingly clear why their team was named the ‘Avengers.’

-(Alien) Sun-

[Flashback]

Avenger’s Tower

When he arrived at the gym, Bruce found Romanoff doing stretches there.

He caught a flicker of what could be surprise from her. “Uhm, sorry for barging in,” he managed. He glanced at his watch to be sure he had the right time, even though he already knew. Well, no matter, and Steve could go to another one. Except where was he? Tony had been going on and on about how punctual to a fault the super-soldier was, so why was he—oh. Ah. Oh dear.

While too little, too late, he wiped the dismay from his expression.

“Uhm, I thought it would be, uhm . . .”

“Let me guess,” Romanoff crossly said. “Steve Rogers came to you saying you needed some remedial hand-to-hand combat training. So you can defend yourself more without relying on the Hulk.”

“Uhm, maybe?” he stalled. His brain caught up then. “He came to you saying that someone needed that training, and let you think he was talking about someone else.”

“Without actually saying so,” she said with a slight scowl of irritation. “He’s sneakier than I gave him credit for.”

Neither of them wanted to do this. Except they were both aware how necessary it was that he had an option besides the Other Guy.

 “Why not Tony or Steve?” he hazarded.

He really did not want to spend much time with someone he had nearly killed. Flashes of memories of her absolutely terrified face before he transformed and she had to run for her life. Not to mention the simple fact she was a spy. Supposedly the spy apparently, the absolute master of the art of manipulating people. He knew she had already gotten to Tony before.

So yes, he had been avoiding her since she moved in along with Steve. Given the ease at which he had been doing so, even within such a large Tower, he suspected it was mutual.

Cocking an unimpressed eyebrow, she coolly shot that down. “You and Stark’d just talk science shop. Besides, while he’s surprisingly good, his style is built more around fighting alongside his gadgets and weapons. Something you aren’t comfortable with.”

Of course she would pick that up.

“Of course Stark’d just figure he’s best for it since the Big Guy is friendly with him, if there were any accidents, he’d be safer. Only that very fact means you aren’t willing to take the risk with him.”

Also true.

 “Maybe he’d be useful for sparring, and sparring against for practice, but not who you want to be teaching you. As for Steve,” she settled into another stretch, “he can’t teach you because he never really received any proper formal training. He fights like a master though, because of the Serum.” She sat down on a bench, appearing utterly calm, while letting him figure the next bit out.

“He processes what’s happening faster than anyone else, connects it to his eidetic memory, and then uses whatever technique he decides fits the situation,” Bruce realized. Obviously he had studied up on the man —what biologist worth their salt had not?— yet he kept learning amazing new things about him. “Either coming up with it on the spot, or duplicating it. Not to mention he’s just so much faster and stronger than anyone else.”

“Almost anyone,” she corrected. “Other than that, you’ve pretty much got it. Oh, sure, he uses techniques from American Boxing, Taekwondo, Karate, Krav Maga, Muay Thai, Judo, Jui-jutsu, Wing Chun, Aikido, and probably more as he picks them up. He’s just that smart, and enough of a natural fighter to make do. Teaching others who don’t have any of his advantages would be difficult and time consuming when he’s already got a lot on his plate. Most of all, both he, Stark, and pretty much anyone else you could care to name are people who fight to go on the offensive. For you, it would be building on your Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu—” of course her and S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about that, “—with a focus on self-defense and making space to escape. That you only fight if there is no chance to get away.”

Biting back a groan, Bruce tried to think of an alternative. Because not only was Romanoff apparently a contender for the most dangerous, non-enhanced Human alive at hand-to-hand combat, she would be familiar with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s own training regimes for guidance.

His only solace here, was whatever he learnt would be useless to the Other Guy. It lacked the intelligence to use whatever he learnt.

Her flat tone also did not make her sound judgmental of him not wanting to get into any fights, regardless of his ‘party trick.’

“Look,” she sighed. “We both know why Steve put us together. He’s seen we’re uncomfortable being around each other, and we both know why, except he’s a believer in teamwork. So he’s throwing us together to make sure we can at least learn to be professional with each other now, so we can then do it in the field.”

“So it’s just you doing your job,” he stated. Which yes, explained why she was willing to put up with him.

“Precisely,” she said with a slight smile he did not believe for an instant. “Let’s start with your stretches.”

-(Alien) Sun-

Months later

“Not bad,” Natasha grinned down at him.

“High praise,” Bruce smiled back, taking the offered hand up from the mats.

Without another word he took up his preferred combat stance again, and waited for her to attack, aiming to hem him in with a taser prop. Last time she had gotten him with a series of surprise leg sweeps she had added in.

“No really,” she assured him. “You can take pride in knowing your return to Western civilization and a laboratory has not made you regress back into being an Ivory Tower nerd.

“Thanks,” he managed a little bashfully. “I had a good teacher.”

“I had some fine clay to work with,” she winked, before attacking.

Twenty seconds later he was back on the ground, but could take solace that Natasha’s flirting had not distracted him. He suspected few men or women, regardless of their orientation, could make the same claim.

“Take five,” she ordered, tossing him a water bottle he snagged mid-air.

“Appreciate it.”

After he took a few gulps, he asked something which had been bugging him a little lately. “How’d you set it up so nobody interrupted our sessions? Not that I’m complaining. Makes it easier to concentrate. Just that everywhere else there's always somebody walking in at any time.”

“Well,” she smirked, “I may have given a few instructions to JARVIS, saying it was under Steve’s authority for improving the team and keeping everybody alive. So as far as everybody else knows, this time is when the gym gets cleaned.”

“You mean as far as Tony knows.”

“Do you really want him to come in here when I’m teaching you how to restrain someone on the ground?”

Bruce chuckled before he moaned good-naturedly. “Oh man, the innuendos. He would go on and on about use being hot and sweaty and physical for weeks. All the while you’d be saying something to encourage him.”

Her eyes twinkled. “And yet you keep coming back for more.”

-(Alien) Sun-

Present

Sakaar

“Well,” noted Natasha, not even short of breath. “That was a mess.”

Soldiers littered the ground around them, only a few conscious, and regretting it as they twitched in pain. Meanwhile the civilians, including the ones they had just saved, had understandably fled.

“What were you thinking!?” demanded Lyja. It seemed like she was trying to hiss it, yet with that gravelly male voice she was using, it came out weird.

Instead of answering, Natasha said, “Can they track us?”

“Uh, what?”

“What will security do after this?” Natasha repeated emotionlessly.

Shaking herself a little, Lyja answer, “They have chemo-hormone tracking tech. For something like this, they’ll hunt us down to throw us into the colosseum against either the champion, or someone else to make us suffer.

The spy looked at Bruce, who looked more impressed than was appropriate. “Think cybernetic dogs, except they’ll be tracking us directly. Even changing clothes, or a shower wouldn’t work to shake off our innate scent.”

With a huff, she gave a sharp nod. “We’d better hurry then. Since Elloe escaped that, I’m guessing they stay out of the deeper slums still.”

Lyja gave a choppy nod. “That’s right, but—”

“Tell us on the run.”

-(Alien) Sun-

Later

“Alright, easy now,” cautioned Lyja.

This part of the Undercity was a surprisingly wide, open space, except for tall piles of trash more like pillars, even if they were not holding anything up.

“Because otherwise those come down on you as traps,” gestured Natasha at the stacks.

“Yep,” said Lyja, still in her fake form.

“Why so much space?” asked Bruce. “Or how?”

“It was like this before more levels were put on top, and never got filled in. Some of the nastier gangs claim it now and then. Recently Jarael cleared them out though after they caused her and Camper trouble, and they decided to move in after.”

“And now it looks like more trouble has come. Leave.”

At those words, the woman in question stepped into view, weapon raised and hostile.

Despite the old and stained clothes she wore, Bruce could not help comparing the woman to Natasha, with her obvious fierceness and strength, and stunning beauty.

Pale-white skin, long white hair, a muscular, lithe frame, and pointed ears. Thin, blue designs on her face and shoulder looked like tattoos.

Tony would feel obligated to call her a space elf princess. Yep, start calling her Arwen every chance he got. Not Galadriel though, who was more ‘magic queen’ than ‘warrior princess.’

Her polearm was also interesting, with the staff being made of a dull-gold metal, while the ‘tip’ remained as round as the rest, yet glowed a bright blue. It closely reminded him of Natasha’s own batons, and wagered it would shock someone just as well.

Natasha was more concerned though with the naked suspicion in those eyes. This person and her partner were their only lead to get safely home, and they would have to be careful not to provoke her in any way. Like before, given how they were also dealing with alien senses of unknown ability, she would have to be careful against any outright lies, or relying too much on her masks.

Lyja decided to take the lead, being the local expert. “Lady Jarael—”

“Words already out on you three,” came the angry interruption. “Bounties posted, and people looking for you. We don’t need anyone sniffing around even down here.”

“You have a connection to the information systems above,” Bruce realized, completely forgetting about the threat. “What—”

The scientist swallowed his words at the touch of Natasha’s hand to his shoulder. “We wish to make a deal,” she said. “We need information, and are willing to make a trade.”

Except of course their main ‘currency’ was what they could either steal, or promising shelter on Earth. Or at least long enough for Fury to call this Carol lady.

The woman’s scowl darkened, yet a new voice made her stop as another alien with white skin and white hair appeared. Doubtless Camper, a beard announced him as male, and his gait and wrinkles made it clear he was older than his companion. However . . .

“—reroute the voltage around the main bus . . . Dunno why they make me revolt the voltage . . . Down the revolt, they said . . .” he muttered distractedly. “Dunno why it’s my job . . . my job to cycle the crystal cathode . . . not my crystal in the cycle . . . Dunno why it’s my problem—”

Where Jarael was unquestionably beautiful, dangerous, sane, and seemed like someone out of a fantasy story, Camper was another story. Instead of the one man with the genius to get them off this literal garbage-world, he looked and sounded more like a homeless person. A crazy one at that, as he pushed what uncomfortably resembled a shopping cart loaded with trash while muttering to himself.

“His fingers,” Natasha whispered into Bruce’s ear.

It took Bruce a second, yet then it all leapt out so clearly. Contrary to what you would expect for a place so poor, or the raggedy clothes he had on, the older man’s fingernails were clean. As were his skin and clothes for that matter. In contrast, Elloe and Lyja wore a layer of grime on them, and the former noble’s nails were chipped. So while the man might indeed be crazy, obviously these people had the resources to live a step above the rest of the Undercity.

There were also miniature robots hovering about Camper, which he could tell at a glance had been assembled from trash.

Yes, there was potential here.

“We want to make a trade,” repeated Lyja. “We’re trying to get off-world, and if there’s any scientist who knows how to deal with the wormholes, and the Grandmaster hasn’t killed off, it’s Camper.”

“Oh!” beamed Camper, tapping his forehead. “Yes I do! Keep it nice and up here where it’s safe!” He hit his fist against a wall, and a wide door shot up and open, and he puttered inside as if nothing had happened. Bruce was distracted by the workshop hidden inside the wall cavity, with lots of ongoing mechanical projects; many of them half-finished, and what looked like a sputtering, advanced arc welder having been left on.

“What’re you offering?” Camper suddenly called back.

“Is there anything you—”

“Units, or specialized gear,” Jarael interrupted. “Preferably Units.”

“We’ve got a ship already,” Natasha said, omitting how Bruce figured they would be needing a new one. “The wormholes are the problem. When we get back home to Earth though, we have connections for safety and security for everyone.” That was based on the assumption that the Avengers had indeed stopped Ultron, and Bruce was not a wanted fugitive still for Johannesburg.

 “Not interested,” Jarael flatly said. Her stance shifted minutely, and Natasha knew Camper was not supposed to say that about the wormholes; it made them a target of the Grandmaster. If she, Bruce, and Lyja could not make it worthwhile, and were not going to be safely leaving Sakaar, then they were a threat.

“Because you’re hiding,” Natasha calmly noted, as if she missed the warning signs. “And what better place to do it than the bottom of a planetary junkyard where no one is supposed to be able to leave.”

The older man turned around to face them, and his slack face firmed up as he straightened up, eyes sharper. However it seemed less like an act, and more him waking up. It reminded her of some stories she had heard of regarding people with dementia. Or Bruce when he drops the bumbling act.

“Except you can do it in better places,” said Bruce, the spirit of diplomacy. “Earth isn’t part of the galactic community; no one would know you were there, and you’d be living someplace a lot better than this.”

“Oh?” Camper firmly said. “By your outfits beneath all those guns I’d say you stole, you were picked up somewhere pretty primitive compared to what we’re used to. Someplace where we’d be dependent upon you for support.” One of his robots made a series of beeping sounds. “Correction: you and your Skrull friend.”

Lyja stiffened, before cautiously shifting back to her real form. “How’d—?”

“Don’t matter,” he gruffly cut off, while Jarael shifted so it was clear she was ready for a fight.

“What about your health?” Bruce quickly said.

“My health’s just fine here!” blustered Camper.

“Camper, have you considered the possibility you’re having problems because you’re living in a garbage heap?” Bruce asked with studied politeness.

The two aliens stared at him.

“While I admit I don’t know anything about your biology, it’s just that you are living in a place where all sorts of alien germs and spores are growing, mutating, and doing who knows what. It’s only a matter of time before something pops up that your older immune system can’t handle. Or maybe an allergen. He’ll probably improve if you get him off-planet.” Assuming of course Earth was not equally toxic to his alien biology for whatever reason; except he would wager it was still far better than whatever a garbage heap had to offer.

There was a beat as Jarael’s expression settled into a mix of defensive-suspicion, only for unpleasant wheels to turn in Camper’s mind, before he heavily lowered his face into the palms of his hands. Bitterly he muttered, “I should’ve thought of that” just loud enough to be overheard.

Ah, thought Natasha resignedly. Another genius who misses the small yet ever so important things. Who knows how long they were running from whatever before reaching here though?

Not taking her eyes off of their guests, Jarael said, “Camper?”

He looked up at the ceiling, noting the signs of mold he had ignored as they became just a part of the scenery, and knew there was likely far more in the ventilation and walls by this point. “. . . They may be right.” Plus, he knew Jarael deserved better than living down here. This ‘Earth’ might not be much, but right now he would consider the possibility anywhere was better than Sakaar. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

That was enough for her to relax her guard, and lower her weapon. “Okay. We’d better get moving before you lead security here.”

“We’ve got some friends with a place,” Bruce said. “We should head there.”

“And uh, Earth’s also got a way to call my people,” Lyja added. “So yeah, we do have other places to go after Earth.”    

“Alright then,” Natasha smiled. “So how are we getting back?”

-(Alien) Sun-

Later

“Whoa, what happened to you guys?” Elloe asked with some concern as their new companions plus two returned back to the ‘house.’

While Bruce looked about the same, and the old guy with him appeared fine, the three ladies with them were exhausted. Natasha and Jarael were covered in sweat, Lyja panting, their clothes scuffed up and torn in places, Natasha had lost her shawl and gained a bruise on one cheek, while the new white-haired lady was letting the older man bandage up a cut on her arm.

Ashamed at how comparatively pristine he was, Bruce answered, “We had to travel through the Undercity to get here. The ladies covered Camper and I, oh, this is Camper and Jarael, while we carried some of their things.”

“The Undercity!? Why!? How’d you not get lost!? And do you know how many people would’ve ambushed—oh. I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Good for a workout,” smirked Natasha. She had also confirmed that Jarael fought with hard training and natural viciousness when roused, and was confident her strength was above Human average. Perhaps most importantly than how dangerous a fighter she was though, was how she did not kill everyone she fought—lives did matter to her.

She had also noted that while Camper was proud of his daughter’s(?) skills, he was not boastful of it either. He was happy for Jarael’s sake, not taking pride in having such a fierce protector. The older man also never even blinked at the sight of Brood, even if it was impossible to tell if that was because of the dementia, being in full Science Mode and not noticing, or because he really was that calm and composed at the sight of a species which sounded like Xenomorphs. Jarael’s gloved hands had tightened on her weapon, yet kept her composure aside from that.

After getting all the gear settled, Bruce turned to their prisoner to be polite and check how she was doing, only to pause and carefully ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” bit out Scrapper 142, backed up into a corner as far away from No-Name as she could manage. “Just peachy!”

He glanced at Elloe and No-Name, yet they appeared confused, not guilty at misusing the remote to the Obedience Disc. He looked back at Scrapper 142, only for her to snap “What!?”

“Nothing. Sorry to bother you,” he said with a neutral smile, and turned away.

Beads of sweat on her forehead. Hands trembling more than last he had seen her. A slight pinch to her expression which he anticipated as pain. Plus in hindsight, it was also surprising she had not spoken up until now.

However her expression showed no sign of fear, or anything —if she were Human, even if she seemed as Human as Thor— to make him think Elloe or No-Name had abused her in any way.

If she were Human though, he would instantly classify her as trying to hide increasingly severe alcohol withdrawal. Which . . . would be a problem. Going cold turkey never went well back on Earth, especially if it was forced on you. 

Natasha was looking at him, and he mouthed “withdrawal” to her, and she understood. They would have to keep a close eye on their ‘guest,’ or find her something to drink, or she might do something reckless. Something dangerous, given how fast, strong, and desperate she seemed. All on top of her resentment at being made vulnerable by the Obedience Disc.

He had an uncomfortable feeling Natasha considered Scrapper 142 as someone to deal with, one way or another, and sooner rather than later.

Although even leaving her behind here might be a death sentence given the hints about this Grandmaster.

“Alright,” grunted Camper, ignoring the byplay and underlying tension, to get down to business. “Who here’s familiar with particle physics?”

“I am,” assured Bruce.

Scrapper 142 remained silent, yet Bruce thought there was a flicker of interest.

 “If it’s about the wormholes in any way, I wouldn’t know anything,” Elloe reluctantly said.

“Not something I learnt either,” said No-Name. “The Brood just teach a few, and then let our hive mind connect to the rest when needed.”

“Flunked out of theory,” admitted Lyja.

“Only enough for conversation,” said Natasha, giving Bruce a knowing wink.

He only stared in confusion for an embarrassing moment before realizing it was so she could talk to him. For Natasha’s part, her long hours of study were rewarded by his adorkable blush.

Chapter Text

Sakaar

“Alright,” grunted out Camper, impatient to get down to business. “Who here’s familiar with particle physics?”

“I am,” assured Bruce.

Scrapper 142 remained silent, yet Bruce thought there was a flicker of interest.

“If it’s about the wormholes in any way, I wouldn’t know anything,” Elloe reluctantly said.

“Not something I learnt either,” said No-Name. “The Brood just teach a few, and then let our hive mind connect to the rest when needed. And I no longer have that connection to the Whole.”

“Flunked out of theory,” admitted Lyja.

“Only enough for conversation,” said Natasha, giving Bruce a knowing wink.

“Fantastic,” grumbled the older man. “Well in that case I’ll just say the wormholes are definitely artificial in nature. Studied them out of curiosity back . . . at some point.” For a moment he looked distracted before his eyes hardened again. “Right, so the Grandmaster makes them, and controls them from his palace. That’s how he collects everybody and everything for his little kingdom of entertainment. First of all, do you have a ship?”  

“Wait, what!?” demanded Lyja. “The wormholes are artificial!?”

“Of course they are, girl! Pah! You actually thought this place was natural? Believed his lies?”

“Well they—oh! Right. Of course. But this could revolutionize space travel. I mean, we pretty much use a network of wormholes to get around as is, but nothing nearly on such a scale. I just can’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” cut in Jarael with a slight warning tone. “What about a ship off of here?”

“Technically we’ve got a ship already,” said Natasha. “Except it won’t be enough for this many people. And,” a glance at Scrapper-142 with a studied expression of boredom, “we’re not exactly sure what shape it’s in for space travel.”

“Terrific,” he said sarcastically. “Well, to start off, just as the wormholes can suck up from anywhere, if we sail through them, there’s no telling where we’ll end up.”

“So it doesn’t matter which wormhole we choose then,” mused Bruce, undaunted by the challenge before them. “What matters is having a big and sturdy enough ship for the journey.”

Camper through his arms up in the air. “Which makes it impossible since there’s no ships to get!”

“You wouldn’t have made the trip if you genuinely thought that,” said Natasha not unkindly. “Not if it meant risking Jarael coming here.”

“And either way, their life support systems with clean air should be a major help for your own problem,” Bruce pointed out firmly if not unkindly.  

The white-coloured woman shot the Human a glower at that.

Before the cranky scientist/tinkerer could say something, Elloe interjected with a touch of hope. “The Grandmaster has ships though!” said the former aristocrat. “He likes to show them off to people.”

“You’ll all die horribly if you try to break in,” said Scrapper-142, speaking up for the first time. “Even with Big Green.”

No-Name gave out a rasping growl from behind her massive fangs, so Natasha played peacekeeper again. “Let’s worry about that in a second. First off, would one of those ships be able to handle the journey?”

Thankfully the deflection worked, as that subject interested No-Name more. Apparently some ‘people skills’ were universal.

“Impossible to say,” said Camper. “But even if not, if I’ve the time and supplies, I should be able to fix up at least one of ‘em to do the job.”

“Good. Elloe, were any of them big enough to fit all of us? Including with enough food?”

“Uhm,” the red-skinned alien’s brain briefly froze at the prospect of having to escape on the ship used for orgies all the time, until she remembered the other vessels. “Yes. For sure!”

“Where are we getting the supplies?” asked Jarael pointedly. “Stealing it?”

“If he’s got those ships, the Grandmaster’s probably planning on using them to escape if necessary,” reassured Natasha, thinking of other tyrants of various scales she had dealt with over the years. “So they’ll have food and other necessities available.”

The others, besides Camper and Jarael, glanced at Scrapper 142, who, after a moment, gave a resentful nod to confirm it.

“Natasha mentioned earlier that you knew the Grandmaster’s security, is that true?”

“More or less,” said the slaver with a grin that was all teeth. “At any rate, if he finds me now I’ll be punished for my failure, and we all know what that means. So I don’t want to be left here to be punished by him. So what’s my guarantee you won’t? Or just dispose of me yourselves?”

“Uhm . . .” said Bruce, caught off guard as he had not thought that far ahead. Or honestly ever planned to do so.

“Or are you going to keep me around,” she tapped the Obedience Disc on her neck, “as a pretty little slave and muscle.”

“What!? No! We—”

He cut off as Natasha laid a hand on his shoulder. Without looking at him, she answered, “We abhor slavery where we come from. You get us into the hanger bay, and we call it square. You can grab another ship, one without guns, and choose your own wormhole. You’ll have no trouble finding somewhere else with people willing to exchange hired violence for some sort of intoxicant.”

A sneer was Scrapper 142’s answer, yet she did not challenge Natasha. If anything, the micro-expressions on the woman’s face indicated she believed her.

If she were Human.

Except what else did Natasha have to work with? Even if this person seemed weirdly Human, or even Asgardian.

The others seemed to accept it.   

Either way, Natasha could not keep up this balance forever. For humans, going cold turkey could be as dangerous as the alcoholism itself. Not that she had any clue how Scrapper 142's biology worked. It was a delicate balancing act between keeping the slaver weak enough to play along if she thought she would be released, and not letting her get so desperate she would lash out headless of the consequences.

Simply put, as valuable as a fighter able to threaten the Hulk might be, the more time went by, the greater a liability Scrapper 142 became.

