in vain. There were several grainy video feeds along with extensive notes and reports and a handful of blurred photographs of a woman in all black. By the time the files began
to slow to a stop, Jarvis had filled up six screens with information. Tony's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline as both Avengers glanced over the six screens.
"How well did Fury say he knew this woman?"
"He didn't," Steve answered, awed by the information on the screens.
Tony gave an appreciative whistle, "It