“Alright, sounds swell. Then what?” said Camper.

“Best case for you guys, we’re also near a world you two can settle on,” said Natasha. “While the rest of us head to Bruce and I’s homeworld. We have strong reason to believe there is a long-distance communicator there for other allies.”

With a grunt, Camper nodded in acceptance. With how much he was scowling, it was hard to tell how enthusiastic he really was, while Jarael’s expression was an effective mask as well.

“So back to the break-in,” said Natasha with a smile. She gave a pointed look at their prisoner.

Only Scrapper 142 shook her head. “I can unlock the doors well enough—”

“What if they locked out your codes?” Jarael coldly cut in.

With a shrug, “I know some other people’s ones. What? I’m not an idiot. And nobody takes a drunk seriously. That still isn’t the problem though. There’s too many guards, and the hanger’s part of the palace complex, so more will arrive until they’ve swarmed us and killed us all.”

“We’ve a Skrull,” pointed out Jarael.

“Won’t work,” Lyja shook her head. “The Grandmaster’s always found us before.”

“So we need more firepower,” concluded Elloe.

“Yesss,” hissed No-Name.

“Huh, Bruce,” Elloe jerked her chin at him, “what about your green side? He took out her, right?”

“Uhm,” Bruce gave a small awkward cough to buy himself a moment. “We really don’t want to have to rely on it.”

“Him.”

Startled, he shot a betrayed look at Natasha, who gave him an unimpressed, icy eyebrow. She did not repeat herself.

For a moment he looked like he was going to argue, only to drop it. “It’s not a good idea,” he said instead to the others. “Too . . . chaotic. He won’t work with you, and the ships might get destroyed.”

“So you want us to do all the dirty work?” scowled Jarael.

“No! It’s just, it’ll make things worse. Trust me.”

“We’ll definitely lose all subtlety,” said Natasha.

“Oh, like we’ll have that for long.”

“She’s right,” said Elloe. “If we don’t want to die, or worse, it’ll take everything we’ve got. And like I said, whoever or whatever it was, took down her!” She jabbed her finger at Scrapper 142, while No-Name nodded in agreement, fangs slightly barred in a hint of warning.

“No.”

“C’mon! Why not!?” cried Elloe, slapping him on the shoulder as her frustration and overall stress got the better of her.

On the other side of Bruce and out of reach, Natasha could only stiffen. It is something nobody should notice, yet No-Name caught her concern as she twitched and shut her mouth, and Scrapper 142 tensed.

For his part, Bruce flinched, and then frowned in irritation. “No.”

Privately though, it was an interesting sensation having people disagree with him like this. Even amongst the Avengers they were careful to draw lines on how far to push him.

Except for Tony, but the man’s own girlfriend had had JARVIS fake up a document labeling him certifiably insane after an incident involving him trying his hand at redecorating and life-sized portraits of Pepper. Or, of course, how on their first meeting, Tony had prodded Bruce with a zapper, and then leaned in closer to see his reaction. 

Of course, that very lack of fear when Tony looked him in the eyes, was a big part of why he was happy to be ‘Science Bros’ with him. 

. . . Which applied to Natasha as well in hindsight. Something to think about later.

Back to the present though, these aliens had no idea why people back home were so rightfully afraid of him. For the Avengers, a Code: Green was their nuclear option, while here even Scrapper-142 was more wary than scared. Although that may be because it was obvious how reluctant he was to bring out the Other Guy.  

So he gave a hint, and let some of his anger show in his eyes.

“We just really don’t want him out,” he repeated, his voice suddenly deeper and raspier. In a blink he went through the familiar struggle of mastering himself, and asked in his normal tone, “But if you’re so concerned about this, isn’t there anywhere else we can get more muscle?”

The way the young woman pulled back, she got the message. Or maybe because she was considering what he said. “Like where? Huh?”

“Maybe help from some of the slaves?” offered Bruce. “I mean, some of them’ll want to help, right?

“Welllllll,” grinned Scrapper 142. “I’ve an idea,” she said.

-(Alien) Sun-

Earth

Helicarrier

“Well then,” said Director Fury, putting down his touch-pad, “now that we know we’ve accounted for every single Ultron drone, we should talk about the other elephant in the room.”

“Romanoff and Banner,” said Steve grimly.

“Exactly. Thanks to Stark’s tech, we can’t track ‘em, and we’ve heard nothing for too long now.” Neither man said anything about their earlier confidence in either individual, as it had been well over twenty-four hours. “We’ll keep looking, but right now we’ve got to consider them MIA, and that something unexpected has happened.”

By the spymaster’s frown though, it was clear he was concerned Hulk had done something to Romanoff, and Steve could not shake his own fears. Their ignorance was a painful sensation, and he knew that it must be worse for Barton. Back during the War, Steve had never had to worry about this. Even when Bucky had fallen off the train, he had at least ‘known’ his best friend was dead.

“There’s nothing else we can do?”

“Not at this moment. I’ve got people looking, obviously, and so will Stark. For now we’ll have to be patient.”

“All right.”

“Unfortunately there’s another elephant,” admitted Fury, and now he looked both regretful and angry. “It’s not official yet, but there’s a definite push by Sokovia’s neighbours to absorb what’s left of the country. They’re arguing it’s to prevent instability in the region after all the unrest, now that their biggest city’s gone and left the inhabitants as refugees. They’re right, even if it’s also a power grab.”

With a scowl, Steve looked away from the man, resisting the urge to verbally lash out. While Fury was no saint, he believed the man’s displeasure was genuine. And unfortunately there was a valid point to those arguments, and offhand he had no clue what he could do to prevent the assimilation and likely destruction of an entire nation and its culture. Instead he would start with the problem right in front of him.

“Which means Wanda’s citizenship is up for grabs as well,” he gritted out.

“Precisely,” nodded Fury. “Fortunately, if she’s willing, my contacts can fast-track her as an American citizen, which, along with some lawyers and contacts, will resolve the majority of her legal issues. Even the people who don’t like it will go along with it to keep an Enhanced as powerful as her out of Eastern Europe.”

Politicians.

He sucked in a deep breath, and let it out. “Thank you, Fury.”

“You’re welcome. First things first though, get to work on deprogramming her.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Steve with perfect politeness.

“You heard me. Strucker was priming her and her brother to be Hydra’s ultimate weapons, so you can bet there’ll be a bunch of other issues to resolve yet. They shrugged it off enough so they weren’t willing to die for him or his cause, but I’d rather someone sat her down for some careful questions. Find out the mental blindspots they’d have encouraged in two vulnerable teens and all. Plus, of course, her grief over losing her brother.

“Originally I was planning for Romanoff to handle this of course, but I’m hoping Barton or Hill will be up for helping them get through it. That sound good to you, Captain America?”

While the slightly sarcastic tone irritated Steve, he had to admit Fury had a good point. So he simply nodded.

“Good, because I doubt Ultron’ll be the end of it. And right now the Avengers need all the help they can get, and the fact is, she’s one of the most powerful people on the planet. Certainly the only one we’ve currently got available, what with Thor flying off again.”

“Of course,” said Steve resolutely, standing up to show he was done playing games for now. “Wanda . . . made a terrible mistake. Several of which cost many lives. Except she knows it, and wants to atone for it. She’s an Avenger now, and we look after our own. No matter what it takes.”

So they would let the world see her as the hero she was. So they would know the Scarlet Witch as a saviour, not a destroyer.

Before her own guilt consumed her.

-(Alien) Sun-

Once the good captain had left, Fury sagged back a little into his chair, letting himself feel some of the burden he had been shouldering this entire time.

Letting out a long breath, he used this scarce private moment to pull out the pager Carol had given him so long ago, and turned it off.

Obviously he had summoned her the moment the extent of Ultron’s threat had been made clear, only she had been too far away it seems. Later, he had kept it running until every scrap of the malevolent AI had been accounted for, as they had just done. And yes, he admitted that a part of her hoped she would show up, so they could catch up.

When Loki’s invasion had happened, he had left the pager on, only for her to quietly turn up a week after it had all settled down. Although that time he had left the thing blaring because he was hoping she had some further intel about the mystery army that Loki had used, and some general advice. Maybe even convince her to stick around. He had told her what he could, and she filled him in on what she had learnt about Asgardians, giving him a few more angles to work from.

Following a promise to dig deeper into whoever had been involved with Loki, she made a few teasing jokes to which he had returned with some dry humour. Then his friend had set off back to the stars.

When he had been shot by the traitors in SHIELD, he had nearly used the pager, only stopping because resolving the mess with the Insight Helicarriers was still feasible without cosmic intervention. Plus, her being a few galaxies away meant that it would take too long for her to arrive. So he had decided to wait. Either they would succeed and she would not be inconvenienced, or he would summon her when it looked like they were going to lose, and a few days would not make much difference for her in razing Hydra and their ‘victory’ to the ground.

Privately, he wished she would visit more often.

Wondered how she and Talos and the rest were doing.

Why, little Lyja would be full grown by now. Like how so many other kids he had once known were.

Yes, he really hoped they would drop by one day.

. . . If only so he and his old friends could blow Stark’s mind of course.

-(Alien) Sun-

Sakaar

Later

Lyja Talosdaughter was no fool.

You did not survive on Sakaar for as long as she had without learning when to put your idealism aside and harden your heart. Her earlier ‘gushing’ notwithstanding.

It was just . . .

Real-life Humans! Who were not Carol!

Even better, they were heroes from Earth, like out of those old comic books! Allies of Fury, her dad’s friend!

They were also really scary deep down.

Deftly fingers flew over the computer console as she made a few more adjustments. Scrapper 142’s ship, Warsong, was a fine craft, but in mixed condition. Weaponry and related systems had been treated well, until the guns had been destroyed at least, while the engines were barely maintained, as had other systems the slaver had not really cared about.

And it was Lyja’s job to use them for the critical mission —an actual mission!— about to start.

Again, without guns.

Joy.

Ah, her dad would be so furious about her being in danger like this. He had loved how she had a nice ‘safe’ job back home.

Yes, such delicious irony.

Instead she had gotten herself swept up here on a dangerous mission. Even if she had found herself some of Fury’s associates, who seemed like just the sort of people she needed right now.

Because, once more, dangerous.

As a Skrull, body language was something she knew, deep within her cells. On top of those scant memories she had received, to say nothing of that fight earlier today, Lyja was well aware that Natasha was a scary woman, in an oh-so different way than Carol. Alright, that was not entirely fair, as nobody else was ‘dangerous’ like Carol. Still, here and now, the relaxed body language made the Black Widow seem perfectly harmless, putting everyone else at ease. Including people who should know better after what they had already seen and heard about. Like when the redhead had dropped the act to take down multiple soldiers without even breaking a sweat.

Bruce was like that as well, and while she had not reacted to him starting to lose his temper earlier, it was a near thing. Solely possible because Lyja had seen some of that deep, dark anger before in that same fight earlier.

Oh yes, Lyja could understand them far better than they imagined, and a part of her seriously wondered if that level of insight was what had really made people like the Kree so terrified of Skrulls.

Where his girlfriend’s rage was cold and buried so deep that Natasha might not even realize it existed, Bruce’s was fiery. A part of Lyja wondered if either of them truly appreciated how similar they were to one another in that respect.

So yes, Lyja was going to follow their lead in this, because her two new friends seemed just the right mix of crazy, desperate, and disciplined violence to pull this off.

If they succeeded, it would be the biggest crime in the history of Sakaar.

Hopefully followed by something even bigger.

It was obvious in hindsight though. If you were looking for some fellow troublemakers, look to the colosseum where they were all packed together for an extended death sentence.

The gladiators.

Bust them out, and recruit them as muscle to next assault the Grandmaster’s ship bay, and everyone would fly away.

Simple, right?

A few more switches were flipped, and she nodded in satisfaction at the readings on display. This ship would last long enough for her to do her part.

 “Now, how would Carol say it again? Ah, right.” She flipped on her communicator. “Ship’s all green, ready to buster on over to you all. You guys read me?”

“All clear,” said the Human woman, a hint of amusement getting through the professionalism of her ‘Black Widow’ persona. Clearly she recognized the ‘pilot specialist jargon’ as Carol liked to call it.

“Five by five,” she grinned.

“When we get the chance to relax,” Black Widow dryly said, “I really want to hear more about that little adventure you had back on Earth.”

“Get us there, and we can invite Fury too,” she said.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“This is our last chance to back out,” Jarael curtly broke in. “You sure you’re ready for this, Banner?”

“Yeah, I’ll do my part,” the man seemed to sigh. “I just really was hoping to get away from this kind of life.”

“Y’know, I do know what a black widow is. So if you don’t want any excitement, but shack up with a lady that names herself after that, you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

He gave a bark of laughter at that, suddenly more at ease. “Yes, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Any world really.”     

Chapter Text

For better or worse, I do not own any of the Marvel franchise, nor any Star Wars characters imported in.   

~)~)~)~

Many thanks to my wonderful Betas, VixenRose1996 and MasterQwertster, who write some pretty cool stories. Go read them!

The fantastic cover image is courtesy of rickyryan. Just perfect!

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Avengers: The (Alien) Sun’s Going Down

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Chapter 9: Prison Break

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This was not Natasha’s first jail break.

Nor, surprisingly enough, was it her first time breaking free a bunch of gladiators.

It was however her first time doing so while supported by a spaceship and a bunch of aliens.

Well, there was no turning back now.

-(Alien) Sun-

Colosseum of Champions

“Alert!” broadcasted the speakers. “Unauthorised vehicle on approach! Alert!”

Justifiably concerned, the guards rushed towards the doors, while keeping a few by the colosseum’s disc control unit. This was a scenario they’d trained for extensively, and had even handled a few incidents where families of the gladiators had attempted to free their loved ones, only to join them in turn as slaves.

Oh. Wait. No, it was ‘prisoners with jobs’ they were supposed to call—

The familiar sight of their regular drinking buddy Scrapper 142 rounded the corner, and she sent the lead guard flying with a well-placed kick.

Throwing herself at the rest, she unleashed powerful blows that sent them slamming into walls, but training and fear overruled their shock. Their numbers would tell, and the Grandmaster would reward them!

One sharp individual caught sight of another woman dressed in black with red hair coming from the same way the traitor had, largely unnoticed in the chaos.

“Halt!” he called on reflex.

A flicker of motion, and something hit his neck harmlessly. Hefting his staff-weapon in response, his finger pressed down on the—

Agony seared through him. Familiar agony as an Obedience Disc brought him to his knees in compliance, before blissful unconsciousness claimed him.

-(Alien) Sun-

Energy fire shrieked overhead as Black Widow fired her wrist gauntlets.

While he was no Tony Stark, with a little help from Camper, her boyfriend had given her gear some upgrades, and taken advantage of the local tech beautifully. Non-lethal, guaranteed to bring someone down, with a dash of karma on top.

Another door opened to reveal another squad coming at them, so she fired her wrist-mounted grapple gun at one of the various decorations on the high ceiling to haul herself into the air above them to dodge their fire and distract them. With her free arm she fired more discs, all the while serving as a further diversion.

No-Name hit the guards with all her nightmarish fury, tentacle-like limbs knocking them about, and biting through armour into arms to make them drop their weapons. Several screamed “Brood!” and just threw down their weapons to run for their lives.

“Entrance clear,” Black Widow said into her radio. On cue, Jarael and Elloe came up behind them, the former holding her own personal staff, while Elloe grabbed one of the guard’s. Personally, the Avenger considered the whole staff-gun design pretty crude, especially for shooting. Then again, Jarael’s staff was actually intended for hitting people, so perhaps that made sense.

Remembering Scrapper 142’s directions, Black Widow gestured for the woman to take the lead.

-(Alien) Sun-

Along a long corridor, the various gladiators sat around, mostly spread out from one another.

There was nothing for them to do there, and given their lifestyle, the space helped keep them from lashing out at one another, which would make the guards activate their Obedience Discs.

Discs which began to fall off.

The unexpected tinging noise of several hitting the floor broke the oppressive, sullen silence, which jolted the rest to glance at their own to see the little prongs retracting. Immediately they grabbed them and threw them away, just in time for a wall to blow inwards a safe distance away.

Cautiously, yet projecting as much confidence as he could, Bruce waved the smoke from his face as he walked through. Jarael and Elloe at his back.

“Hello, everyone,” he said. “Who wants to get out of here? You know the Grandmaster won’t ever let you go free.” Simple and to the point, with no grandstanding.  

As he spoke, he was struck by how the Grandmaster seemed to favour his gladiators half-naked, and what was left consisted of lots of what looked like leather.   

With one special exception, as a woman who looked painfully Human approached wearing what was clearly a uniform of alien design. Given the rips, tears, and burn marks scattered across it, and the tarnishing to the symbol of three circles upon her breastplate, he figured she was only allowed to keep it to add to the spectacle.

Despite her weary and wary eyes, she moved like a soldier as she approached him. “Corpsmen Adora Dey of the Nova Corps,” she introduced herself. “What’s your plan?”

While focusing on her, Bruce could feel the attention and intensity of the others in the room, and knew how despite his offer, they were hesitant to risk their lives to a stranger who just appeared out of nowhere. To believe this was real after living so long in slavery with the constant threat of torture and death.

Still, he figured Natasha had the right of it; that these gladiator games were not only to slake the populace’s rage and bloodlust, and keep it from being aimed at the Grandmaster, this was also his dumping ground for the fighters most likely to cause him problems.

“Well now,” a voice cut in, as a man made of actual stones walked over. Despite his rough exterior, his light and clear speech somehow instantly made Bruce think he was on the younger side. “If there’s a way out, we should take it, right mates?” Indeed, by the muttered comments which followed that, Bruce got the quick impression the rock man was the newbie of the group.

However there was also a sharp intelligence to those eyes under their softness, which had Bruce instantly peg him as someone, for good or ill, to watch.

“We have a ship,” the Avenger quickly answered. “We fly away from here, and then we’ll have the muscle for our next plan to seize some of the Grandmaster’s personal ships. His stories about the wormholes are a lie, and we can escape through them. In separate ships if you want.”

“Good enough for me,” Corpsman Dey brusquely said. “Weapons?”

Satisfied, Elloe stepped back into the hole, and reappeared with a bunch of regular guns, if more advanced than anything back home on Earth, and some of those staff weapons.

“Three more of us took out the arena mainframe for the Obedience Discs,” Bruce said, wanting to stress that detail. “One of them is a Brood. Don’t shoot.”

Gasps and exclamations erupted from them, and he knew Elloe was glaring at them.

“Like I said,” he said loudly, “separate ships if you’re not up to it.”

“. . . Fine,” said Corpsman Dey neutrally, taking the lead of the rest. “Just be sure to keep some distance between it and us.”

“Can help you there, Corpsman,” said the rock figure cheerfully. “Nothing here for it to infect.”

“Right. Korg, you keep an eye on it.”

“Her,” said Elloe balefully. “Call her No-Name.”

“Well that’s a strange name,” the newly-named Korg said so innocently Bruce could not tell if it was genuine or not. “Anywho, sounds like a plan.”

“Good,” snapped Jarael, throwing a gun to Korg. “Now, can we get moving?”

“Yes,” agreed Bruce. “We’re going to go free the special prisoners now.”

“Wait!” exclaimed Corpsman Dey, and the other former gladiators looked concerned as well.

“In the east wing, not the west,” Bruce quickly clarified.

“Oh. Right.”

Without another word, Bruce took off running. Years of practice had him moving soundlessly, and he moved behind cover as he advanced.

From what Scrapper 142 said, it was possible those cells would be empty, and if not, then their occupants would be difficult to work with. On top of claiming to not know who was in there, she had outright warned negotiations might be impossible, as these were the slaves not even the Obedience Discs could properly break, and had to be kept separate from the general population. They also had the highest turnover, as either they died from too many fights, or the Grandmaster engineered their deaths one way or another for simplicity’s sake. 

At one point he stopped and ducked low. Coming behind him, Jarael did the same, and he glanced back to see the considerably less stealthy Elloe and Dey hanging further back. “Two guards,” he whispered, gesturing around a corner.

Nodding, she stalked forward before whirling around to catch them at the knees with her electrified staff. By the time he followed her, she had finished beating them senseless.

“Good,” he said, to which she just gave him a light scowl, and gestured for him to continue.

Thankfully there were no further surprises as they arrived at a dozen empty cells, and two shut by intimidatingly solid, metal doors.

“What’s this?” asked Jarael. “I thought it was supposed to be just bars?”

“Must be a failsafe for if the Control Discs go out,” he offered. “Since they could barely keep these ones in line as is.”

She glared at it harshly. “We’ll have to—”

Any further words were cut off as he went to the control panel beside the door, popping out his multi-tool as he went. A little present from Tony, it had a lot of handy tricks to it, starting with the knife which he used to pry the cover off. While the electronics underneath were literally alien to him, only resembling circuity in the most general of terms, according to the light glowing blue on his tool, they were indeed still carrying electricity. “You recognize any of this?” he asked Jarael to be sure. Given her time with Camper —who was safely back on the Warsong with Lyja— she might be more familiar.

“No,” she unfortunately admitted.

“You know what you’re doing?” queried Elloe as she caught up. “We’ve got a few explosives left over.”

“No,” he said distractedly as he continued to examine it. “We don’t want to startle them.”

“Okay, so just shoot the lock.”

“They might have another failsafe,” he warned, cocking his head to readjust his angle.

Ellow’s eyes narrowed. “I thought Earth was a backwater place.”

“We are compared to this,” admitted Bruce, studying the intensity of his multi-tools light.

“Then how—”

While a part of him wanted to answer her, the part of him that was pure mad scientist was ready to act. However, thankfully hard-earned lessons caught up with him.

Firmly he rapped three times against the door. Pause. Repeat. After the fourth time he had done so, he heard three faint knocks back. “This is a prison break,” he called loudly. “If I let you out, will you not hurt us or any of the other escapees?”

A beat, and then three more thumps.

“Alright.”

A noise to the side caught his attention, and he saw Natash—Black Widow running up to him, with Scrapper 142 and No-Name behind her.

“About to find out,” he said ruefully.

Flicking his knife he pried one piece which seemed particularly sturdy and carrying a high charge off, and jammed it onto another part of the board.

A torrent of sparks erupted as he yanked his hand back, his self-discipline keeping his fear and anger from the pain down, and he quickly suppressed that as well.

The door shot open.

Honestly, less stressful than some of the projects he had done with Tony.
 He blinked.

It was empty.

Invisible!?

A sound made him look down, and embarrassment filled him before it was overrun by outright incredulity.  

A purple, reptilian hide that drew the attention of everyone, forcing them to meet those glowing yellow eyes. Sharp talons flexed, as lethal-looking as the tusks coming out of the moth, and even the horns that curved back from the head which looked perfectly functional to gore a man. Leathery wings beat and raised it off the ground to hover in place, while the long tail, easily longer than the torso, long neck, and head altogether, twitched mid-air.

A dragon.

…Who from the tip of his tail to his nose was at best a metre long.

There was nothing adorable about the smoke curling up from its mouth.

“Oh, right,” Scrapper 142 cheerfully said. “I brought you in just a few days ago, didn’t I? How’s it going?”

“What?” asked Bruce in shock.

“I was drunk afterwards!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “How was I supposed to remember?”

The sound of metal feet hammering the floor caught their attention, and a squad of enemy reinforcements rounded the corner.

A blur of purple, and an inferno dominated the corridor.

Backlit by its flames as metal melted behind it, smoke escaping through its fangs, the dragon growled, “Slaver, explain why I shouldn’t do the same to you,” it growled. “The Brood as well.”

Stepping in front of Scrapper 142 and No-Name, Black Widow held up her placating hands. “She’s made this prison break possible. As for the Brood, she is called No-Name, and is atypical of her species, and has proven able to work with us without harm. If you don’t want to come with us, we’ll all be free to go our separate ways afterwards.”

“Hrrr.”

“And you gave your word,” added Bruce as calmly as he could, knowing that was an exaggeration. He was also rather distracted by the sheer scientific implications about what he had just seen. How was that all possible? What kind of environment would lead to such a species? Or was it engineered?

Yet the smoke died down.

“What’s your name?” Black Widow asked.

“Lockheed.”

“WHAT!?” gasped No-Name, even across her insectoid features her fear was plain as day. “Lockheed!? The Lockheed!?”

The little dragon turned to look at her as flames curled out of his nostrils as he glared. “Indeed, Brood,” he hissed.

Black Widow did not flinch though, calmly raising her hands as she projected a sense of warmth, that they could and would all work together here. That there was absolutely no need to be at one another’s throats.

“No-Name?” she said. “How do you know this dragon?”

At that term, the little guy seemed to react a little. Despite this, he maintained his vigilance, clearly ready to unleash the fire.

“Not me personally,” No-Name answered, hunched down as if to pounce. “But all Brood know of the nightmare who stalked our homeworld hunting us. For years.”

A whistle of appreciation escaped Scrapper 142. “Daaaang. With a rep like that, you could’ve been the champ with ease!”

Jaws snapped with a feral intensity. “I’d have died before fighting as a slave! And now I’m faced with both my captor and a Brood! I should just kill you all.”

“Except you haven’t yet,” pointed out Black Widow. “You know that we need each other to get out of this alive and free. Just work with us a little longer, and you’ll see how things’ve changed. Even No-Name.” Then she shrugged, and lowered her arms. “And who better to be sure she’s on the level?”

“Thanks,” muttered No-Name. With visible effort she eased the tension in her body, and pointedly turned to head down towards the final cell, exposing her back to them all. Clearly un-Brood-like behaviour.

“Hmmm,” hummed Lockheed, before jerking his head in some sort of pattern, and let her be.

That settled, Bruce followed No-Name, arriving at the other door, and repeated what he had done with the dragon.

If he had been surprised before . . .

It was nothing compared to now.

Truly Sakaar was nothing but surprise after surprise, meant to challenge everything he had imagined about the greater universe.

When this was over, one way or another he was giving some stern questions to Thor.

“C-cats!?” he sputtered.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” cooed Black Widow, crouching down to pet them.

Four of them, thin, raggedy, and cruelly treated with muzzles. Likely they could not understand the intent of the Control Discs, or cats being cats refused to let pain dictate their actions, and the guards found them too annoying. Savages really.

Although how did they manage to signal back to us. Maybe the walls echo very well from their end?

“They must’ve been snapped up from Earth, and were to be hunted or something?” he suggested, doing the same. Thankfully they were not skittish, coming right forward, and accepting his ‘tribute’ of scritches. “I’m surprised you’re such a cat fan.”

“Oh, Fury had one. Goose was such a good kitty.”

Slowly and carefully Bruce reached over with his knife. The cat started to back away, yet as soothingly as possible he said, “It’s okay. I’m just going to get that off of you, okay?” It seemed his tone and body language did the trick, as it let him cut the muzzle off, and could see Black Widow doing the same with hers.

A choked off sound came from behind them, yet he trusted the others to handle any threats that came.

There!

Satisfied, he turned the third cat while the first one experimentally opened and closed its jaws, and in short order they were all free. “They should be fine on their own,” said Bruce, standing up and turning around. “We should still—what are you doing?”

Every one of the alien fighters they had come in with were pressed flat against the wall, weapons trained on the cell, eyes wide in panic. Lockheed was practically riding No-Name.

“They’re just cats!” protested Black Widow in appalment.

“Orrr . . . resemble some alien, dangerous predator?” speculated Bruce.

“Flerkin. Those are Flerkin!” gasped a pale Scrapper 142.

“They’re acting like an Earth house pet,” he said.

It did nothing to reassure them.

“. . . If we held them up in front of us, would they scare the guards away?”

“. . . They haven’t eaten them yet,” said Dey carefully to the others, “so maybe they’re right?”

“Honestly,” said Black Widow, and just started marching back the way they came. Dutifully, the cats sauntered after their provider of head scratches. Bruce quickly caught up, and could hear the others slowly following them.

“So what should we call them,” he said, finding himself falling back into some Avenger banter.

“That one’s Garfield,” she said, pointing at one of the orange ones, who was a little bulkier than the others.

Snorting, he indicated another. “Crookshanks.”

They had become complacent.

Rounding the corner, they froze as they saw a line of guards silently aiming weapons at them, expressions haunted. “Free—!”

Tentacles erupted out of the lead cat’s mouth, and the rest followed suit, dragging the screaming guards into their gullets.

“Oh. Flerkin,” managed Black Widow, face paper white.

“Flerkin,” Bruce weakly agreed, as the carnivorous tentacle monsters turned innocent looks up at them.

“Right. That one’s Cthulhu, and that last is . . . Mundi-Vore.”

“. . . What?”

“Latin for ‘world-eater.’ I don’t get to show off my Latin enough.”

“Fair.”

Cthulhu gave an impatient meow, which shook them out of their shock and they continued to regroup with the rest of the gladiators.

“When we get back, nobody’s going to believe us,” huffed Black Widow.

“I’m not sure I believe all this,” he confessed.

And then a roar echoed throughout the building.

-(Alien) Sun-

Throwing caution to the wind, Bruce and Black Widow rushed back to the other prisoners, hearing their screams of terror as they neared.

Blood and limbs littered the ground, and a massive, golden beast was further tearing open the hole in the cell wall. Like an eight-limbed weasel big enough to swallow a car whole, with fangs and claws to match.

Ferahgo.

The Champion of the Colosseum.

The one prisoner they were explicitly not to free, except for whatever reason he was out.

Black Widow primed her Widow Bites, confident their new toys would work despite the local mainframe being down. “Bruce—”

In one smooth motion Ferahgo pulled itself free of the hole and whirled upon them, crossing the distance in a single pounce of power.

Tentacles lashed out only to be smacked aside by the blur in a shower of red, and the most Bruce could do was push his girlfriend, his partner, to safety.

It all stretched out before him as blood erupted from his chest, and he fell down pinned beneath the claw stabbing straight through his heart.

Distantly he could hear the cries of the others, and knew they had caught up. Sounds of pain from the Flerken to the sides told him there was no help from that quarter.

A massive, bright-blue eye stared down at him with malice and hunger.

Bruce snickered weakly. “Bad move,” he managed, before releasing the floodgate of his raging fury at this planet. This slave society. Being lost. Everything about Ultron. At himself. Most of all, Natasha being in danger.

Letting the cold turn burning hot enough to scorch this world and everything around him, even at the risk of destroying everyone he cared for and loved.

All of it controlled and directed onto one specific target.

Familiar sounds of tearing cloth echoed dimly in his ears, while chest muscles bulged and shoved the claw out of his torso. 

The last thing he saw was Ferahgo recoiling back as toxic green filled his vision.

-(Alien) Sun-

Despite her teasing, Scrapper 142 felt an edge of trepidation at seeing Big Green again.

Especially in a relatively cramped corridor for two muscleheads.

The clash of their bodies against one another and their environment was like the pounding of thunder while whipping up a wind like a storm, bringing them all to their knees as the earth shook. Their roars made her head shake as she fought the urge to clasp her ears when she needed her hands free.

It was like being back in the heydays of Asgard conquering the Nine Realms.  

Twisting himself, Ferahgo rammed Big Green and himself straight through a wall and out of sight, but certainly not out of mind as the sound of their struggle echoed throughout the building.

“Oh,” said Elloe in a detached way which Scrapper 142 knew meant the girl was gripping her composure with bloody nails. “So that’s why he didn’t want to use his other side.”

“We need to check on the others,” said Widow, pulling herself up. “Then we’ll come up with a plan."

For lack of a better alternative, especially as she had no interest in getting in the middle of that fight, Scrapper 142 followed along. She’d long hoped for a glorious death, yet this was neither the time nor place for it.

Briefly she considered betraying Widow now that the woman had her back to her, only to reject that idea as she saw the nearly-hidden tension there; it was a trap.

Fortunately, as she took in the sight of the gladiators, most of them were alive to serve as disposable muscle in getting off this rock. Even if she was inevitably going to be handling the bulk—

“Oh, you brought the Asgardian.”

A tinge of ice entered her veins, ripping off more of the foggy haze Scrapper 142 had been living under as she turned to see a Kronan staring at her, surprise upon his rocky features.

Widow whirled upon her, and yes, that was recognition. This Midgardian knew about the Nine Realms. Well then—

“That was what was weird about your speech!” blurted out Widow.

“What,” said Scrapper 142 flatly.

“You were speaking English the whole time. Not because of a translater. Your lip movements matched your words.”

Bemused, she shrugged in response.

Eyes narrowing, Widow now made the more serious connections. “And you don’t want to go home. A rejection of your people’s culture.”

 “Careful,” warned the runaway Asgardian softly, a touch of venom under her pleasant smile. “Don’t delude yourself into imagining you really know anything about us. About me.”

Except the Midgardian’s assessing gaze and amused satisfaction made it very clear Widow believed there was something critical Scrapper 142 was unaware of.

“We can’t stay here,” the Xandarian looking back and forth between this interplay. “Whatever’s up with your friend, we’ll be crushed underneath if we stay while they’re fighting in such close quarters.”

“Everyone,” came Lyja’s voice over the radio. Given her tone of voice, obviously this day was only going to get better. By Bor she needed a drink. “You’ve got to hurry up, the crowd’s acting up, and more of the guards are heading our way!”

-(Alien) Sun-

Screaming in rage and pain, Hulk threw Hulk’s self at a wall and outside. He fell, but that was fine.

He was Hulk.      

Not running. Needing space to fight the big animal.

Goldy Animal shoved its head through the wall, screeching as if it were angry.

Hulk was real anger. A raging anger which he bellowed back in challenge.

Goldy Animal leapt down at Hulk pointy parts first, and Hulk almost leapt up to meet it.

Except Hulk had learnt while being in control so much lately.

Turning to the side, Hulk grabbed a big something, and swung it into Goldy Animal just as it came close, smashing Goldy Animal into the wall. Then Hulk rammed Goldy Animal in tighter and started hitting.

Again and again as Hulk roared Hulk’s burning rage.

Goldy Animal scratched and bit at Hulk until Hulk had to leap back in pain, shaking Hulk’s arms. Only Goldy Animal was trying to spit out Hulk’s green blood.

Heh. Hulk’s blood no good for anybody but Hulk!

And Banner.

Throwing those thoughts aside with a sneer, Hulk jumped forward and kicked Goldy Animal deeper into the wall, and then grabbed Goldy Animal with Hulk’s now better arms and pulled Goldy Animal out by the nose. Hoisting Goldy Animal in the air, Hulk started slamming Goldy Animal into the ground again and again.

Except Goldy Animal kept trying to scratch Hulk’s arms.

Tougher than Puny God!

So Hulk started spinning Goldy Animal around overhead before throwing Goldy Animal into a wall again, breaking the wall open.

The scent of fresh blood carried upon the air, and Hulk could see Goldy Animal limping now as Goldy Animal got back up.

“RAAAAAH!” cried Hulk as Hulk charged once more.

-(Alien) Sun-

“You think he meant to make us that new exit?” asked Scrapper 142 a little palely.

“Let’s just take it,” said Black Widow, more used to Hulk.

For everyone else, they could only watch in shock and awe as Sakaar’s Champion found himself up against a foe beyond even its savagery and strength.

-(Alien) Sun-

Hulk’s fist knocked back Goldy Animal’s head, only Goldy Animal swung around so Goldy Animal’s back legs clawed at Hulk’s, so Hulk punched Goldy Animal in the back.

Screeching, Goldy Animal now threw itself headlong at Hulk. Hulk grabbed Goldy Animal by the neck, only for Goldy Animal to wrap Goldy Animal’s long body around Hulk. Front two limbs digging into Hulk’s arms, while the other four were in Hulk’s chest and back, tearing at green flesh.

With a scream of pain, Hulk slammed Goldy Animal’s head into the ground, headless of whether or not that would stop Goldy Animal’s claws. Again and again Hulk pounded the head down, and when Hulk realized Goldy Animal had let go, Hulk grabbed Goldy Animal by the tail to hoist Goldy Animal above Hulk’s head stretched out, and brought Goldy Animal’s back down on Hulk’s knee.  

The snapping sound echoed across the open place.    

A roar of triumph surges through Hulk as Hulk lets everyone know Hulk is Strongest there is!

Flickers of pain interrupt Hulk’s pride and satisfaction, as little armoured people shot at Hulk.

Other noises catch Hulk’s attention before Hulk acted though, and turned to see a crowd of other people trying to surge forward.

They were . . . cheering?

Waving green?

Why?

Are they trying to get Hulk to come over there?

Cries of joy turn to fear and pain and terror as the armoured people start shooting their hurty lights at the fleshy ones.   

Shock ricochets through Hulk’s mind until he bellows an even greater fury than before.

How.
 Dare.

They.

Hurt.

Green Lovers!?

Hulk focused all of that rage through his fists at them until they are no longer moving.

Many were no longer in sight, as they had gone flying.

“Big Guy!”

Whirling around, Hulk saw her. “Tasha,” growled Hulk in confusion, not understanding what was happening, or why those people had been attacked.

Hulk could see it reciprocated within her.

Banner might not recognize it, yet Hulk always could. Tasha had own rage beneath her.

Hulk’s anger burned hot. Like fire.

Banner’s was cold only because Banner did not want it to be hot.

Tasha’s was dark and colder, weakening those around Tasha if Tasha wanted to.

“We’ve got to go!” Tasha said, with a bunch of people behind, including . . . was that Angry Girl? Hulk huffed at Angry Girl, and Angry Girl smartly took a small step back.

Flying grey thing appeared, which Angry Girl had come in before, and Hulk and Tasha had broken a bit.

“You won’t fit in,” said Tasha. “We need you to go back to Bruce.”

“NO!”

-(Alien) Sun-

Black Widow refused to quail before the unfathomable force contained within Hulk.

Realistically, they could probably have him follow them by leaping hundreds of feet every bound to keep up. Only he was anything but stealthy, and right now above all else they needed to disappear before the Grandmaster threw his entire army down their throats to stamp out any sign of weakness on his part.

Especially after his guards had already opened fire indiscriminately into the crowds to ‘suppress’ them when they started getting worked up over seeing a stranger best the Grandmaster’s favourite.

Whatever the man might tell himself, his was not a truly happy regime, and without his vaunted Contest of Champions to help vent some of that simmering frustration, he would have to fall back on repression.

Because a regime which relied upon an iron fist dared not relax it for the briefest moment, and it had been laid bare for all to see when those guards panicked and opened fire upon the spectators. For his own survival, the Grandmaster would need a demonstration to reignite people’s fear in him. 

And what could be more efficient than whatever the local equivalent was of some Avengers’ heads on spikes? Especially if he could pin it all on them?

 So . . . they needed to leave.

Now.

“Not safe!” growled Hulk. “Need Hulk, not Banner!”

Only Hulk was refusing to do so, and as incredible as he was, she did not want to risk him against an entire, technologically superior planet.

No matter how much she wanted to delve into this further proof of how Hulk was developing. How he was becoming more than just sentient, but sapient as well; capable of increasingly complex thoughts and emotions around a sense of ‘self.’

First choosing to save her, yet then flying Bruce away after she had seemingly broken her boyfriend’s heart. His reaction to Sakaar. Now this.  

“It’s not just about being safe,” she said, projecting as much reassurance as possible into her tone and body language. “We came here to rescue people. Most of those people we came to rescue are hurt. Bruce can fix hurt people. We need Bruce to heal those hurt people.”

He snorted in contempt, yet still she could see his eyes pass over the wounded ex-gladiators behind her. A snort, and then Hulk started stomping around in circles. Clearly frustrated, even as the ground beneath them continued to jump. With effort she resisted urging the others from reacting; to remain calm.

The whole time Hulk kept shooting glaring, probing looks at her, only he would find no deception. Yes, she was fully capable of first-aid, and had even done a few undercover roles as an instructor for it, or posed as nurses or doctors. Staying alive in her line of work meant Natasha needed to get good at crude, improvised emergency medical treatments. So she got good.  

However, only Bruce had something resembling actual proper knowledge, and the sort of genius to adjust to helping literal aliens.

Would Black Widow even know what she was looking at!?

Finally, after a frustrated bellow to the skies and the portals hanging overhead, he started to shift back to Bruce. As the green vanished, he dropped to his knees in exhaustion, the fatal wounds from before vanished.

Even before he was done, she was at his side, close yet not touching as she knew how sensitive he would be to touch right now.

Behind her, she knew the others were stunned at the transition from an unstoppable powerhouse to someone who seemed so vulnerable, but was capable of the strength to contain the Hulk. Moreover, extraordinary enough to retain his empathy and compassion despite everything he had experienced.

More than any other Avengers, he could appreciate the line between ‘superhero’ and ‘human’ by the extremes of which he straddled both.

 Sucking in deep breaths, Bruce stared up at her in bewilderment. He knew something had happened, if not what.

“Later,” she whispered a promise.

“Well, that was quite the display,” said the little figure of Lockheed as he flew up to them. Somehow, at some point he had acquired holsters fit for his size which carried oversized handguns.

The dragon continued to look far more dangerous than comical.

“Yep, a real crowd-pleaser,” said the rock-alien dryly, jerking a chin at the crowds of people staring in disbelief at the sight from cover. Their shock was evident, except without the fear and anger from moments before, so he was probably entirely serious.

Deciding to cut to the chase, Black Widow gave Scrapper 142 one of her patented looks to appear sympathetic without pity; compassionate yet firm. Something she could count on more now that she had a better understanding of what she was dealing with, and more confidence in how to handle this. “Original offer’s still open,” she said. “If you want to go to Asgard though, we’ve got a shortcut.”

Pain and fear and fury flashed across the Asgardian’s face, and she tightly said, “After this mess, I’m taking the Grandmaster’s personal yacht outta here.”

“The most booze,” acknowledged Black Widow. “For now though, we’ve got to get to the undercity.”

With that settled, they and the survivors began to cram into the Warsong, with Bruce leaning heavily on her shoulder halfway there until he had his feet under him.

There was a brief altercation and tension between Lyja, their pilot, and Dey, due to some history or other between their peoples. To which Bruce calmly asked if they could concentrate on the task at hand, and they both promptly shut up and did so.

-(Alien) Sun-

It was cramped within No-Name and Elloe’s home, and Bruce suspected they would need to relocate shortly. Nonetheless, he made the most of it as he treated what he could of the various injuries he had healed.

It hurt to do so, forcing himself after his body felt like it had been stretched and compressed, then thrown into a particle accelerator and fired at a wall only to be scrapped off to be—

He broke off that useless train of thought.

Oh he was so tired!

A jolt went through him as an arm reached around him to pull him close, and he melted into it as he recognized the owner. Centering himself with her presence while they shared a sense of warmth and safety with one another.

“When we get back,” she said softly, “the others’ll really never believe us.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, eyes closed.

“Although we have to make sure they believe us about Fury and his eye.”

He snorted, and readjusted himself so he could look her in the eyes. “We—”

An audible tone universally used for something powering up cut across the crowded room, drawing their attention to Korg holding a primed rifle. Proudly he declared to them all, “The revolution has begun!”

Accidentally biting his tongue is the only thing which prevented Bruce from blurting out a horrified, “What!?” while Natasha had a distinctly pinched look.

Oh.

Dear.

Chapter Text

“I beg your pardon?” Natasha asked with all the calm she could muster. She dared not let it be anything else, as this was not according to plan, and how could she take back control of it?

“I said the revolution has begun!” repeated Korg cheerfully, the man of living stone hefted his primed rifle for emphasis.

“Please put the safety back on,” she said instead of several other things she wanted to throw at him. Instead she chose to redirect him and stall. Also, the importance of gun safety amongst a bunch of pent-up, traumatised, recently liberated slaves.

“We, we’re not—” sputtered out Bruce, only for her to discreetly elbow him.

Unfortunately, that was because the rocky alien’s pause to prudently take her advice had done nothing to stop his enthusiasm as more and more people were paying attention now.

“With all these fighters, we’ll easily overrun the Grandmaster’s forces and throw down the tyrant!”

This broke Lyja out of her pointedly ignoring the woman in a military uniform. Confused, the Skrull began to raise her hand to say something, until Elloe sharply nudged her.

Behind the two ladies, No-Name, who had been working to remain as unobtrusive as possible while keeping her friends between her and Lockheed, brought her head close to Lyja’s ear. Through knife-like fangs, she quickly whispered something to the green lizard woman.  

Turning to Bruce and Natasha, Korg went on, “That’s why you freed us, right?”

“Well, for starters, I’m Natasha. Or Black Widow in the field.”

“Oh, a made-up name? I’m Korg. And your friend there?”

“Partner. Boyfriend. Partner and boyfriend,” corrected Bruce, awkward but proud. “And I’m Bruce Banner. The . . . big guy in green is Hulk, but we’re not the same person. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Righty-o. So, what you’ve already got planned for this revolution? When I tried to start one, I didn't print enough pamphlets, so hardly anyone turned up, except for my mum and her boyfriend, who I hate. As punishment, I was forced to become a gladiator. Your way’s already proving better. ‘Specially with how you’re rallying the people.”

“We’re what?” said Bruce dumbly.

A loud huff managed to drag everyone’s attention; although that may have been deep-set instincts to pay attention to when someone who spits fire takes a deep breath.

Lockheed, the small, purple alien dragon was smoking a cigar, and holding a drink delicately in his talons, while sitting beside Scrapper 142. Apparently having made up with the person she had once imprisoned, the Asgardian had a bottle of some of her own alcohol she had gotten from somewhere and somehow, three empty ones lying beside her already. In fact, they had no idea where he had gotten the cigar from either.

Seeing he had all their attention, Lockheed wordlessly jabbed with a talon a button on a remote, which lit up a series of holograms.

Displayed there were multiple images from the prison break of the Grandmaster’s guards shooting upon the crowd, only for Hulk to come rescue them.

Hulk beating the bestial former champion.

People cheering and celebrating with lots of green.

His jaw dropped; Bruce could only stare while Natasha wore a mask of polite interest. What she was feeling underneath, well, even she did not fully recognize, except for an overshadowing sense of resignation that they had set off far more than they had chosen to.

They just wanted to get back home!

But . . . they were also Avengers, and that had to mean something.

These people . . . they needed avenging.

“You do understand,” said Natasha, whose voice was pinched with a horrid lack of self-control, “that this will become something we can’t easily stop? Getting rid of a tyrant like the Grandmaster won’t automatically make everything better; it can very muchreally worsen it. Regardless of whatever else happens, a lot of people are going to die.”

“What!? You’re backing out now!?” yelled someone from the crowd.

“Cowards!”

“—all this then!?”

“You—!”

“What!?”

“—sort of joke!?”

“Were we just a means—!?”

A sudden hush fell as the four Flerkin padded up to Bruce and Natasha. Cthulhu, Garfield, and Crookshanks stretched themselves out at their feet while Mundi-Vore looked up expectantly at Natasha. It took her a moment until she belatedly understood and picked up the ‘cat’ to hold and stroke it in her arms.

Everyone else shifted slightly, but her and Bruce’s credentials were firmly reestablished here.

With the exception of one person who possibly was genuinely suicidal. “So what’re you going to do then?” drawled Scrapper 142, ignoring the baleful stares from the former ‘prisoners with jobs.’ “I mean, you didn’t just show up the Grandmaster to the point his people can’t even take it off the feeds fast enough. You killed his Champion. You know, the heart of the games used to make people forget about their miserable little lives here and any desires for something more, remember?”

She shrugged and turned away, “But whatever. What’s it to you? You can just fly out of this dump like I’m gonna.”

Everyone else in the room spat curses at the Grandmaster’s former pet-slaver, except for Bruce and Natasha, who gave Scrapper 142 narrowed-eyed looks, not buying that little display for a moment. He could sense the lie there, even if it confused him. At that moment, the escapee from the Red Room could see the hint of the sort of woman you would expect from the same sort of culture as Thor. A lone voice fiercely struggling to be heard by the world and herself, to make a stand to fight for what was right—something Scrapper 142 could not bring herself to acknowledge.

An unspoken plea for the duo Avengers to not be as cold-hearted as she had been for so long by abandoning these people. 

“Of course, we’re not,” said Natasha without a beat of hesitation between the Asgardian’s words and her own. “We’re going to take down the Grandmaster.” 

“Right,” said Bruce, a little less certainly, folding his arms before her. Only glancing at the ongoing videos made him stiffen his shoulders more in further resolve. “We just want to be sure everyone understands what they’re getting into before it’s too late.”

“Anything’s better than the slow death we’re living under,” said Elloe derisively. “You say a lot of people are going to die? Well, they are already, every day, under the Grandmaster’s thumb, and he just laughs it off. LAUGHS!” she shouted at the end, rage twisting her face into something nearly as inhuman as No-Name’s own.

The Brood and Lyja quickly wrapped their arms around the former noble and pulled her close.

An awkward air hovered briefly from the rest, except no one disagreed with her. They also let her struggle to reign in  her emotions privately .

“At this point, by escaping, it’s already a death sentence for us if they capture us again,” said a gladiator with three heads covered in blue tattoos.

“So it’s not like we’ve got anything to lose,” agreed another head.

“And this way, we’ve got an actual chance,” finished the final one.

The . . . worm thing in the exo-skeleton made a few noises, and Korg nodded. “Miek says that it might not be fair for us to decide this for everyone else, but the Grandmaster’s got to go. We can figure out the face of the revolution after that.”

He was probably the only one to catch it, but Bruce was confident Natasha had just held back a wince. Even for him, that seemed like a bad way to plan out a revolution, and his experience with such things was more in line with watching movies like The Planet of the Apes. A film that was not too helpful here.

Fortunately, Lyja shook her head at that. “My dad went through this when they were remaking the Skrull government. We’ve got to have some idea of what it will look like afterward, or we could splinter into a mindless civil war once the Grandmaster’s dead.”

Neither Bruce nor Natasha contested the man’s eventual fate. Their personal feelings for the Grandmaster aside, it was not like they had a prison available to lock him up in. They had just broken up the only pre-existing one, after all, and dedicating themselves to guarding him themselves was horribly impractical for a whole host of reasons.

“Or whoever takes over next ends up having to rely upon a rigid, bloody fist to keep things from devolving into further conflict,” threw in Natasha.

“Well, like she said, it’s a bit late for that now,” said Korg. “If you’re wanting it to be democratic,” he gestured at the holo-screens, of which every single one was showing angry mobs now, “the people’ve voted. Grandmaster's got mud on his face, and crumbling rock beneath him, so best chance we’re gonna get. And if that big green hulking Hulk of yours is leading the charge . . .”

“You cannot seriously mean for him to be in charge afterward,” said Bruce flatly. No. No. That was a step too far.

“How are those riots happening?” said Natasha with a frown, raising a serious question while further deflecting. “What happened to the Obedience Discs?”

“Well, you took them down, didn’t ya?” said Korg, looking confused now.

“No, we—Scrapper.” That name was enunciated so sharply it could cut steel. 

Despite herself, the Asgardian flinched at the sheer calmness placed into saying her name. “Uhm, right, soooo, technically that was the prison mainframe, buuuuuuut . . .” She stopped to take a drink, slowly draining it to a stall.

“But?” said Natasha patiently when Scrapper-142 had to come up for air.

“But, it was also connected to all the rest.”

The two heroes stared at her in dismay before turning to one another, while eager whispers and excited cries began to echo throughout the room.

“You ever taken down a government by accident before?” asked an exhausted Bruce.

“I plead the fifth,” grouched Natasha. There was no getting around it now; they were very much responsible for whatever happened next. They could not, in good conscience, just fly away from this. No, Earth would have to wait until they were sure this planet would not dissolve into a civil war the moment they looked away.

Clearly, Bruce felt the same way, and she could sympathise with him. For someone who lived his life trying to be as non-confrontational as possible, this was as far as possible from that. The matter escalated even further by the sudden celebrity status of Hulk.  

In their distraction, someone else stepped up to take charge of the situation: Corpsman Adora Dey of the Nova Corps.

Again, the degree to which she appeared Human was deeply unsettling for the scientist in Bruce.

Asgardians? Sure. According to Thor, there was a proven connection between their two worlds, so surely, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. He had just never asked it, because that sort of biology was not his specialty, and there was always something else of greater interest. Plus, he just assumed Thor would not know about the answer, less because of ignorance and more because his friend would not have cared to learn it.

Only now, there was another alien race that looked so much like a Human? As in, not ‘Human but pink’ like Elloe, or ‘Human but white; and I don’t mean Caucasian, but paper-white,’ like Jarael and Camper, but seemingly identical?

Just how accurately was Star Trek!?

Then, an even more disturbing thought occurred to him.

The crowd murmured at the sight of Corpsman Dey stepping forward, and when she raised her hand, they started to calm down.

As they did so, Bruce leaned over towards Natasha and whispered, “What’re the odds Fury’s the real reason so many sci-fi shows keep depicting humanoid aliens? Because it feels like they were trying to prepare us for the fact that’s actually accurate?”

In response, a woman whom he had once seen calmly walking off a stab wound and deliberately and unflinchingly dislocating her right wrist and left arm for different reasons, all on the same mission, grimaced as if in actual pain.

“We’ll have some words with him,” she promised.

As Corpsman Dey concluded, her audience was settled enough, yet anything further was cut off. “Everyone, we might be able to solve this without a war being necessary!” A rumble went through the room, and while their words mixed up too much for Bruce or Natasha to fully make out, it seemed like the former prisoners were evenly split between a desire for bloody retribution and hoping for something mildly less violent.

“If we can get word to the Nova Corps,” she continued, “they will send aid—”

“Like they did with the Skrulls!?” raged Lyja.

“That was a different circumstance!” snapped Corpsman Dey hotly.

“While also possibly getting ahead of ourselves,” interjected Natasha smoothly, exuding sure confidence which immediately ensnared the room. Because what these people needed right now was a leader, even if she had yet to figure out what they were being led to. So she put on the necessary persona, the one Natasha privately called  ‘Lady Steve Rogers.’ “Corpsman Dey, would the Nova Corps be able to help us if the Grandmaster remains in power? Camper, can we even contact them through the wormholes?”

“Eh?” blinked the scientist, looking up from whatever he was tinkering with. “What was that?”

“Do the wormholes interfere with communications from this planet?”

“Of course they do! Obvious really!” Grumbling nonsense to himself, he turned his attention back to his work. Jarael gave him a soothing pat on the shoulder, while shooting a glare at the crowd if they dared judge him.

“So that’s not an option,” concluded Natasha not unkindly, just matter-of-factly, to Corpsman Day. Before the other woman could get a word in, she moved forward with, “Or at least not until the Grandmaster’s handled. 

“Especially,” and the chill she let into her voice reached all the various aliens, “since his instinct will be to behave like all tyrants when faced with opposition, and tighten his grip. Out of fear, he will make shows of force to terrorise people back into submission, while blaming them for making him do so.”

Frowning a little, Corpsman Dey still followed the shift in focus. “Or let enough of the pressure bleed out and then blame it on you as insurgents.”

“He’s not smart enough for that,” said Scrapper 142 confidently. “He’s dangerous, cunning, but not that sort of planner.”

While that earned her a few more unhappy looks, Natasha openly gave the gladiators a shrewd look. Musing aloud, she said, “However, the Champion wasn’t the only celebrity here; you all were. If we announced to the people that you’d taken charge after his death, were involving the general public in decision-making, and were making plans for outside support—” only Lyja had truly objected to the notion of the Nova Corps “—for assistance, would that help buy us time to stabilise things?”

“No idea,” said Korg cheerfully. “But it’s as good a plan as any!”

“Sounds nice,” huffed Lockheed, blowing out a smoke ring. “Any idea on how we’re gonna do it? Besides running right up to the front door, that is.”

Something niggled at the back of Bruce’s mind, and he took another look at the video feeds of the cheering crowds. “Actually,” he said slowly, “that’s exactly what we should do . . .”

  -(Alien) Sun-

The Grandmaster’s Palace

A few hours later

“What’s happening now!?” railed the flamboyantly dressed supreme and benevolent ruler of Sakaar, the Grandmaster.

“The mob’s still attacking,” said Topaz. The stocky woman was his most trusted (and only really, but details, details) assistant. She pulled up screens showing angry people who kept throwing themselves futilely against the walls, heedless of the guards who kept shooting at them. While the guards were too high up for anything thrown at them, the odd parasite still found a gun to shoot back.

“Ungrateful ingrates!” he raged. “Don’t show me that! It makes me upset.” Dutifully she closed it down even as he continued, “And that’s not important! Where’s the big green one who killed my Champion!? And all the prisoners with jobs he stole away!?”

“We’ve just got a tip about that, sir,” she answered. “Right before you arrived,” she added, lest he get upset at the delay.

He gave her an unimpressed look before gesturing wildly to get on with it.

“One of our informants reported that they’ve got a Skrull on their side and are planning to use it to impersonate you.”

“Oh great!” he bemoaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. You would think a race of shapeshifters would be fun, but nooooo, they were party poopers through and through and a major security risk. “Put up the Skrull Protocols or whatever they’re called.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, having already done so. Anything further was cut off as her vambrace computer beeped with a priority alert. Quickly, she opened it, and a helmeted guard appeared on the main screen.

“Ma’am, you got to see the front gate!”

Deciding his punishment for his/her brashness would be proportional to how serious it was, she did so, and her eyes widened at the brazenness before her.

The green giant who had killed the Champion was approaching the front gate.

He rode upon a motorised platform to a cheering crowd. His grim features set into a silent scowl, his arms folded defiantly before his chest, and a truly tacky gold and silver armour covered his form—a true spectacle to behold.

Something was nagging her though, so she pulled up various sensors to scan him. The thermal signature was plain as day, and that same strange gamma radiation signature left over from the prison interfered with all other readings. Still—

“What are you doing fiddling around!?” screeched the Grandmaster, waving his hands wildly. “He’s on his way here! Kill him! Kill him!”

“Yes, sir,” she immediately answered.

  -(Alien) Sun-

Beneath the Grandmaster’s Palace

“Well, that’s going well,” grinned Elloe, looking at her miniature screen showing the fake-Hulk they sent out as a distraction.

At first, Bruce had been embarrassed by people waving around paper mache (or whatever the alien equivalent) models of Hulk’s hands, fists, or whatever else they had thrown together in an amazingly short time. Cheering on their new, unofficial Champion.

It had not taken much to find those sorts of people and convince them to make a life-sized replica —or rather, finish the one they had already started— with some thermal coils and a gamma emitter Bruce had thrown together. All to make a nice distraction.

Their entire assault team was ready to go. Camper and Bruce had personally checked over or upgraded their assorted guns, explosives, and other gear necessary for a regime change.

“ERNGH!” grunted Scrapper-142 as she and Korg manhandled a large section of the wall out of the newfound hole. One she had cut via a razor-sharp sword she had retrieved from wherever her home was.

“Okay,” sniffed No-Name, poking her head in. “This looks good. Air’s fresh as well.”

Daintily, the Flerkin hopped up to lead the way, with Lockheed flying along behind them.

“Thank you,” smiled Black Widow warmly to the alien beside her. The former prisoner had been one of those ‘employed’ to work within the Grandmaster’s palace. The female Avenger had predicted many of those members of the staff would have wanted to find someplace else to be once their own Obedience Discs had failed; tracking some of them down by asking around for families of such people had taken about as long as it had to create the decoy.

“Just make him pay,” snarled the attractive girl, a ragged cloak wrapped around her frame to help hide the skimpy, bright outfit she had been unable to change out of.

“Our pleasure,” said Black Widow, baring her teeth in a dangerous facsimile of a smile.

  -(Alien) Sun-

Within the Grandmaster’s Palace

“Got an alert down this way,” said the guards' squad leader as they turned down the hallway. “Probably nothing, but—AAAAAH!”

A few seconds later, the armed group of insurgents and ex-slaves moved down the way the guards had come from, led by a vanguard of smug ‘cats.’

“Okay,” said Jarael, moving to a computer station. She plugged in something from Camper, and a few seconds later, a 3D map of the Grandmaster’s palace tower sprung up.

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me,” said Korg, delicately elbowing his way forward. “Okay,” he said, pointing at one particular part about mid-way up where the corridors came together particularly tightly, “this here’s a natural bottleneck. We hold our position there and’ll cut off the remaining guards from below.”

“We can still get the front doors open,” pointed out Elloe a little too eagerly for the peace of mind of half the group.

“No, no, we’ve been over this,” he lightly reminded her. “No angry mob’s tearing people apart. We let that happen, and the whole city starts going up in flames. The gates stay closed until things’ve calmed down a mite.”

The other half of them looked disappointed, if reluctantly in agreement. Very reluctantly.

“‘Sides,” he continued, “keeping them closed works as well as anything else for the rest of our plan. You ready, miss?”

“Born ready,” smirked Lyja.

  -(Alien) Sun-

“An emergency broadcast throughout the tower,” said Topaz with a frown.

“Well, answer it!” cried the Grandmaster.

“It’s being sent everywhere—”

Before she could open the message herself, the screen lit up with a truly handsome devil whose features were tragically marred by a ridiculous amount of panic. “Emergency! Emergency!” wailed the fake Grandmaster. “Invaders have entered the building! They’re headed to floor eighty-nine to cut everyone off! Send every available guard there! Even the ones from the doors!”

Incensed, the Grandmaster slapped down on the keyboard. “You’re a fake, and those are fake orders! I’m the real Grandmaster, and that’s an imposter! Ignore those orders and reinforce the gates!”

The man on the screen reared back in surprise, before erupting, “No, you’re the fake! A despicable Skrull impersonating me!”

“No you are!”

“Sir—” began Topaz warily.

“Quiet!” he snapped.

  -(Alien) Sun-

“Guard! Seize that handsome fool! That imposter! We’ll make him fight in the next Contest of Champions!” ranted Lyja, disguised as the Grandmaster and dressed in the gaudiest clothes available on short notice. She also was having a surprising amount of fun.

She had been a little leery at first of Black Widow’s plan to deliberately leak that their group had a Skrull. Only who would impose restrictions upon an egomaniac like the Grandmaster himself to prove his identity?

With any luck, between this broadcast and the leak that the revolutionaries had a Skrull available, the guards would be too confused to know who they were supposed to answer to. Meanwhile, if the real one had genuinely taken the bait . . .

  -(Alien) Sun-

“Find them and kill them!” shouted the Grandmaster.

“Sir, we should still check out floor eighty-nine,” interjected Topaz. “It’s a perfect—”

“It’ll be too tight for them to manoeuvre in there,” he dismissed with a wave. Now, he remembered that floor, as it was one he tended to prefer to ignore. It had originally been the roof centuries ago until the rising towers around his palace had necessitated it being raised further, and his architect of the time had been substandard. The incompetent had made things all pinched together for the sake of structural support instead of finding a way to make it work without running the interior aesthetic.

“The fake’s trying to lure the guards downstairs,” she continued, “most of them are there already—”

The elevator down the hall chimed, and the Grandmaster’s blood ran cold as a sense of foreboding ran through him before the doors opened.

Out of them stepped a menagerie of grimy terrorists.

-(Alien) Sun-

Seeing him in the flesh, Black Widow still found the Grandmaster unimpressive. A flashy and impractical outfit, thin, a veiled attempt at appearing at ease to cover how nervous he was, and a poor stance.

She knew better than to underestimate him. There was no hint of mercy or sympathy in those eyes. He would toy with people’s lives with as much compassion as Dreykov.

Alongside him, he had who must be Topaz, plus two girls in skimpy outfits and oversized guns, which must be more for show, and about a dozen guards.

Alongside herself, she had Bruce in the rear, with  Lockheed, Scrapper-142, No-Name, Elloe, and Mundi-Vore between them. Everyone with hands, including Bruce, held an oversized rifle, while No-Name and Mundi-Vore were barring their fangs.

Except Lockheed. Lockheed was holding two pistols menacingly.

“Hello,” said Black Widow with an icy smile. “We’re here to see the Grandmaster about a change in management. Care to surrender?”

“Well now, very well done,” said the Grandmaster a tad nervously. None of his protectors made a move, waiting for what he would do next. “Excellent revolution. Pat on the back. Pat on the back.” 

In demonstration, he reached over his shoulder to demonstrate while the invaders just stared in befuddlement. 

“C’mon on. No? Me, too. ‘Cause I’ve been a big part of it.” With growing enthusiasm, he spread his arms wide and went, “Me too! Can’t have a revolution without somebody to overthrow. So, ah, you’re welcome. And, uh, it’s a tie.”

A laser bolt passed right by his ear.

“No,” said Black Widow coldly. “I’d surrender if I were you. Otherwise, you’ll have one more game to play, and it won’t be rigged in your favour this time. Come quietly, and you'll have more options.”

“A pity,” he said, all emotion draining from his face, “but I must refuse.”

Before anyone could shoot him, he dived aside behind Topaz, who charged while holding overhead a strange, golden polearm with an orb at the head. Everyone else opened fire.

“RAAAH!” roared Scrapper-142 as she blasted away at Topaz with a storm of fire, only for her to shrug off every shot.

Lockheed took to the air to duck and swerve around, shooting in two directions at once, even while breathing fire in a third.

Hissing, Mundi-Vore went right at the guards, causing them to panic and try to hit the agile Flerkin. She was completely distracted until it was too late to notice how terribly fast a flying No-Name was, as she slammed amongst them and threw guards aside with her tentacles and bit a head right off.

Bruce, Black Widow, and Elloe ducked for cover as they kept shooting at other guards.

Standing her ground, Scrapper-142 had burned right through Topaz’s outfit, her skin becoming increasingly red under the lasers. At the last second, the Asgardian threw the cannon at the Grandmaster’s top bodyguard, who melted it under the orb of their weapon. That distraction was all that was necessary as Scrapper-142 ducked under the swing and came up with her sword.

Wielding surprising deftness, Topaz twisted her weapon to block the cut unscratched.

Snarling, Scrapper-142 lashed out in a blur of thrusts and cuts too fast for Black Widow to properly catch. Only Topaz evidently could as she spun her staff to block or deflect them.

“Bruce?” Black Widow asked, shooting a hole through one of the go-girls.

“Not yet,” he said with a grimace, shooting out the legs of one of the guards. By his tight expression, though, he was working hard to keep his heart calm enough not to transform. This was not yet a Code: Green situation.  

Mundi-Vore devoured another man in a nightmare of tentacles while Lockheed buzzed about in a blur of purple and flames.

“You’ve gotten weak,” sneered Topaz. “Nothing more than a washed-up sot. What’d they even promise you for this? Can’t be units, and you know how this’ll end. You just ready to finally die? Wanting to make a production of it?” 

“Shut. Up!” gritted out Scrapper-142.

Nonetheless, No-Name’s throwing of another guard across the room made it very clear whose favour the tide was in.

Nailing the last go-girl between the eyes, Black Widow called out, “Ready to rethink things, Grandmaster!? Or are you going to die like an animal in the gutter!?”

If she had been more familiar with him, she would have been more innovative with her goads and more gutting. Alas, this was a rush job.

Regardless, it would make things easier if they could capture him.

For his inevitable execution.

She really did not have any objections to this, and frankly, neither did Bruce, which said it all right there in her opinion.

What was important here was that having him alive could help ease the mess with the current elite and placate the mob. They could promise them trials, make a show of order and calm for them to emulate; basically anything they could offer to prevent centuries of repressed anger, fear, and resentment from boiling over to consume the whole world.

“Guards! Guards! GUARDS!” yelled the Grandmaster, running awkwardly for cover behind a corner. “WHERE ARE MY GUARDS!?”

-(Alien) Sun-

Downstairs

“Keep at it, mates! For the revolution!” cheered on Korg, gun firing again and again alongside the rest of the former gladiators.

Furniture had been dragged over for an improvised barrier, and they ducked in and out of sight of the narrow hallway to fire lasers at the armoured troops, who were trying and failing to get past them.

When the elevators locked out, more and more of the Grandmaster’s enforcers surged up, climbing the stairs and the remains of their fallen to try and break through. The vast majority of the Grandmaster’s guards, both upon the planet and within the palace, had all been below, and now they were fighting and dying to get upstairs, as fear gave them the strength to carry on. Sooner or later, the sheer press of bodies would do the job.

“Okay, that looks like close enough,” said Korg, peering around the corner.

Stepping out, he threw a series of pellets at the guards. A few rushed shots clipped his shoulder and side, yet his rocky frame shrugged them off. His job was done nonetheless.

The pellets burst into a thick cloud of smoke, and in anticipation, the gladiators held their fire.

“What—” was all one guard managed before Miek, in his small exo-skeleton, slid across the floor in a screech of metal to cut his throat. Still riding his momentum, the slug-like being slipped around to hamstring two more and left them screaming.

“There! Get him!” yelled one particularly eager guard, catching a glimpse of a blur that was their assailant.

All the while, everyone missed the predatory eyes of the Flerkin prowling the smoke . . .

-(Alien) Sun-

Upstairs

Unsurprised by the Grandmaster’s response, Black Widow turned her attention to the main remaining threat: Topaz.

A woman who was manoeuvring around to keep Scrapper-142 between her and Lockheed, Mundi-Vore, and No-Name. The ‘real’ threats in her mind.

Works for me, thought Black Widow as she stalked forward to get the perfect blind spot before she pounced.

Metaphorically.

Her repurposed slaver discs bit deep into Topaz’s neck and sparked, causing the stocky woman to freeze in place.

“Heh,” grinned Scrapper-142 in satisfaction.

Topaz backhanded her staff right through the Asgardian’s dropped guard, clipping her on the head so she spun through the air to hit a wall. Scrapper-142 slid down senseless, fortunate enough to have been hit by the butt of the Melt Stick instead of the tip.

Turning around and radiating pure menace, Topaz slowly reached up to pluck out and flick away both discs—one at a time.

“I’m not the Grandmaster’s bodyguard for nothing,” she said with an ugly smile. “For instance, my species is immune to those toys, so they can’t be used to make me turn on him.”

“Worth a shot,” said Black Widow, even as she knew she had just paled at the sight.

Her body moved before her mind even caught up, throwing Black Widow aside in a roll as Topaz closed the distance and brought her Melt Stick down. Living up to the name, the patch where the Human had just stood disappeared.

Continuing her roll, Black Widow made some distance and came up with two laser pistols.

Slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, Topaz stood up to turn and regard her.

She’s faking it, thought Black Widow, catching the slight stiffness. The cuts Scrapper-142 had still left, and while not enough to put Topaz down, were still dripping. Acting as if she’s playing with me, while she actually is worn out.

Those were odds Black Widow was willing to take as she opened fire.

It was not like running was an option anyhow.

-(Alien) Sun-

Growling at the sight of Black Widow on the back foot, Bruce did a quick mental debate on whether to go green or not.

But no, there was a simpler way to settle this.

The others were finishing up the last of the guards, leaving him free to run from his cover.

Not being particularly afraid of dying made that decision easier; he might not want to unleash the Hulk, especially in a tight room, yet if someone shot him, they could deal with the consequences.

Coming around the corner, he aimed his gun at the cowering figure of the Grandmaster. “Surrender and call them off,” ordered with an icy calmness.

Bruce . . . might still consider himself a good man, but he was fully cognizant of what he had unleashed upon people in the past. There was a part of him that was also a monster, and he hoped the Grandmaster saw it in his eyes. He understood just what he was facing.

“Why yes, I do,” said the Grandmaster, face relaxing into a smarmy smile. Gracefully he stood up from the ground, all confidence, and unveiled malice.

“I—” started a confused Bruce.

“Want to save your lover, Black Widow,” said the Grandmaster exuberantly, spreading his arms widely. “Or is it Natasha Romanoff? Natalie Rushman? Soooo many names.”

Leaning right into Bruce’s face, he whispered, “And so much red in the ledger.”

Smacking his lips, the Grandmaster pulled back and began to pace around in a circle, heedless of the gun still aimed at his chest. Of the violence dying down around him as his people died.

“All of you. So. Violent. Is it any wonder I needed my Colosseum? My Champions? A place for you to express it, and to wean it out of the masses.”

Elloe, No-Name, Mundi-Vore, and Lockheed came to surround him, and he only tutted in grave disappointment at them. All of which was overshadowed by the sickening glee he now radiated.

“I mean, really, just look at you—”

Lockheed spat fire, only for the Grandmaster to bat it aside so it nearly hit No-Name.

“Turning upon each other already?” he mocked, smoothly upright again. The Grandmaster held the tips of his fingers together, resting upon the midriff as if he had not just escaped death. “Sooner than I expected, if no surprise given your hatred of the Brood. Oh, not for what they did to you, of course, but to your family.”

Snarling, Lockheed threw himself at the Grandmaster, who sneered as he whispered, “Warn me.” The dragon halted in shock, and the man ruthlessly continued. “She said, ‘Warn me if you see them coming,’ and you. Did. Not.”

Whirling upon No-Name, the Grandmaster spat out, “Always alone. Your own people would devour you as an aberration, and you know it’s only a matter of time before your compatriots turn upon you!”

To Elloe, “Mummy and daddy. Wah wah wah! They never loved you, and you know it!”

With a screech, Mundi-Vore vomited out his tentacles, only again for the Grandmaster to move before he could be hit. Spinning around the limbs without a hint of fear, he completed the motion to grab the Flerkin by the scruff of the neck and hurl him down the hall.

Roaring with rage, Elloe swung her gun like a club, only for him to dodge once more and elbowed her in the throat. She dropped, choking for breath, and in a blink, her own gun was pointed at her head.

Throughout it all, Bruce could only stare in stunned horror. “You’re—”

“A telepath. Yes,” said the Grandmaster in a bored tone. “Obviously. Usually not worth the bother to use, having to put up with all your inane, pathetic wants and woes. Actually believing I should care. It’s all the worse if people know what I can do because then they think it’ll be different if they show me their thoughts and memories, and honestly, I have better uses for my time.”

“And you—” started a stunned Lockheed. 

“Can read what you're about to do before you do it, yes, yes. Boring!” 

A shift came over the Grandmaster then, his leer stretching back into place as his eyes glittered, “But you, Doctor Bruce Banner, what a fascinating mind you’ve got. And your little companion within. Yes, yes, I do believe I can make use of this.”

He jerked his chin up, and Bruce glanced over and caught a small lens.

“We’re on camera, you know. No audio of course, except still more than enough for people to see how things are playing out. To see me making my decisive stand.”

“I—” Bruce started to grind out, only to be interrupted again.

“Will release the beast? The Hulk? The monster within you? Please do. I’ve got a host of useless hostages, oh, I’m sorry, guests, upstairs, whom it can kill as it rampages around like a rabid animal. And something that mindless? Well, I should be able to take control of its sorry excuse for a mind without issue. In fact, that’s a win-win for me.”

Finger still on the trigger, Bruce could only stand there in indecision.

No-Name was equally paralyzed for fear of losing her first friend, and Lockheed fluttered nervously in place.

“Times up,” sneered the Grandmaster with satisfaction as from upstairs raced down another score of guards, guns primed, a quarter of them centred right on the still-dazed Mundi-vore.

A scream wrenched through the air.

Head snapping around, Bruce saw how Black Widow —how Natasha— had been a hair too slow.

She fell to the ground clutching the stump of what had once been her left arm, the rest having dissolved away.

-(Alien) Sun-

Any further screams died out as Black Widow did not have even the strength to do so from the pain.

Just lie there, panting for breath as a part of her dimly registered the approaching footsteps.

Of her death.

No.

No.

Natasha was a fighter. That was how she had been born, raised, and how she had long expected to die. Deserved it really, after all she had done.

Only now a violent death was not something she was willing to accept.

Not now.

Not for Bruce, when she knew it would bring out the Hulk and never make him stop.

Not for herself when she had come to accept she instead deserved more in her life.

Muscles locked up, but she still managed to lever herself up on her one good arm. Red spread across the floor, and she had to blink at it for a moment before realising it was her blood. Right, a gaping wound.

Boots in front of her.

As ably as she could, she craned her head up to see Topaz looking down at her. Mouth moving, yet nothing could be heard over the ringing in Black Widow’s ears.

Nonetheless, she knew what was being said. She had seen it oh so many times:

Someone confident that they had won. Gloating at the pathetic little woman as she lay helpless before them. Less of a person and more of a victim for them to do with as they pleased.

Black Widow’s smile was all teeth as she pressed the detonator she had never let go of.

Topaz held her arm high to deliver the finishing strike when a beeping sound went off.

Her gaze flickered to see just the tell-tale hint of something blinking on her arm.

Blue light and fire erupted right over what would be a nerve cluster if Topaz were Human, which Black Widow had gambled on. Something she had paid her left hand in planting.

Topaz’s fingers spasmed from the strike just as the blast knocked her weapon loose from her grip.

For one breathless moment, it hung there in the air. 

Now screaming her hot, burning rage, Black Widow lurched up on the last of her strength to grab the Melt Stick, and slapped the rounded tip into Topaz’s abdomen and right through as the flesh disintegrated beneath it.

Then Black Widow lost her grip on it and collapsed senseless.

Down upon the shaking floor, as a force of nature made itself known. 

-(Alien) Sun-

The instant after Bruce saw Black Widow on the floor, bleeding out while missing a limb, the Grandmaster wrenched up his laser rifle and shot the scientist in the head.

Bruce staggered from the hole in his brain, lurching back to hit the wall.

He did not fall.

Frowning, the Grandmaster fired again and again before switching to fully automatic to scorch away his torso, with the rest of the guards quickly following their leader’s example.

Bruce. Did. Not. Fall.

Wrong.

Hulk. Didn’t fall.

The vision in his one remaining eye shifted green, and then his other eye regrew. His entire body shifted as it rebuilt itself and swelled with muscles and new skin. Lasers splashed harmlessly off of him.

In seconds he towered over them without a word, seeming to even glow green.

He just . . . looked at the Grandmaster, who screamed as he clasped his hands to his head to shut out the.

R

A

G

E

The dam burst as Hulk roared and smashed through the guards as if they were not even there.

All the time their presence bought their liege, their owner truly, was the moment of understanding that he was dead as a massive green hand closed in around his head.

There was no elegance, no drama to it all, just the rising tide of inevitability as the Grandmaster was torn to shreds above the bodies of the last of his most loyal soldiers.

But Hulk was not done.

Tasha! Tasha was—

Tasha was—

HULK WOULD RIP APART THIS WHOLE WORLD!!

HE WOULD—

“-VE!”

A sense of pressure made Hulk glance down to see Angry Girl there, pulling back Angry Girl’s hand to hit Hulk again only to stop. “SHE’S ALIVE!” Angry Girl yelled as loud as Angry Girl could. “WE NEED THE OTHER YOU TO KEEP HER THAT—”

Between one breath and the next, Hulk shrugged off his form and wrenched Banner back into control.

Bruce barely had a half-second to stumble before Scrapper-142 scooped him up in her arms and hauled him over to Natasha. She was dangerously pale, yet still breathing—if unevenly. Lockheed had burned her arm shut with his fire to stop the bleeding, which was not good, if probably for the best overall.

Desperately he looked around for the medical supplies he had brought with them before transforming, and Mundi-Vore spit them out beside him. 

“Right. Thanks,” he muttered, already picking through what was available. This kind of injury would kill anyone else back home, except they had a few new tricks in space.

“Hey,” whispered a tense voice, and he grinned in relief as he looked down at her, eyes fluttering open.

Besides, it was Natasha.

“Don’t move,” he said softly yet unyieldingly. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Thanks,” she managed.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, a little mentally off-balance even as he started sticking injections of thick green and yellow liquids into her. “Thank Hulk.”

“Thanks, Hulk,” she said, lips twitching upwards in a ghost of a smile.

Something rumbled in his mind, and he whispered, “He says you’re welcome.”

Or near enough.

“So, it’s okay?” said Elloe awkwardly. “It’s over?”

The elevator dinged, and all the fighters still able to move, whirled around to face the doors.

Bruce dearly hoped he would not have to kill anyone else today.

Battered, chipped, and scorched, Korg proudly marched out, Miek and the other Flerkin at his side. “Well, chaps, today, the revolution’s been a success! Good work, everyone.”

A sagging sigh of relief rippled throughout the room.

“Yes, Elloe,” answered No-Name, twitching her tentacles, unsure of what to do. “It’s over.”

“We did it,” Elloe said disbelievingly.

“Believe it,” huffed Lockheed. He settled himself down on the floor, and Mundi-Vore plopped down next to him. The dragon stared intently at his companions each in turn, before puffing himself up, and declared. “We did it. Together. So I say to you, as is the custom of my people, let us be Warbound. In life and death, the oath that cannot be broken. Let us honour what we have done here today, and what we have lost, and bind ourselves to each other together. Lockheed, the Forsaken and the Revered of the Flock.”

A stunned silence fell, and then Bruce wryly said, “We’re part of another group back home, but after today, yeah, count me in. Us. Bruce Banner and Hulk, of Earth.”

“Natasha the Black Widow,” she threw in weakly. Because yes, they had fought and bled beside these people, and she would not diminish that.

“Heh, Elloe of Sakaar,” said the young woman eagerly.

Reverently, the giant insect hissed, “No-Name, warrior-prime of Broodworld.”

Miek and the Flerkin hissed, yet there was no doubt they understood and pledged themselves as well.

“Korg of Krona,” said the stony warrior with all the seriousness the situation deserved.

“. . . Bruunhilde of Asgard, last of the Valkyries,” said their final member, dropping down to sit beside them. Her expression was a mixture of different emotions, but for the first time they could see hope truly shining through it. “Guess I’m not dying today after all. Well, guess taking down the Grandmaster’s a good start of anything for something new.”

“And on a live broadcast at that,” added Korg cheerfully.

“Warbound,” declared Elloe.

No-Name nodded in agreement. “Yes, Warbound . . . whatever may come.”

“Wait,” chipped in Natasha, feeling better already as the treatments took hold, and Bruce attached a contraption to her now-numb stump. “What was that last part?”

“Whatever may come?”

“No, the live broadcast.”

“Oh,” said Korg as if it were no big deal. “Your whole end fight there was broadcasted across the globe. Everyone saw you take down the Grandmaster. The people at the gate wanted your names, so the lads letting them in, all partying, not tearing everything down, gave them to them. See?” He cocked a hand to his head, and sure enough, they could now hear the slowly growing cries from outside and dozens of floors down. Words screamed from thousands, tens of thousands of throats.

“WID~OW! HULK! WID~OW! HULK!”

Bruce buried his head in his hands, and despite her pain, Natasha found herself laughing at the absurdity and embarrassment of it all.

~~To Be Continued…~~

Chapter Text

Earth

Avenger’s Compound

It was a bitter experience for the Avengers as they found themselves dealing with Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross telling them their days as heroes were over.  

Oh, he was very carefully polite, making sure not to say something offensive where he might be recorded. Oh, sure, he brought up all the good they had done, but only briefly, before going on at length about the unfortunate consequences of their actions—the justifications for the Sokovia Accords.

Both Steve and Tony found themselves missing Natasha even more than usual. The mysterious and concerning absence —they all agreed that if she and Bruce could send a message, they would have done something by now— of a good friend aside, they could have used her insight right about now. Yes, both men were no slouches at reading people, but her perspective had always been priceless in its own right. Maybe with their master spy around, they would not have been caught off guard by everything.

They missed Bruce, too of course, except it was probably best for him not to be here with the former-General Ross. Sure, Tony was closer to him than Steve, who in turn was closer to Natasha, but there was still a connection. So potential consequences aside, their friend deserved better than to be stuck in the same room with the man who had once hunted him. Which, they privately had to admit, might be a valid reason for those two not to contact the Avengers, as Bruce might worry they would be legally obligated to report that, and he did not want to get them into trouble for ‘forgetting’ to do so.

So yes, they were not happy Ross was here. However, they also knew they had to act like grown-ups and hear him out.  

“Okay. That's enough,” Steve finally said when Ross was leaving up dead images of the tragedy in Lagos, making Wanda deeply and clearly uncomfortable.

Pretending he had not just been making personal attacks against them, Secretary Ross moved on to why he was here with feigned regret. “For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate.”

Which was rich, given the host of illegal things the man had committed against Bruce.

“But I think we have a solution.” Taking a thick pamphlet from an aid, he slid over a document. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries, it states the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

Huh, thought Tony. A quick glance at Steve made him sure the other man had missed it, but Tony had not. Despite his reputation, the billionaire philanthropist was indeed quite familiar with politics, business, manipulative bureaucracy, and everything related; his subsequent reputation was born from his desire to have as little to do with them as possible. Regardless, for better or worse, he was still familiar enough to know this was not something put together since Lagos as Ross was carefully implying. It practically carried the stench of heavy legalese, and something that had been in the works for a long time. This was something that the Powers That Be had been waiting for the opportunity to spring on them all.

Despite this, the billionaire said nothing about the deception involved, as he agreed that the Avengers and other people with powers needed to have some sort of oversight for once.

Instead, Steve’s response as he worked to keep his temper intact, was, “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we've done that.”

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor—”

  -(Alien) Sun-

On an alien world, in an alien bar, a certain God of Thunder was slumped over a table, a pile of empty bottles surrounding him, sobbing pitifully while half asleep.

A regular studied him for a long moment, before looking towards the bartender, who was passing glasses through xe’s insta-cleaner.

“Bad break-up,” squirbled the bartender through his tentacles.

“Ah. Fine,” nodded the regular, waving one chitinous claw. “But why haven't you . . .” Xer trailed off as something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to see some of the more loudmouthed patrons. They were the type rather deaf to the concept of ‘volume control,’ or liked to ‘tell people how it was,’ and were currently embedded halfway through the wall.

“Uh huh,” garbled the bartender. “After they tried bugging him, nobody else felt like it.”

  -(Alien) Sun-

“—and Banner—”

 -(Alien) Sun-

Sakaar

Bruce and Natasha cuddled against one another in their ruler’s-size bed.

They had a busy day ahead of them, but here and now, with the rising sun inching its way over the horizon, they could enjoy a moment in each other’s arms.

At peace.

Safe.

Together in a way they had once never imagined possible.

-(Alien) Sun-

Avenger’s Compound

“—are right now?” asked Ross. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there'd be consequences.”

The lack of mention of anything about Natasha was both glaring and insulting to the room. If they had to choose between her or the nukes being more dangerous, the Avengers would bet on the Black Widow.

Although, conceded Tony, he might just be omitting her because of how the Accords are written out. After all, legally defining someone as “enhanced” is straightforward enough. But how would they cover someone like her or Clint? So they’re exempt.

. . . They’d better be exempt, because if it includes anyone with “unusual talents” or something as vague as that, then the government could conscript just about anyone they wanted by labeling them as “enhanced.” Which is actually disturbingly possible, given how Ross refers to them as weapons.

And by that metric, even if I completely gave up on my suits to retire, again, they could legally bring me in and tell me to do whatever they wanted . . .

This concern flew through his mind in a millisecond, yet not a flicker of it was allowed to show over his face.

Clearly, he needed Pepper, FRIDAY, and his whole legal team to take a close look at these Accords. Although given the rate Ross was pushing things, any revisions would be after the current version was already implemented. Great, there went his schedule for the next . . . year. 

“Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works,” went on Ross like a hypocrite. Especially as he was very much not showing any sign of offering compromise or being reassuring.. Sure enough, he followed that up with a veiled threat. “Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies,” observed Rhodey, choosing a politer path than the others.

Instead of answering that, Ross said, “Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna, to ratify the Accords. Talk it over.”

With that, he took his leave.

-(Alien) Sun-

Germany

Leipzig-Halle Airport

Days later

Looking back in hindsight at the meeting at the compound, Tony and Steve were both kicking themselves for not finding a way to properly settle things then and there.

Only everything afterwards had rapidly spiraled out of control. The Vienna Bombing. The death of King T’Chaka. Bucky’s arrest, which tore up Romania after he was charged for the bombing. His subsequent breakout in Berlin, and now it had all come down to this:

The Avengers facing off in an airport; two different sides, threatening to tear themselves apart. All over the Sokovia Accords.

Honestly, it all made Tony absolutely sick to see this mess. If anything, everything Rogers was doing was validating the fears people were using to justify the Accords in the first place!

. . . While on the flipside, seeing how Secretary Ross was abusing his authority for this, including sending in teams with kill on sight orders against Barnes, instead of, oh, I don’t know, asking Tony or Rhodey to handle it! Rhodey had been only minutes away by flight! And now this, where they were going to have to duke it out, and you could bet Ross would be milking it for all the validation he could!

Blows had been exchanged, but honestly some of the words out of Steve’s mouth had hurt Tony even more.

Now however they were all lined up on either side of a line Vision had burned through the ground. Behind Tony’s group was the quinjet they had rode in on, and Steve’s objective to fly out of here on. Neither side was willing to back down.

Falcon. Ant-Man. Hawkeye. Scarlet Witch. Captain America. Bucky Barnes.

Smaller in numbers, but heavier firepower, War Machine. Spider-Man. Vision. Iron Man. Black Panther.

“What do we do, Cap?” asked Falcon.

“We fight,” answered Captain America as firmly as possible despite how much he hated everything about this.

Leading the way, he marched forward with the others in a loose line beside him.

“Alright,” said War Machine resignedly, and without another word, their side did the same.

At an unspoken signal, Captain America and his team picked up speed.

“They’re not stopping,” pointed out a deeply concerned Spider-Man even as he found himself also going faster.

“Neither are we,” said Iron Man, taking flight so he was flying just above the ground with War Machine doing the same. Despite how fast they were going, Spider-Man and Black Panther easily kept up. Vision had already been airborne, but was hanging slightly back.

Falcon and Scarlet Witch took to the air even higher, arcing to come down at the group, while Iron Man did the same, angled his descent just right to—

An impact sent Iron Man tumbling into the cement, rolling about, while cries and screams rattled through his helmet and from his radio.

“Boss!” went FRIDAY in his ear.

“I’m alright,” he said as he shook his head, and then looked up to sheer pandemonium.

A whole new group of freaks and weirdos had crashed the party for their freaks and weirdos.

Strolling towards him was a young woman with a cocky look on her face, holding what looked like a mace of all things.

Vision was yelling and flailing as what looked like cats spewed out tentacles and were reeling him back in despite his best efforts. He tried shooting off his forehead laser, yet they were too spry for that. Moreover, despite what the internet told him, they were not interested in following the ‘bright light’ going across the ground.

“AH!” screeched Spider-Man at the sight, only to have bigger and more immediate concerns in mind as a massive, screeching insect landed before him, and lashed out with a large, clawed arm. His reflexes saved him, and he dodged back in the nick of time.

It clicked its ridiculously big fangs together. “Why does a bug need teeth like that!?” blurted out the kid, and suddenly Iron Man had All The Regrets roping a minor into this.

“What’s hentai?” it asked back in a surprisingly cordial voice.

“It’s . . .” Spider-Man trailed off, and prayed that Mr. Tony Stark had not overheard him saying that, or else he might actually die of embarrassment.

A woman in pink skin and resplendent golden armour swung her staff against Captain America’s shield, only for his arm to go numb at the electric shock it released. Undeterred, he snapped a kick at her, but her armour took the brunt of it neatly. Ant-Man tried to help out by leaping up at her while miniaturized, yet something on her suit detected him, and pure instinct had him leap right back off before he was fully zapped. As it was, he still was forcefully reverted back to his proper size, suit sparking in a way which deeply concerned him.

Incensed at the distraction from his righteous vengeance, Black Panther traded blows with a man seemingly made of rocks. Despite the gifts of the Heart-Shaped Herb, this thing was keeping up with him. Even worse, the sound the sword made as it rang against the Prince of Wakanda’s armour and claws was nightmarishly familiar.

“How do you have vibranium!?” hissed Black Panther.

“Beg yer pardon?” said the rock-man quizzically before it connected. “Oh, you mean song-steel? What? Did you think this world was the only place to have it?” 

A purple dragon buzzed and whizzed around Scarlet Witch, regularly belching out fire which made her recoil and abort her own attempts to use her power. More and more she was feeling overwhelmed and distracted, struggling to marshal her powers. Clint tried to help her by firing arrows, but the dragon drew two small pistols from his hip, and blasted his attack out of the sky with lasers.

War Machine just stared blankly for a moment at what looked like an oversized, purple grub in an exo-suit. No fool, the soldier promptly deployed his guns and opened fire. Only for the grub to practically skate across the pavement in those robotic legs, and whirl right into his personal space, sword-arms cutting the barrels of his guns. Firing his jets, War Machine rushed to make space.

Eyes taking the situation in, Clint quickly realized what everybody else was too distracted to notice. “They’re not really trying to hurt us!” he barked. “Make space!”

Blessedly, the rest of the Avengers did, scattering back as quickly as possible, with even Vision released to hover back. Dripping what looked like saliva, the android was visibly disheveled and unbalanced, yet honestly none of the rest of them were any better. Iron Man jetted off the ground, and zoomed around the cocky lady, who as Clint had noted, just let him go so he could regroup with the rest. The fact they had just been fighting one another moments ago meant nothing as the Avengers (and Bucky and Black Panther; although Bucky carefully made sure he had a few people in between them) stood shoulder-to-shoulder against the unknown in a loose, semi-circle, partially surrounding these newcomers. Rather than be intimidated, these folks acted entirely unconcerned about their predicament.

“Who are you!?” demanded Captain America.

“And where do you come from?” added Iron Man with a frown. While he had not caught the rock-guy’s line, he did know that nobody should be showing this sort of tech without him knowing about it. Plus, while some of them looked Human, the rest decidedly did not.

Instead of immediately answering, said rock-guy shrugged some contraption off of his back, and placed it down. Immediately legs stuck out of it for stability, and the top lit up. “I am Korg, once of Korna, and now of Brutasha. I and my fellow Warbound are here to deliver you a message on behalf of our king and queen.”

“Well, take us to your leaders,” said Iron Man without losing a beat, strangely enjoying that here it was the Humans saying it to the aliens instead of vice versa.

“With pleasure,” grinned the woman who had knocked him flying, and it was all teeth and the knowledge she was going to enjoy what came next.

The Korg character was staring at a little holographic screen that popped out of the machine. “Wait—” he began, but it was too late as the top lit up

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?”

The thundering voice battering them erupted from the mouth of one Natasha Romanoff, more coldly furious than anyone but Clint had ever seen her. Her expression spelled out before them in fine detail as she towered over them from a hundred-yard-tall hologram projected out of the machine. 

She wore a fine and flowing wrap of a style totally unlike any fashion found on Earth, and nothing like what she used to wear. It fit her beautifully, however, even if it also emphasized how like Barnes her entire left arm was now all metal. Although her cybernetic arm was artistic and stylized compared to his bluntly practical design, and nobody doubted it had some hidden surprises. No make-up marred her face, and her rich red hair was longer and flowed down her bare shoulders.

Beside her, was Bruce Banner, who while also looking angry, also radiated sheer disappointment at the display laid out before him. He was wearing a multi-layer outfit that looked like it had started life as a three-piece suit before becoming too big in the sleeves, with the fabric coming together as closed cuffs at the wrists. The outfit featured mixed colours for the layers and far too much embroidery.

The apparent aliens just relaxed and watched the proceedings with smug amusement, resigned acceptance, or mild confusion on Korg’s face before something shifted to give the impression he thought this was for the best. Meanwhile, Steve and Tony’s two groups could only crane their heads back in stunned silence. Even Clint could only manage a hushed, “Nat . . .” at the sight of his closest friend.

“THERE WE ARE,” Natasha continued, visible and audible probably all the way back in France, “ALL EXCITED TO COME BACK HOME AND TELL EVERYONE THE RIDICULOUS STORY OF HOW WE BECAME KING AND QUEEN OF OUR PLANET, AND WHAT DO WE FIND!?”

“Wait,” went Tony, retracting his helmet and choosing to seize upon just one part of all this insanity. “King and queen?”

“YES. KING AND QUEEN,” drew out Natasha glacially. “WE GOT SUCKED UP BY A WORMHOLE AND DUMPED ON A LITERAL GARBAGE WORLD ON THE EDGE OF REVOLT!”

“HONESTLY, IT WAS ONE THING THAT LED TO ANOTHER," said Bruce bashfully with a shrug of 'what can you do,' which was more familiar to the Avengers than the rest of . . . this. “BEFORE WE KNEW IT, IT WAS EITHER US, OR RIOTING MOBS IN CHARGE.”

“And the Grandmaster’s cousin, Carlos, hoped to get in good with the new regime, made some assumptions, and started broadcasting them as the new rulers before we knew what was going on,” added in Korg cheerfully.

“YES, KORG,” muttered Natasha, except it sounded more like an eighteen-wheeler running over gravel. “THANKS FOR REMINDING ME OF DEAR CARLOS.”

“You’re welcome!”

None of the blinking Earthlings could tell if the guy was oblivious to sarcasm or not.

“WE ARE WORKING TO TRANSITION TO SOMETHING MORE DEMOCRATIC,” Bruce hastened to assure them. “ONLY ONCE THINGS HAD SETTLED DOWN ENOUGH TO DO THAT . . .” He trailed off, and oh geez there was the disappointment again. Tony tried not to feel guilty about how he had assumed his best friend had run off to live out the rest of his days with a hot redhead, and that it was now like he had been caught kicking a puppy in front of him, and—oh man, this metaphor was getting weird.

“WE DECIDED WE WERE FINALLY FREE TO GET A HOLD OF HOME,” said Natasha, taking up the thread again.  “SEE HOW THEY’RE DOING. ONLY WHAT DO WE FIND?”

Despite all the conviction they had just been fighting with, all of the Avengers increasingly felt incredibly awkward and tried not to shift under their disapproving looks.

The pregnant pause was broken as Prince T'Challa jabbed his finger at the projections. “This does not concern you. This is a matter of—”

“IT DOES CONCERN US,” overrode Natasha, and not solely by sheer volume. The sheer confidence with which she had delivered that . . . Either she was really into her role, or she had really grown into it. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, probably.

“THIS IS OUR FAMILY WE'RE TALKING ABOUT,” she continued. “AND THAT WASN'T A HYPOTHETICAL QUESTION. WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING?”

Bristling a little now, Tony said, “The Accords—”

“WE KNOW ABOUT THE SOKOVIA ACCORDS, TONY,” cut off Bruce, looking hurt. “WE SENT SOME PEOPLE AHEAD TO SEE HOW IT WAS GOING, AND WE LEARNED ALL ABOUT IT ON THE NEWS. INCLUDING HOW MUCH SECRETARY ROSS WAS INVOLVED.” There was no hatred, anger, ice, or even venom in how that name was spoken, and yet the sheer flatness was condemnation enough. “WE AREN’T IMPRESSED BY WHAT THEY INVOLVE.”

“DON’T YOU LOOK SO TRIUMPHANT, STEVE,” threw in Natasha, giving the man a look. “THAT DOESN’T GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO PROTECT A MAN WHO’S GONE AROUND KILLING PEOPLE LIKE THIS.”

“Bucky was framed!” protested Steve, and Tony rolled his eyes at the man’s immediate denials. “It was the psychologist they sent!”

“He tried to kill me!” spat back Tony. “Right in my face, and he did kill two security guards who tried to stop him!” They were the only reason he was still alive.

“The psychologist activated his Winter Soldier programming!”

Natasha leveled her gaze on Bucky, who seemed to shrink underneath it. “YOU’RE BEING RATHER QUIET THERE, MR. ARM BUDDY.”

He glanced at her own cyborg arm and winced, but after swallowing to brace himself, he said, “I—”

“NOPE.” She held up a hand. “DON’T CARE. STEVE MIGHT LET HIS EMOTIONS RULE HIM, BUT HE’S NOT A COMPLETE IDIOT. ESPECIALLY WITH DEAD PEOPLE INVOLVED. SO I’M WILLING TO SIT DOWN AND LET YOU TWO EXPLAIN YOURSELVES IN A QUIETER MOMENT. STILL, WARBOUND? KEEP HIM IN SIGHT.”

“HE MIGHT NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS ACTIONS AT THE TIME,” added in Bruce, which made Tony feel a little bit betrayed. But frankly, if it meant someone was keeping an eye on Barnes, he would take it. Preferably those freaky cats. The inventor felt a brief sense of vindication by how a glance at the super-soldier showed him eying the aliens with refreshing wariness.

“Natasha,” said Steve with relief mixed with earnest conviction. “You need to let us through. We need to take the quinjet—”

Bruce winced and sucked in a deep breath, while Natasha’s smile went particularly malicious. “OH YES,” she crooned. “THE QUINJET. WHAT A LOVELY DESIGN OF TONY’S.”

“Uh, what’re you—”

“ADVANCED SECURITY PROTOCOLS. BETTER GUNS THAN THE AIRFORCE HAS. THE MOST IMPRESSIVE FLIGHT CAPABILITIES. THE CONCEALED BATHROOM . . .”

As the titanic avatar glared daggers at him, and he felt the prickling sensation of the rest of the Avengers realizing what she was talking about, doubtlessly recalling all the times they had felt forced to go find some privacy in the woods, or abandoned districts, and Tony felt himself start to sweat. He had known that eventually they would find out about his little joke, yet this had not been any of the scenarios he had imagined it coming back to bite him. Yes, it had been downright hilarious and he still had no regrets, but he had a sinking sensation the planetary ruler before him was more than willing to accept the challenge of making him regret it.

“Look,” Tony said in a blatantly obvious attempt at deflection, “I know you’re not happier about the Sokovia Accords, except that doesn’t change the fact we’re going to have entire governments and kill squads coming down on us soon enough.”

“Uh huh, uh huh,” went the smug, super-strong lady from earlier. “Don’t worry, little guy—”

“Height jokes. Really?” he deadpanned back.

“We know you’re all hot and bothered about these Accords, but can’t you and Mr. Big-And-Blue find a more constructive way to flirt?”

It took a long, nauseating moment for her insinuation to penetrate, and Tony could not keep the disgust off his face. He had slept with guys during his college days, but he had more class than to do it with Steve of all people!

“. . . I think he’s already got a girlfriend?” offered Barnes, giving Steve a look as he was too speechless to speak in his defense.

“OKAY, BRUUNHILDE, STOP TEASING THEM,” sighed Bruce.

“ALSO, WHO IS IT?” asked Natasha eagerly. “I SPENT SO LONG TRYING TO SET HIM UP!”

Quickly running through the available options, and recalling a certain person they had tailed here thanks to FRIDAY running through all of Steve’s past associates these last few days, and the prince’s resources, Tony turned on Steve judgmentally. “Really? Peggy’s great-niece?”

“Oh!” gasped Bruunhilde —who was totally Asgardian with a name and strength like that— with faux scandalousness. “Aren’t you jealous?”

“BRUUNHILDE,” rebuked Bruce again, and she waved him off, yet still settled down. Playing the peacekeeper, he continued bull-rushing through any attempt for Steve to defend himself. “SHE’S NOT WRONG THOUGH, IN HOW THIS SHOULD BE BENEATH YOU GUYS. THE AVENGERS ARE SUPPOSED TO HELP THOSE WHO CAN’T HELP THEMSELVES. TO BE MORE THAN THIS. CAN’T YOU SEE HOW YOU’RE JUST DANCING TO ROSS’ TUNE?”

“So what?” said Rhodey defensively, also retracting his face plate. “We’re just supposed to ignore the Secretary of State for the United States.”

“YOU KNOW WHAT?” said Bruce, and there was that familiar glint in his eye of the sort of man who did what he thought best regardless of the consequences. Trauma had made it something he rarely indulged in, yet all the original Avengers remembered it very well, nonetheless. “THAT’S AN EXCELLENT IDEA. WE’LL JUST IGNORE HIM ENTIRELY. YOU GOT THAT?”

“Gotcha, bosses,” nodded Bruunhilde. “No diplomatic relations with the Americans while Ross is part of their cabinet. Is the United Nations or whatever it’s called still good?”

“YES,” agreed Natasha. “SO LONG AS THEY DON'T BRING IN ROSS EITHER.”

Out of idle, morbid fascination as he could see where this was going, Tony asked aloud, “FRIDAY, how public is this?”

“People across Schkeuditz and other neighbouring cities are watching this, Boss,” the AI answered a tad apologetically. “We're already trending online nationally, and just not started globally. Incidentally, Secretary Ross is demanding to speak to you. Vehemently. I didn’t want to distract you, however.”

Mentally Tony ran through his options, and concluded that while refusing to answer would be detrimental for his professional relationship with the authorities, any authorities, he was not actually legally obligated to answer. To say nothing of how while no one would probably buy that he was too distracted to answer, it was a believable enough excuse that probably no one would call him on it. Most of all, however, if Ross had to take enforced medical leave for high blood pressure, well, it would settle a lot of things quite nicely.

“I see,” he nodded before turning to Steve, whose super-hearing had clearly overheard at minimum Tony’s side of things, and had figured out the gist of what FRIDAY was saying. The super-soldier was giving him a rueful look, wisely free of any personal satisfaction, and so the billionaire philanthropist dryly said, “This may change a couple things.”

“Possibly,” nodded Steve. “But we've still got a problem; Hydra had other Winter Soldiers, and the real culprit is trying to reach and activate them.”

“. . . Wait, you’re actually serious about that!?” Tony demanded incredulously.

“We request asylum,” called out Clint loudly, who had been atypically quiet up until now.

“GRANTED,” agreed Natasha without hesitation.

“HOW MANY PEOPLE?” asked Bruce, and Tony’s jaw dropped at this abrupt turnaround, and he could already imagine the reactions if half the Avengers instead jumped ship to another planet. To say nothing of what the Enhanced population would probably do if they had the choice between the Accords or immigrating to a sci-fi world . . .

. . . Actually, the prospect of doing All The Science with his very own Science Bro, in a world that already had advanced technology, suddenly had him half-drafting up a proposal to Pepper.

A moving proposal. Not a marriage proposal.

Although . . .

“That’s a thing?” asked a confounded Bucky.

“Yeah, and it’s for all of us,” threw in Sam.

“Sam!” protested Steve.

“Cap,” said his friend firmly. “We can just give the coordinates to Tony and the rest to handle.”

“Gee, thanks for the extra work,” said Tony reflexively. Before he could go any further, however, a certain teenager had been tightly pressing his hands to his ears.

“All of us,” repeated Clint with a little touch of emphasis after he was sure that by-play was done. Which Tony new was a reference to the Barton family at large. 

“Sorry!” called up Spider-Man, waving his arm. “Uhm, this is all very fascinating, and I'm a huge fan of you, Dr. Banner, but, uh, could you turn it down a little? It's really loud in my ears.”

“TURN IT DOWN?" asked a confused Natasha, while Bruce leaned forward, and appeared to be adjusting some off-screen controls on his end. “WAIT—BRUUNHILDE!”

“What!?” she said with such a picture-perfect ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ expression if not for the wicked glee dancing in her eyes.

Through sheer titanic force of will, both Tony and Steve resisted the urge to drop their heads into their hands.

-(Alien) Sun-

Somewhere in Europe

Later

“C’mon, c’mon,” whispered the young woman to herself as the phone rang.

“Hello, this is the Brutasha Embassy,” answered a pleasant, chipper voice of undetermined gender.

Despite all her training, Yelena Belova found herself needing an unexpected and unwanted moment to compose herself. “Hello,” she managed, gripping her burner phone tighter. “This is . . . an old contact of Natasha Romanoff. Please tell her it's Yelena calling. And it's important. Very important.”

“One moment please.” Following that, strange, contortioned music played over the speaker, and Yelena was too caught between bewilderment over the apparently universal nature of ‘hold music,’ and trying to figure out if she liked the song or not. Then . . .

“Yelena?” a breathless voice went, and despite how long it had been since she last spoke to her ‘sister,’ it was like the years fell away between them.

 -(Alien) Sun-

Red Room Academy

The next day

General Dreykov chuckled to himself, pondering his liquor cabinet as he worked to decide how he would celebrate.

It had taken a few days to confirm beyond all doubt, yet now he was certain where to find the proper tool to further take control of his destiny. Indeed, it had been a pleasant surprise to learn he was a humbler man than he had imagined, as this whole time he had been thinking too small. Ever since his little lost lamb had run off and joined the Avengers, he had let her be due to the men surrounding her, and because it had amused him for her to imagine herself free of him.

Now though he had the opportunity to expand his operations from ruling the world from the shadows, to going intergalactic! Obviously it would not be easy to abduct the vaunted Black Widow, but once he had done so and reconditioned her, well, the stars were the limit! 

Chuckling to himself, he chose a cognac, resolved to enjoy his evening, and to begin planning things out in-depth in the morning.

Unbeknownst to him, a cloaked ship was hovering right beside his flying fortress. It had been a triviality to slip the vessel through a wormhole into Earth's atmosphere, and from there scan for the modern Red Room via the specifications provided.

The infiltration team made their final preparations, even if it was probably overkill. Bruunhilde, Jarael (with a hologram on so she no longer looked literally paper-white), and Lyra shapeshifted into a Chinese woman, made final adjustments to their Black Widow-style cat-suits under Yelena's critical eye.

Going along with them invisibly, was Ava Starr, formerly the assassin known as Ghost. When the desperate young woman had shown up at their embassy seeking a cure for her condition, they had been happy to provide. In the end, it had been a little tricky, yet not beyond Bruce and Camper’s capabilities. No longer in constant agony, Ava had been embarrassingly grateful, if also committed to becoming one of their ‘special operatives’ while they were still working with Earth. After this was over, and while trying to help the rest of the Widows, Natasha would be freer to help encourage this woman to at least try out a different way of life than being a spy and assassin.

Behind them, the rest of the Warbound, and some of the regular special forces troops trained up by Natasha herself, made their own final preparations.

Obviously the Queen herself had wanted to be involved in this one.

Equally obviously, they had taken steps to leave before she arrived at the hanger, so as to keep their precious, precious co-head of state from danger. It had been a close one, as she had anticipated this and arrived three hours early, just half an hour after they had left.

“Alright, everyone,” nodded Bruunhilde, "you know the drill. Remember, kill the men in faceless masks, the rest we keep alive for Her Majesty's displeasure. Non-lethal force for the women. Lulu and Muni, you're on point."

The affectionately nicknamed Cthulhu and Mundi-Vore demurely wiped their paws in false humility. Of course they would be the ones taking point. Thanks to their presence, the inhabitants of Earth were slowly waking up to the identity of the true rulers of this mudball, but they still failed to properly take cats and ‘cats’ as seriously as they should.

None of the soldiers here would live to learn their lesson.

 -(Alien) Sun-

Two hours later . . .

“Camper?”

“All good, Natasha.” Ah, and there was why he was one of her favourites; he did not insist on using ‘Your Highness,’ or ‘Your Majesty,’ when they knew the monarchs in question despised being called that.

Alright, and because for those people who called them that, knowing they could tease the head honchos and not be executed was vastly reassuring for the survivors of the Grandmaster's reign, but that only accounted for about half of them. The rest were unrepentant trolls.

Thankfully, Camper was quite willing to listen to his supposed supreme overlords politely, and politely do as they asked.

“It’s uncrackable without the key!” sprayed out the demented old man behind her.

Once upon a time, Dreykov had been the stuff of Natasha’s nightmares. Now he was just an unpleasant stain on her past, and a pebble she had stepped over in continuing to erase the red from her ledger.

So she and Camper just ignored the man, and her second-favorite techie tapped a few more buttons. The overcompensating computer screen lit up, mapping out the locations of all the Widows in the world and their personal details.

“Perfect,” smiled Natasha, feeling a conflict between her joy at the sputtering denials behind her, and their success, against the bitter discovery of just how many there were. All while she had believed she had shut down the Red Room for good years ago. “Set up their recall orders, and let's get them fixed. Dig up everything you've got on the brainwashing, and burn it after we've brought in everyone remotely involved in it. I don't care how much they know, if they're complicit, we're dragging them off to a cold, dark cell for the rest of their lives.”

No-Name's angry snarl at the mention of the abomination of mind control right beside Dreykov's ear, made him lose his battle of controlling his bowels. The sheer shame of it, and his terror, made him pass out unconscious. He would later wake up to find himself reduced to just another prison serial number she was going to forget, and could not think of a better way to hurt him. Oh, he had knowledge, personal knowledge about her that she wanted, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of acting like she cared. Let him stew for a few months in impotence and hauling the worst of the raw garbage, before she had people start to really make him sweat. Once she got what she was after, he could go back to his destiny of spending the rest of his miserable life locked away doing disgusting, manual labour.

Which would be for a long, long time if Natasha had anything to say about it. They had the sort of science now to keep him alive for at least another half century.

“Of course. But the Earthlings won't be happy if they find out about this,” Camper calmly raised. Being cured of the allergic reactions which had been haunting him before, had made him not only into one of their top scientists, but a quick-witted advisor. “I hear they put up enough of a fuss over the Skrulls emigrating to us, and they didn't even want them.”

While the majority of Skrulls were settled on their new homeworld, a fair number of them had ended up on Earth as well. Working for Fury for that matter. Tens upon tens of thousands of shapeshifter aliens answering to the ultimate spymaster, with very vague details on what they had been up to on his behalf all this time.

On Bruce's advice, she had decided against hunting down Fury for answers. It was highly unlikely that she would ever receive a straightforward or honest explanation for that whole mess. She would be satisfied with giving all those refugees with their advanced knowledge of science new homes on a world full of refugees. Those that did not go to the new Skrull planet of course. 

But yes, given how everybody had been up in arms about Brutasha receiving an ‘army’ of ‘shapeshifting infiltrators,’ she imagined that it would be best for them not to learn about the ‘army of assassins’ who had been coerced into the sorts of crimes which made them technically war criminals. Especially when she did not want any government getting their hands on mind control. So they would be covering this up as much as possible; if only for the sake of the paperwork she would otherwise have to do.

For now, though, Natasha could take satisfaction in the knowledge she had truly ended the Red Room, and could continue her path towards both atonement and make her own adopted homeworld a better place.

Next stop: seeing how the medics were helping Antonia Dreykov and what they could do to help repair all of her ghastly injuries.

Injuries Natasha had inflicted on her as ‘collateral damage’ to ‘kill’ the girl’s father years ago.

 -(Alien) Sun-

Brutasha

His Majesty’s Personal Lab

“Y’know,” said Tony idly, “just because you keep bribing me with science, doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.” He paused for a moment to fiddle with the circuitry of what was a spaceship’s deflector shield, flinching back at some sparks before seeing what he had done wrong, and resumed. “Missing your wedding, I mean.”

The awesome thing about intergalactic portals was how Tony could walk right out his back door, and be in his Science Bro’s workshop without missing a step.

Granted, it made him rather sympathetic for various defense planners trying to figure out what to do with their new ‘neighbour.’ Except not enough to make him stop coming. It had been so long since he got to experience the thrill of learning new science like this! Not his usual ‘making it up as I go, creating new frontiers,’ but figuring out what other people had already invented and making it better.

“I’m sorry!” bemoaned Bruce for the umpteenth time, even as it did touch him that his friend so wanted to have been there. “But like I said, we were lucky to be there given how rushed it was once people found out we weren’t officially a couple.”  

“Uh huh, right,” went Tony with his patent-pending Unconvinced Tone, before switching to knowing eyebrows. “Well, what about the honeymoon? How was it surviving a black widow?”

“Tony.”

“C’mon, it’s not like you can’t find my whole bedroom history on the internet. I’ve had former girlfriends and one-night stands share ratings of me on websites.”

“And the first time someone tried writing an article about what it must be like for you and Pepper in bed, you bought their company,” said Bruce flatly. Releasing a sigh, he decided to bite the bullet. “We . . . don’t really do it. Much.”

“You mean sex.”

“Yeah. I mean no. We don’t do it.”

As a demonstration of how he had matured, Tony bit off the first dozen remarks that came to his tongue. By that point, his brain had caught up, and pointed out how given Bruce’s condition would keep him from being interested in that type of intimacy, and Natasha’s own past had likely robbed her of the satisfaction there. Regardless, it was clear he was pushing boundaries he should back off of, so he changed the entire subject away from this increasingly awkward conversation.

“So,” he said in a desperate attempt at that shift, “are you really going through with providing all those alternative energy options? Kinda relevant to me, as Stark Industries was formerly the only real name in clean energy, and now you’re moving in with these new reactors.”

Call him biased, but he still considered arc reactors to be superior, especially for purposes of say flying around in a suit of armour. However, there was no denying the insane new numbers of power they could provide, and they were offering the blueprints to build them to any government for free. Completely threatening to wipe out the entire energy industry as it currently was, destabilizing governments along the way.

“Certainly bolder than I recall from you in the past.”

His Science Bro pointedly did not meet his eyes at that light jab, yet his voice remained firm as he answered. “I know it’s really not popular, but well, you’ve seen what Brutasha looks like.”

“Like the world’s largest garbage dump.”

“And it used to be worse. The Grandmaster and his people had so much technology at their fingertips, and they just let it go to waste. A ruined world, where people struggle to get by, including basic necessities like light and heating. I don’t want Earth to go the same way.”

“A lot of people are going to get hurt still if you do this,” reminded Tony neutrally, for the first time turning his full attention away from his project to his friend. “You’re making a lot of people angry, too.”

“I know,” said Bruce in what was meant to be a controlled manner, yet Tony still caught the shame and guilt. As well as heated defiance. “It’s just that I think it’s better than the alternative.”

“And your other other half?” It was obvious that Hulk would have no real say in this.

“Natasha said she’d leave it to me for the tech stuff.”

“Fair enough.” It was still going to be a hideous mess with the chance to be worse than Lagos was, but Tony would be here to do all he could to keep it from reaching that point beforehand.

Especially as while Bruce and Natasha had not shared their full plans with any of the Avengers, Tony had a feeling where they were headed with all this.

A beeping sound and flashing light on a console got their attention.

“What’s that?” asked Tony, jabbing a tool at it.

“Uh, let’s see,” said Bruce, peering over his screen. “Oh. It’s just the Wakandans trying to hack in again through the portals.”

“The who?”

“Just a sec, I’ll send them some more viruses back to play one of our local films.”

“No, what are you talking about?”

“You might actually like it. It’s sort of like Beauty and Beast. Except it’s Natasha instead of Belle, and she’s a barbarian general cut off from her army, and I’m, well, an alien monk is probably—”

“One, being a passive-aggressive little muckster is my thing. Don’t go stealing my thing. Two, yes, I want to see that. Three, what are you talking about with the Wakandans!?”

“Okay, so for starters—”

-(Alien) Sun-

Elsewhere on Brutasha

Steve Rogers paced back and forth in his apartment.

Oh, it was spacious, and set exactly to his preferences, but it still grated at his nerves at how it was a guest room in what was effectively the royal tower or whatever. Charity from his friends, no matter how well-meaning, still made him uncomfortable. Especially at a time when he was already struggling with figuring out what to do with himself while he sat around waiting as Bucky went through days and days of treatments.

It turned out that brainwashing was an old thing out in space, with every government seemingly trying it at one point, and so a lot of potential solutions and cures had been developed. They were taking it slow and steady with Bucky so far, but his best friend was taking it patiently. Particularly since there was no one around here with any knowledge of Russian, much less the code-words to activate him.

Unfortunately, that left Steve with nothing to do except go for runs amongst strange, decidedly alien buildings, or sit and stew in his own thoughts within his own room. In the end Steve had chosen to do just the latter, and he knew it was probably a poor choice on his part and that he was concerning Sam, but he still found himself here, stuck in his own funk and worries. There was no avoiding how he felt even more untethered from this new reality of his than ever before. Compounded with knowing he had to acknowledge how badly he had damaged his relationship with Tony, and how . . . difficult it might be for the Avengers to ever return to Earth again. Despite the similarities to the fall of SHIELD with Natasha talking truth to power, she had privately admitted to him that even if the Accords were rescinded, the various governments would not be accepting Steve as a member of the Avengers moving forward.

Nevertheless, he did not regret for one second taking a stand against that piece of trashy legislation.  

Contrary to what people thought, Steve had actually flipped through the Accords. Quite literally in fact, as the serum gave him a photographic memory, and he could speed read, so a quick skim was all he needed to absorb it to process through later. Say on a multi-hour plane ride to Britain, and all the subsequent travelling about. It had been a great distraction to, however briefly, take a break from worrying about Bucky.

At the end of the day, Steve had to admit he was not one for rules. Not unless they made sense, and he agreed with them. Then one day Peggy had taken him aside and hammered into him the importance of still knowing what the rules and laws were, and why they were there, so at least he knew what he was breaking. Because in the military, doing so recklessly could get people killed.

And he could see these Accords getting people killed if they were put into action.

Some random highlights for him, which he could cite by each point and page even, and when stripped of the legalese, could be summarised as:

Governments would effectively have access to all of an enhanced individual’s personal information, study you at their leisure, and determine what a “threat” you were. If those bureaucrats did determine you a threat, then regardless of whatever you had or had not done, they could imprison you indefinitely without trial. You did not even have to be enhanced to be labelled a “threat,” with the term “enhanced” being incredibly vague. 

As another violation of their privacy, tracking bracelets on anyone with innate powers.

While he could appreciate the desire for maintaining national sovereignty, the language for restricting travel to other countries was such that you could not even take a vacation abroad without your government’s permission. Effectively restricting you to the borders you were born within for the rest of your life, leaving you at their mercy.

There had been other examples, many more, but those were ones he knew his own friends and teammates had glanced at, and glossed over without fully appreciating the ramifications.

Granted, maybe he had been too pessimistic and judgmental of the government. Maybe he and Tony really could have worked out some sort of compromise. Certainly, from what he was seeing on the news (pirated from Earth via wormholes or some other means) as the international community exploded at over half the Avengers defecting to another planet, the notion of the heroes boycotting the Accords could have had some consequences for sure. Perhaps they could have collaborated to find a solution that works within the system, despite the influence of Ross corrupting it.

Instead, he and the others had found themselves so wrapped up in Zemo's plot, he had led them around like dancing monkeys.

Moreover, it was so obvious in hindsight how easy it would have been to ruin his entire scheme if everyone had stopped reacting and thought things through. If not for Natasha and Bruce’s intervention, things could have gotten . . . messy.

As it was, the Warbound had collected Zemo from the KGB/Hydra base, and spirited him away to wherever. Natasha had also discreetly informed him that they had collected the records of the Winter Soldier’s misdeeds; all of them. Whatever relief he had briefly felt was torn away when she had then warned Steve that there was no guarantee that no further copies existed. Moreover, she had reminded Steve how he had been the one to lecture people about keeping secrets. So once Bucky was clear of mind control and free to speak for himself, Tony deserved to hear the truth. Or else she would do it.

It had been a warning and an order he was unused to hearing from the former spy, and she had refused to be dissuaded on the matter, making him more concerned.

Especially since he could not deny the wriggling, niggling, painful sensation that she was right to call him up on his rank hypocrisy once he stopped to think about it.

When it came to Bucky, well, he kinda developed a tunnel vision for his best friend. He had thrown everything he had into saving him here, calling in every contact—

A stray and concerning thought occurred to him.

. . . What had happened to Sharon afterwards? We all got distracted by Tony and the others, and then, well, giant Natasha and Bruce, but Ross’ people could’ve been there too, right?

After she had committed treason against the CIA by passing us info and our gear.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Steve turned around and made for the door.

Go figure; he wanted something to do, and he was just now realizing he had left a friend —a dame he had kissed at that— alone to be hunted by the wolves. Time to remedy that.

After he left a note for Bucky so he did not worry about him.

-(Alien) Sun-

Earth

Brutasha Embassy

“Your American government’s still protesting your refusal to talk to them,” drawled Elloe.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s not my government anymore,” Natasha wryly reminded her again. A knife danced between her metallic fingers as she played with it. “I’m persona-non-grata there too now, and I don’t see them renewing my citizenship anytime soon.”

“I still can’t believe they’re that attached to this Ross character. He seems like a complete zracktir.”

“Eh,” shrugged Natasha, smirking a little at the alien term, which was basically saying Ross was a pretty tool to wave around, while useless in practice, and rotting within and about to dump the whole mess onto you while you were already doing unspeakable acts with it. She also did not bother to elaborate on the matter further, because as much as she considered Elloe a friend and trusted member of the government, her elitist background did not make her a politician.

Neither were Bruce nor Natasha, of course. In fact, they were fundamentally terrible at politics. Lawmaking, backroom negotiations, civilization-wide arrangements, and all those things were very much not things they had any experience with, and they still struggled with them. A lot.  

They had only lasted this long as king and queen by virtue of having all the fighters with them; widespread popular support, which they had barely managed to maintain at times; Bruce brute-forcing technological solutions to social problems, like him and Camper throwing together orbital farms they could then wormhole into orbit to help feed people; copying a lot of stuff from Earth, like laws, or replacing colosseum death matches with sports events to blow off steam; sheer force of personality from her and Hulk; and most of all, tragically low expectations. Just doing away with slavery and random, summary executions was enough for the public.

Nevertheless, while she was terrible at being one herself, Natasha still did know politicians. Knew them very well, in fact. Refusing to deal with the United States for so long as Ross was the Secretary of State had been an impulsive decision on Bruce’s part, which she had immediately backed him up on. However, she had realized afterwards that it had the practical advantage of giving them an excuse to not deal with the US, and thus free to treat the United Nations as the representative of Earth as a whole, without unintentionally snubbing the global superpower they had once been a part of. Instead, they were deliberately doing so over Ross’ past offenses, and making that public. Since the White House would refuse to let itself be coerced, they were keeping Ross around no matter how much they might want to ditch him.

This was fine with Natasha, as formal, diplomatic relations with other worlds were too vast for one country to control. Meaning the United Nations had to grow some teeth, and consequently assert independence from a small clique of powerful nations who wanted to use it as a puppet—the notion that the UN was really the one in control of the Sokovia Accords was ridiculous. As she had been forced to spell out to Rhodey at one point.

All in all, she was convinced this would be good for Earth in the long run.

Not good for Brutasha of course, or long-term negotiations, but once she and Bruce had found out what things were like here, they had immediately turned to their loosely defined contingency plans. 

Because there was no way they were letting Ross anywhere near the people the two of them had sworn to protect.

Ultimately, she had a hunch this would be better than their original —admittedly rather vague— plans of going to Earth for help in managing the mess that was formerly Sakaar.

-(Alien) Sun-

Earth

Midtown School

Later

When he had become an Avenger and had been at the front seat of actual formal relations with another world, Peter Parker had been imagining . . . more in his life.

Still, he kept himself busy and kept calling Happy with updates. Obviously, Mr. Tony Stark was pretty occupied with highly important intergalactic stuff. Like trade. Or defence agreements. Or buying Earth their own Star Destroyers. Stuff like that.

Only Peter really wished that he was getting to do more real Avenger stuff. Even if he was onto something with what seemed like folks selling alien weaponry. Old alien weaponry, not Brutasha stuff. Additionally, his personal life had become increasingly complicated since Ned attempted to help and everybody in gym class that Peter knew Spider-Man. As a friend. Leading to stuff like this when he had to tell his Decathlon Team he was not going to DC with them for the nationals.

“Flash?” said Liz, their team captain. “You’re in for Peter.”

“Oof, I don’t know,” answered Peter’s single biggest headache and cause of stress. “I’ve got to check my calendar first. I’ve got a hot date with Black Widow coming up.”

-(Alien) Sun-

Brutasha

“Hrm?” Hulk paused, looking around at the sensation that there was someone he should be smashing.

“Eyes on me!” leered Bruunhilde as she rammed a spiked mace into his knee, and immediately he knew who it was supposed to be.  

-(Alien) Sun-

Earth

Midtown School

Another member of the team, Abe, immediately rang their bell. “That is false.”

Without missing a beat in turn, Mr. Harrington said, “What did I tell you about using the bell for comedic purposes?”

“Dating, royalty, huh?” mused MJ. “Should’ve gone for something like one of her sisters. That might’ve almost been slightly believable. Certainly one of them has low enough standards.”

Ignoring the byplay, Peter just looked at the clock to see when he could get out of there.

-(Alien) Sun-

Nova Empire

Xandar

Flanked by their Warbound, Bruce and Natasha stalked through the bright and open halls of the Nova Corps Headquarters.

They were armed, and Nova Corpsmen were present to keep an eye on them, yet nevertheless the feeling in the air was one of anticipation and hope.

Coming to a stop, they found themselves face-to-face with a woman who was one of those races that looked eerily Human. Albeit as an older lady, with the sort of personal authority and dignity most Earth politicians would kill to imitate even half so much. The Nova Prime, Irani Rael herself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person at last, Natasha and Bruce,” she said with a short nod of her head. “And I’d like to express our appreciation again of you saving and returning Corpsmen Adora Dey.”

Behind her, a Nova Corps man with the rank of Denarian, Rhomann Dey, and brother to Adora, made the same gesture of respect. The woman in question just smiled happily at the sight of the couple. She had been home for a while now, if also running back and forth as an intermediary to move negotiations forward.

“It’s our pleasure as well,” said Bruce pleasantly, hiding his anxiousness with long practice.

“I imagine you’re rather busy,” chipped in Natasha, “so shall we get down to business?”

The Nova Prime’s expression shifted into something unreadable, and she silently gestured for them to join her at the holo-table she was standing before, albeit on the other side from herself. The display was lit up with a look at Xandar’s capital city, with the rim having holo-screens with scrolling information playing out to the side, listing various pieces of data, while to the side Nova Corpsman and various aids passed back and forth on the way to their tasks, or stopped to observe. On Earth, this would be a sign of disrespect, of a politician with no concept of how ‘the game’ was played. Here, however, it clearly fitted the Nova Prime’s reputation as a woman with no time for frivolities, always busy, and open and honest with her people. Just the sort of leader they were looking for.

As befitting this, Irani got right to the core of the matter. “Very well then. You must understand our continued skepticism of your offer. Worlds and governments seeking to join the Nova Empire are not a new phenomenon. But what your Planet Brutasha has to offer is far beyond what they have to offer. With your stable, controllable wormhole network, you could approach us as allies instead.”

“The truth of the matter,” said Bruce, as he was the more honest of the two of them, “is that we don’t actually want to rule. We stumbled into it.”

“Yes. That’s what Adora’s told me,” conceded Nova Prime. “She also told me what progress you’ve made in moving your world towards democracy. Such as small-scale elections, and the start of a parliament.”

“It’s also very flimsy overall, with the people unused to such notions,” said Bruce. “It’s not stable enough to survive any major unrest. We’d hoped for help from Earth of some kind, but when that proved . . . unlikely, we looked for alternatives.”

There were the Skrulls, except they were still making their new homeworld functional for themselves. This had been further complicated by the influx of refugees from Earth, who had put a further strain on their resources. Additionally, their distaste for the Nova Empire, despite —or rather because of —their shared enemy, the Kree Empire, had also complicated matters. Still, ultimately, their government had reluctantly accepted what the leaders of Brutasha were planning and were cautiously optimistic this could prove the gateway to improved relations with the Nova Empire. The Skrulls might still hate Xandar’s guts for abandoning them to the Kree, yet their leaders still preferred making friends over enemies.

Regardless, suffice to say, the Nova Corps was very interested in the notion of being able to reposition their entire fleets at a moment’s notice, all across the galaxy. To say nothing of what it would mean for trade, disaster relief, etcetera. Incorporating a multi-race world of people coexisting (mostly) in peace with one another was something they were definitely interested in on an ideological level as well.

What made them so attractive to Bruce and Natasha however, that unfortunate and ugly little bit with the Skrulls aside, was how not only did the Nova Empire have a functional government and military, they had a history with democracy and managing planetary disasters, which was perfect for keeping Brutasha from collapsing. Or at least the best odds of doing so without resorting to violence against the populace, and actually trying their best. Which was enough for the couple to justify shedding themselves of their responsibility, and taking off with those they cared about into retirement.

It would not be a clean or easy transition, but it was for the best for everyone involved. As well as opening the doors for Earth having future diplomatic relations with one of the few actually benevolent intergalactic powers.

“Very well then,” smiled the Nova Prime, and it really did appear genuine. “Let’s sort out the final details.”

“Great,” said Bruce, fighting to hide how relieved he was.

“This is a great day for all of us,” grinned Natasha.

Alarms began ringing.

Between them, the holo-table’s screens lit up red and projected an enormous spaceship headed towards the planet. Already, massive beasts were leaving it, effortlessly flying through space.

Familiar beasts.

“Chitauri,” hissed Natasha.

“Thanos,” said Nova Prime Irani Rael in utter horror, that one word silencing the whole room in pure dread.

Even members of the Warbound flinched, and Bruce and Natasha went stiff at the name of the intergalactic terrorist and fanatic. They did not know too much about him in detail, certainly not enough to connect him to the Chitauri before now, but they knew enough to be assured this was very bad news.

Especially as they both realised this meant he must have been Loki’s backer and partner from when he had invaded.

“Deploy our ships!” barked the Nova Prime, jolting her people into action. “All hands prepare for battle!”

“We’ll help too,” said Black Widow immediately. “We don’t have much in terms of ships, but we’ve fought Chitauri before, and we can help with the ground combat.”

“Thank you,” accepted their fellow leader, knowing full well that every person would make a difference in this fight.

Grimly, the Warbound prepared themselves for a fight. Already plotting for a way to even board Thanos’ ship.

“Evacuate the city,” Nova Prime crisply ordered. “Our priority is to get our people away from the battle.”

“Ma’am,” warned Denarian Dey. “Xandar’s defences are still weakened from Ronan’s attack, and that was one ship.” 

Involuntarily, eyes were drawn to the absolutely massive warship surrounded by many smaller ones.

Piercing eyes turned upon her visiting delegates, “Indeed. Most of our fleet is spread throughout our territory, especially on our borders with the Kree Empire.”

Understanding what she was getting at, Black Widow brought up a holo-screen on her cyborg arm. “Give us the coordinates. Camper!”

“What!?” asked the man on the other end of the call she had opened. “What’s happening?”

“It’s Thanos. He’s attacking Xandar.” Even through the scratchy quality of the hologram, the man’s white skin somehow got paler. “We’re going to use the network to bring in the entire Nova Corps to help.”

“That—that’ll overload the system!” he protested.

“Bruce!”

“It might work if we tap into Xandar’s own power grid,” her husband said, gesturing towards one aide to move aside from the command holo-table, and with a furrowed brow, immediately began flying through its various inputs despite their alien nature. “We can transmit energy in, so as to reduce the strain on our end.”

Another aid made a few adjustments, and Camper’s image popped on a screen on the table. “Coordinates incoming,” he reported. “And that just might do it.”

“Make it work,” ordered Nova Prime to her people. She flicked a quick glance at the couple before turning back towards Denarian Dey. “He’s here for it. Have your men secure it at all costs.”

“Can we try using it?” he suggested. “Maybe call in the Guardians?”

“Try and get a call through to them. We might get lucky, but we can’t count on it.”

“Extra-planetary communications are down!” called over another Corpsman.

Everyone turned to look at Bruce, Black Widow, and their Warbound, and she shrugged. “Our communications are tapping through another wormhole we had set up ahead of time. Just in case.”

“A precaution we’re grateful for at this time,” acknowledged Nova Prime. “We’d like to try and get a message out through your systems then. In the meantime, however, let’s get to it.”

-(Alien) Sun-

Jumping into the seat of her Warsong, Bruunhilde hit the emergency start-up switch. It qualified for the designation, because as opposed to the slower, more secure sequence to properly prep your spaceship, this had a 13% chance of catastrophic reactor core failure.

Once more, she beat the odds, and thus kept her passengers alive as her ship immediately lurched into the air, flying at the absolutely titanic, ugly ship coming right at them.

“Weapons free!” she called back to the beings holding on for dear life in the back. Ignoring their grumbling, she opened fire at the sheer tsunami of enemy fighters and Chitauri on some sort of anti-grav platforms filling the skyline.

Hails of energy darts rattled her ship, and yet her return fire still punched a hole through them.

An entire solar flare of golden energy bolts lit up all around her as the Nova Corps entered the fray.

Pouring out of their wormholes, was every one of their armadas from across their empire. It left their borders and critical posts defenceless, but given the alternative was Thanos, it was an easy choice.

Regardless, the enemy fleet was being torn to shreds. They may have had the numbers, but Nova Corps fighters were faster, more agile, and still small targets, while retaining weapons that were easily able to punch through whatever protection the invaders had. Dozens of them were also swarming around Thanos’ super-ship, and while they are not making much of a dent in it so far, she could already see some turrets turned to shrapnel.

Unfortunately, his people were still deploying infantry in the hundreds, if not thousands. Chitauri whales landing them, and strange, black spires being dropped to strike the earth and disgorge companies of fighters. 

“Prepare to jump!” she yelled this time, and her Queen and fellow Warbound are already turning to the hatch in anticipation. Bruunhilde brought them spinning around, and hit the maneuvering thrusters so hard that her abrupt braking made the inertial dampener squeal like a wuss. Undeterred, everyone ran right out, and the moment the last of them had hit the pavement, she was back in the air to keep shooting down the enemy’s air support. She knew her part in the plan.

Down on the streets, Black Widow took in the scene before her in an instant, plotting the location of every Chitauri and civilian, and started shooting. Korg started barking out orders on where everyone is supposed to go, and they stayed together as the elite team they are, as they tore apart Thanos’ goons.

“Steve and the rest of his Avengers are to the North,” said Bruce over the comms while she glimpsed No-Name bite off a Chitauri’s head. “They’re helping with the evacuation on that end.”

“Good to hear,” she brusquely answered, her heavy rifle vaporizing a Chitauri with every shot. Privately she would prefer Steve and powerhouses like the Scarlet Witch closer, yet to the North was where they were sending these civilians, who needed to be safe the whole way.

Unfortunately, there was not much more Brutasha had to offer here. Once again, it was part and parcel of compromises to prevent further riots. As part of transitioning from a fascist government, it had been essential to phase out the established military, and bring in a new law enforcement with good publicity. There was a small army, platoons of special commandos, a couple of light spaceships to help deter smaller outside threats, like small bands of raiders and that was it. At the end of the day, the bulk of their current military might was largely tied to the royal family and their Warbound. Which was obviously not a sustainable solution in the long run. Making it another tally in the list of reasons to bind the planet to the Nova Empire, as they had a proper army and fleet as opposed to what was really just a pitifully small, if very elite, strike force.

Now they just had to keep said Nova Empire from being conquered and subjected to genocide.

Nevertheless, her and her Warbound really were as good as an army.

Especially an army backed up by air superiority shooting down attempts to land enemy troops by the dozens, and the Nova Corps strafing packs of invaders wherever possible. 

Like a buzz saw they carved their way through Chitauri. Giant, four-legged beasts like gorillas were impaled and blasted. Packs of screeching, black and yellow animals with six limbs were firebombed, hacked apart, or fed to the Flerken.

She witnessed Miek dance around a pack of the six-limbed ones, trying to gang-pile and devour him, slipping right around them. Coming out the other side, he did not even look back as they collapsed into a pile of pieces, shaking the blood off of his swords.

Lockheed buzzed and burned his way through squads of black-armoured soldiers called Sakaarans without a scratch, just stopping to complain about the coincidence of their names. 

Elloe’s armour was cracked here and there, and parts of it were smoking, yet she held her staff as perfectly balanced as always as she zapped and fried another Chitauri who got too close.

Ducking on instinct, Black Widow dropped her gun and spun around with her electrified escrima to deflect some sort of spear that had gotten painfully close to her spine and then face.

“Well, well," rasped the pale-faced man in black and gold armour. “Aren’t you a surprise? You’re no Xandaran.”

“Just friendly neighbours,” answered Black Widow with a grin.

Her cybernetic left arm moved far faster than even she could see, propelled by pure thought. Incredibly complex servos adjusted and compensated so that it did not rip itself out of her shoulder with its unnatural contortion. Which left it free to serve its purpose as it twisted around to clasp around the shaft of the weapon, and poured 10 billion volts, ten times that of a lightning bolt, into him.

Unfortunately, he only shuddered, and a warning came up on her visor that he had some sort of insulation on the shaft. Enough resistance to not immediately die.

A shifting sound had her rolling back as a snarling, blue woman with some sort of glowing polearm swung at where Black Widow had just been.

Coming up in a crouch, Black Widow flung a half dozen repurposed slaver discs, which the invader blocked by spinning her weapon.

Lockheed shot the woman in the back of the head.

Even as she crumpled, Black Widow was already moving, throwing another slaver disc at the pale man, momentarily distracted by the death of his companion. Just enough for her projectile to land, latch on, and freeze him in excruciating pain until Lockheed put him out of his misery.

By breathing fire in his face.

Ignoring the wretched smell, Black Widow took a photo of them, or as best as she could manage with their heads mangled. It was clear these were some sort of enemy elites, so she sent the image to the Nova Corps. “Is this woman familiar?”

“That’s . . . That’s Corvus Glaive, and Proxima Midnight,” answered the stunned voice on the other end through her arm communicator. “They’re two of Thanos’ top lieutenants.”

“He has two, maybe three, more,” went on an older, more composed speaker over the channel. “Nebula apparently turned traitor, whereabouts and current status unknown, but the other two—one moment. They’re fighting your people called the Widows and Ghost.”

An image popped up from her cybernetic arm, perfectly timed to show Ghost’s arms digging into the chest of bruiser in the same weight-class as Hulk, ineffectually swinging his arms at her.

“Well, that’s going to set her rehabilitation back,” she muttered.

The final one was throwing around all sorts of debris at Yelena and the other Widows who refused to retire, only for him to be vaporized as a Nova Corps fighter blazed past with a strafing run.

The sight of that seemed to take all the fight out of the big guy, as he collapsed at Ghost’s feet. No fool, she maintained the pressure to be sure he was dead. 

Which meant all of Thanos’ lieutenants were accounted for.

A shrewd enemy would have seized this moment to execute a strategic retreat. Or more importantly, a composed enemy would have done so.

From what little Black Widow had managed to put together about Thanos however, he was a man who perceived himself as a rational actor, when really he was very much driven by his emotions, and half-baked rationales and justifications.

. . . It just occurred to her that their air support had thinned out around them, having been drawn towards the continued assaults upon the enemy flagship. 

As if on cue, a bright light lit up the other end of the block, and the big man himself teleported in.

Because Thanos wanted to kill them himself.

Whatever witty, cutting words she had prepared died on her tongue as the sheer weight of his presence engulfed the street.

Large and purple, clad in golden armour, he just stared at them, and yet he commanded their attention without a word.

“The Black Widow,” Thanos said at last, his voice deep and smooth. Deceptively soothing, despite all the death he had brought to this world. “I take it to mean that the Hulk is on his way, too. I should’ve dealt with your wormhole network the moment you appeared on Earth.”

. . . Oh. Oh no, this was bad. Very bad.

There was no conceivably good reason for this madman to have even a passing interest in Earth.

Unless . . .

Cursing the knowledge that her usually neutral expression had faltered, however briefly, Black Widow rallied. “I’m surprised that you’re still that interested in the Tesseract. It’s not even on Earth anymore.”

“No, it’s not,” agreed Thanos, voice gravelly and compelling. As dangerous as gravity. “I am intending to visit Asgard next. Odin’s demise is nigh, and thus they’ll be vulnerable.”

“I’m on my way,” said Bruce softly in her ear. “We’re on our way.”

“In fact,” continued Thanos, “I daresay possessing your network will work well in my favour. Your world is an artificial one in making; a false society. Enforcing balance there will not save it, but if you give me the wormholes freely . . . I’ll still spare half your people.”

“Pass,” said Korg lightly, yet as implacable as a mountain.

No-Name and Lockheed snarled and hissed, united in their loathing of the answer.

Cthulhu and Mundi-Vore prowled to the sides, quiet and lethal as they glared at their prey.

Miek let his raised blades do the talking for him.

“Like you won’t kill them all anyway!” snarled Elloe. “We know your type!”

“I see,” said Thanos, giving a brief nod. “Then I’ll be sure to make Earth suffer for your defiance here.”

Black Widow made no response to that, locking her emotions away.

“Oh, you can suck on this instead!” growled a voice on the comms, and Warsong soared towards them. Its guns blazed blue plasma, to which Thanos spun his strange, dual-bladed weapon to deflect them. In response, from the ventral hull dropped two missiles which crossed the distance in a blink of an eye to devour the entire block in flames.

Anticipating this, Black Widow had already snapped up her arm to project an energy shield around her and all the rest of the Warbound, the fire doing nothing even as the shockwave made the ground beneath them shake. As well as started to crumble as it turned into a sinkhole.

Hurriedly, they made distance before they fell in.

“No way it’s that easy,” said Lockheed, craning his head back to look for any sign of the Mad Titan. “Other people—”

Thanos leapt out of the hole, traveling in a perfect arc towards the running Warbound.

Warsong plowed straight into him, with Bruunhilde leaping out of the back. She made a perfect three-point landing, even as her prized ship continued on with Thanos squashed against the nose, until it crashed into a distant skyscraper and detonated the reactor. Backlit by the explosion, the Asgardian warrior merely smirked.

“. . . That was an empty building, right?” said Black Widow dryly, even if she already knew the answer.

“Of course,” waved off Bruunhilde. “They’ve gotten pretty good at emergency evacuations around here.”

Taking flight to hover above the ground, No-Name peered in the distance towards the tower of black clouds and fire. Alien, insectile eyes blinked a few times, and then hissed out, “He comes.”

“What!?” blurted out Bruunhilde.

Only, sure enough, Thanos stepped out of the smoke as if going on a casual stroll.

He was hurt, however, as his armour was in tatters, and small cuts and burns littered his face. His hateful, burning eyes were like stars in a nebula as he stared at them.

“Well,” muttered Bruunhilde just loud enough for the others to hear. “I’d complain about that not being fair, buuuuut . . .”

“An Asgardian,” rumbled Thanos. Fighting to keep his composure. “You’ll do as a good warm-up. As for you—” and here he fixated upon Black Widow “—Your Majesty, I’m in need of new children, and perhaps this time I’d be better served with making them. So before you die, I’ll take your blood for a sample to make one or two with.”

A beat as he let that sink in, before he shrugged. “Or not. We’re near my endgame after all.”

It was then that it registered how the sole piece of armour completely untouched was a strange, golden gauntlet he wore.

“That’s Dwarven make,” said Bruunhilde, something unreadable in her voice.

“By their king himself,” confirmed Thanos with a cheerfulness which they could tell was layered over a poisonous trap, waiting for them to take the bait.

Instead, the pavement trembled with the impact of a new arrival.

The Champion of the Colosseum. The Green Scar. Co-King of Brutasha.

King Hulk.

His appearance was a nightmare for Thaddeus Ross, and for that matter, would have been the same for Black Widow a few years ago. Except that while everyone else had focused on his triumph over Ferahgo, she had been more concerned about how an animal had made Hulk bleed. Clearly, there were races out there who were a threat even to him, and that was without getting into the sorts of instruments of destruction available out there in space. So, over Bruce’s initial protests, she had made preparations.

The Big, Mean, and Green himself stomped up, covered in full-body armour, carrying a gigantic greataxe in one hand, and a massive hammer in the other. All of it expertly forged, with glowing power-sources in every limb of the armour to both compensate for the sheer strength of their wielder, and to then enhance his might even further.

“KING HULK SMASH!” he roared, and charged in to do just that.

To his credit, Thanos immediately proved that his survival through countless massacres was not just because he was chillingly difficult to so much as scratch.

Swinging his double-ended blade with one hand, he deflected the axe, and punched two quick jabs into King Hulk’s faceplate before trying a spartan kick.

Tried.

Bracing himself, King Hulk took the blow, and his hammer knocked Thanos back despite blocking it with one arm. Snarling King Hulk then went on the offensive, his powerful, punishing blows a match for Thanos’ own monstrous strength. Between the showers of sparks, however, it was immediately clear that for all the training sessions King Hulk had gone through these last few years, Thanos remained vastly more experienced.

He was also alone.

Screaming her war cry, Bruunhilde’s swords tore chucks out of the flesh of Thanos’ sword arm.

Grunting in pain, he side-kicked her flying, and King Hulk hit him in the ribs with his hammer.

Lockheed blew fire into Thanos’ face and pulsed his blasters on rapid-fire, blinding the Mad Titan, just out of reach. Despite the disadvantage and distraction, Thanos stayed concentrated on King Hulk, yet it was enough of a distraction for the former Avenger to cut a few fingers off.

Howling his own rage, this time Thanos’ bloody fist threw King Hulk flying, so he could focus on Lockheed, who immediately flew out of sword range while still shooting. Instead of giving chase, Thanos spun his blade, and it freakishly shielded him from every blast. The little dragon had to throw his guns away as they overheated.

Back in play, Bruunhilde stepped forward so the Warbound had Thanos in a loose semi-circle, giving themselves ample distance still between him and them.

“I must confess, this is most vexing,” admitted Thanos darkly. Only there was something subtle and venomous woven into his words. “If I already had what I came here for, though, you’d be much less of a challenge.”

Whatever the Nova Prime was so keen to keep guarded above all else, and kept secret from her foreign guests.

Instead of letting him try and whisper words of temptation, Black Widow flung more of her slaver discs. Perfectly straight and true, they latched onto Thanos, and he did not even acknowledge them, shrugging off their excruciating influence like they were not even there.

“Oh,” she muttered.

Her metal arm split open then, and a laser fired at his chest.

Bemused, he looked down at the beam leaving a harmless little light on his chest. “Is that it?”

“Nope,” she grinned wickedly.

Twenty drones rocketed out of their wormholes above her, and hit him square on that little targeting spot, sending him tumbling dozens of meters into the side of a collapsed building.

Shaken and bleeding from the chest, he stumbled upright, still holding his weapon.

King Hulk’s great axe cleaved into his shoulder. “PURPLE MAN LOSE!” he bellowed.

Gasping with pain, Thanos grabbed the shaft so King Hulk could not move it, and confirmed that for all the sheer power behind that swing, it had not gone deep enough. “You should’ve gone for the head,” he sneered.

A right hook made King Hulk rear back, helmet or no. A snap kick caught him on his green chin.

Pain flared in Thanos’ eyes as any follow-up was aborted as Elloe had found and returned Black Widow’s heavy rifle, and she got a headshot from over a hundred meters away.

Once more, his weapon blocked her next shot, yet that was what she had been waiting for. Clicking a switch, the grenade launcher fired, and as she had brought this for what was intended to be a peaceful meeting, she had arrived entirely prepared to fight an army. The round burst apart meters from impact, and sprayed the entire strange blade in Spider-Man’s personal webbing. Roughly ten times the amount he carried on him at any given moment, and all for the low, low price of giving him some dating advice for this girl MJ at his school. The bulk of it stuck to the flat of the weapon, doing nothing much, only for the rest to wrap around and cling to Thanos’ arm, covering it like a cocoon. Shocked and furious, he tried to twist it about like before, discovering it too was caught up to play its special trick.

Black Widow shot him in the face again, making him recoil as if punched.

Like a hurricane, King Hulk struck right afterwards, and Thanos barely managed to deflect the axe. The Incredible King Hulk pressed and pressed again at Thanos, who was being driven backwards against his will. His weapon was unwieldy, his left arm nearly immobile, and accumulated injuries catching up.

Flerken tentacles kept wrapping around Thanos’ feet, and while he was too strong to be pulled in and consumed, they ruined his footwork.

No-Name and Elloe kept in his peripheral vision at all times, knowing better than to risk trying their luck up close, yet a distraction nonetheless.

Korg and Black Widow flanked as best as they could, getting in potshots whenever King Hulk was just clear enough. Meanwhile, Lockheed continued to flit around, blowing fire, as the burns across Thanos’ exposed skin grew in intensity.

Bruunhilde leapt over King Hulk’s shoulder, and stabbed Thanos in the throat, yet he shifted so it only got him in the collarbone.

Screaming with hatred, Thanos wildly railed his weapon against King Hulk’s, and Black Widow could see they were about to break.

“Hulk! To me!” she called out.

Thankfully, that cut through the haze of anger, the green fading away as he recognized she would only intervene in an imminent need. So immediately he leapt away, giving them some breathing space. Glancing at his greataxe and hammer, King Hulk instantly understood her concern, and with a grunt, flung them at Thanos.

The Mad Titan knocked them aside, yet the effort was evident as he stumbled, panting for breath.

An explosion lit up the sky.

All attention was drawn to the sight of his massive spaceship spewing one fireball after another as it began to fall. The Nova Corps flew uncontested, and packs of them gathered underneath the dying ship to create linked, energy barriers that helped slowly lower it down. While this part of the city was evacuated, there was no need to recklessly let it fall with untold destruction.

“No,” whispered Thanos in horror as he realized his predicament.

“Stay sharp, everyone,” ordered Black Widow. “A cornered, wounded animal, is the most dangerous.”

“Is that what you think I am!?” growled Thanos with complete madness in his eyes. “I—”

Golden beams enveloped him.

From all sides arrived the battered yet victorious ships of the Nova Corps, flaring their tractor beams as they locked him in place.

“Thanos!” declared Denarian Dey over the loudspeaker. He paused to raise the volume to drown out Thanos’ screams of denial of how they must stop and let him go. That his plan would save the universe. “Thanos! By the authority of the Nova Corps, you are under arrest for, well, pretty much everything you've been doing all these years, and attacking us like this. I don't have the time to list off all your crimes.”

Wincing a little at the noise, the Warbound regrouped, the sudden drop in adrenaline or xeno-equivalent making them discover stiff muscles and limping limbs. Nevertheless, they kept their attention on Thanos, but despite his attempts at thrashing and flailing, he could not break free. With his sword all wrapped up, he could not throw it either.

Snorting in contempt at ‘Purple Man,’ King Hulk looked down at Black Widow. “Angry Girl want Banner?”

“Hulk’s doing just fine,” she reassured him, making sure to project as much honesty as possible, because she definitely meant it. Not just for the fighting, his ability to keep himself composed when he wanted to had truly grown beyond all expectations.  Beaming, Black Widow said, “You saved the day, and this planet.”

“King Hulk hero!” he guffawed in pride.

“You know it!” grinned Bruunhilde broadly, punching him in the shoulder, and dodging his hip-check.

Despite everything, it seemed it was over.

-(Alien) Sun-

Somewhere in space

Benatar

“He’s what!?” exclaimed Peter Quill, a.k.a. Star-Lord. Next thing he knew, he had the rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy pressed all over him to listen as directly as possible. “Guys!” he winced, right in the ears of Gamora and Drax as they were right over his shoulder. “You can hear just as well back there.”

On the screen, Denarian Dey looked a little too amused for Peter’s liking. Although given the dark bags under the man’s eyes, and the glimpses of destruction outside the windows, he would cut the man some slack this time. “I said the Nova Corps captured Thanos, and are holding him for trial. We’d like you present for it, and to contribute as witnesses.”

“What does he need a trial for!?” spat Rocket from atop Drax’s bald head. “Just kill ‘em already!” Given the heavy breathing and barred teeth from Gamora and Drax, who Peter was now nervously eying, he figured the furball was just articulating what they were too angry to manage saying.

“A bunch of reasons, including due process,” answered Denarian Dey smoothly, with the air of a man who has had to repeat what his superiors have told him to say many times already. “Also, it gives more time for the people who want to see him die to show up.”

“You should sell tickets to it,” said Peter.

“It’s been considered. With the funds going to help the worlds he ruined rebuild. Especially now that we know Thanos won’t just show up to undo whatever help we give to do it all over again.”

“Does that include worlds Ronan attacked on his orders!?” demanded Drax.

“Yes.”

“I get to kill him!” demanded Gamora.

“Your sister Nebula showed up saying the same thing,” said Denarian Dey calmly. “Incidentally, after reviewing Thanos’ . . . records on her, we’re considering citing extenuating circumstances for the crimes she’s committed, and remanding her to your custody.”

“We’ll be there as soon as possible,” assured Peter, feeling Gamora and the rest stiffen around him in concern for the cyborg woman.

“I am Groot.”

They all paused to look at their youngest member, and then back at the Corpsman. “You’re not sure how to kill him,” said Peter with a mix of stunned amusement.

Shifting a little awkwardly, the man admitted, “We don’t really have a death penalty, so we’ve first got to address the constitution for a single exception. Because we’re not risking him in prison, given how he’s supposedly already a thousand years old without any sign of slowing down. But he’s so physically tough, we’re short on ways to do it. Our first choice would be his own sword, but we can’t risk getting it off of him.” There was a story there, and Peter made a gesture to keep the others from getting sidetracked on it. “Throwing him into the sun was raised, but it’ll be a pain to monitor him to confirm his death properly, and we think he can survive without air for ages. So, yes, we’re wondering if Rocket can come up with something. Or failing that, your little party trick.”

“Roger that,” said Peter cheerfully. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

-(Alien) Sun-

Xandar

“You’re sure you don’t want any of the credit?” asked Nova Prime. They were all slumped over in the Nova Corps mess hall, with her eating ration bars alongside the rest of them.

“Pass,” mumbled Bruce, wearing a borrowed Nova Corps uniform to cover how he had been forced to strip out of his dignitary clothes earlier. He had been assured he could keep them as an honourary member. “We’ve got enough fame already.”

Fighting off the urge to curl up and go to sleep, Natasha just nodded. It was not just the fighting, but also the rest of the disaster relief work that followed afterwards.

“Well then, if you’re sure,” said the politician lightly. “As you can imagine, though, we’re more than happy to fast-track Brutasha’s fast-tracking into the Nova Empire—”

“And please change the name,” grumbled Bruce.

“Don’t change the name,” insisted Bruunhilde, with the rest of the Warbound snickering at the joke. More than it deserved really, yet they were all still in the ‘laugh or cry’ stage of decompressing.

“That said,” continued the Nova Prime with a knowing and eager glint to her eyes, “I do believe we’ve found a suitable personal reward for you from Thanos’ personal records.”

“Oh?” asked Natasha, faking a breezy attitude.

Her cyborg arm lit up with a priority call. Groaning, she reached to accept it, only for Camper to override it, popping up on the projected screen. “Natasha! Thor just popped out of one of our wormholes with that Loki fella from the documentaries! They’re saying that Asgard’s in trouble, and they need your help!”

“One thing after another,” grunted Natasha, pushing away from the table as she masked her worry for her friend.

-(Alien) Sun-

Asgard

Half an hour later

Hands planted on his hips, Thor stared down at Hela as she lay on the ground, a slim woman named Mantis keeping her asleep.

“Somehow this isn’t as satisfying as I’d thought it would be,” he muttered. Only to throw off his melancholy, and clap his hands together. “Well, this is still better than the alternative. My thanks, my friends!”

Laid out beside him were the Avengers, who had grown in number, and these strange mercenaries, the Guardians of the Galaxy. Apparently, the Nova Empire had wanted to intervene, yet could not directly, so their leader had hired this band of misfits out of her own pockets.

No matter. What was important was that Asgard was saved. Yes, two of his oldest and dearest friends had been murdered, and he was trying his best not to think about that, but Thor and the rest had all arrived before anyone else could be harmed.

He had never been so grateful for what a long bridge the Bifrost could be until this moment, as Hela’s dramatic walk had bought them plenty of time.

Also, Loki was alive and well, and had failed to slip away because apparently Tony’s young protégé (son?) could sense that sort of stuff—much to the god of Mischiefs mounting annoyance. The boy was going home with a fine present after this. Assuming they could pry the star-struck lad away from Asgard, that was.

“Not how I was planning to finally visit here,” said Tony. “Still, better late than never.”

“It’s beautiful,” agreed Steve. Which was polite of him, as they all ignored the torn-up city block that had been a casualty of restraining Hela.

“Indeed it is, and it’s thanks to you that it’ll stay that way!” praised Thor. “Now then, given what my father said, the first step is to get my sister far away from Asgard. From there, we’ll work things out.”

He really did not want to kill his sister. Plus, the more he thought about it, the more things were not adding up in an unpleasant manner. As the crown prince, he was very well familiar with his family tree, and he had not been so terrible at his studies to have missed having an older sister. Ergo, he was facing another round of his father’s lies and secrets to pry through to figure out what exactly was going on. He would not pass judgment until he had the whole story. A task rather complicated without being able to ask Odin directly, as he was dead; another matter of deeply wrenching grief he was restraining himself from fully feeling. At least not out here in front of all the people of Asgard when he was now technically king once he got around to telling them of Odin’s passing.

No, he would save that for when he was alone with his friends.

And then celebrate their victories together.

-(Alien) Sun-

Garden

A few weeks later

With a deep sigh, Natasha settled in deeper within the hammock she was sharing with Bruce. Before them stretched, rich open fields of flora, with a modest little garden off to the side.

As their reward from the Nova Corps, they had been presented with this as their little retirement home. And by ‘this’ she meant the whole planet.

The Corpsmen had dug it out of Thanos’ files as his intended getaway after wiping out half of life in the universe. So the Nova Prime had declared the planet part of their empire, and transferred ownership of it to everyone who had played such a pivotal role in stopping Thanos. Along with all the protections of the Nova Corps, and a tax exemption.

Oh, they had not moved right in. After firebombing Thanos’ intended farm, they took the time to set up some proper cottages with necessities like indoor plumbing, portable reactors that would run for a century without waste, and plenty of entertainment.

Suffice to say, with those few touch-ups, it was a perfect place to relax away from the insanity that had been their lives. 

She did not know how long all of the Warbound would want to settle here, at least full-time, and might head on out into the galaxy. Same with Steve and his crew, or the rest of the Widows, but the majority of everyone here seemed ready to stay and enjoy the peace they had fought and bled for.

Earth was still out there, making its stumbling yet stubborn and proud way into the intergalactic community. Other threats existed, but heroes would rise to meet them.

Just here and now though? With Bruce dozing at her side, Natasha was willing to place her ledger aside and just bask in the moment.

Overlooking their new home, as an alien sun dipped over the horizon.

~~Finis~~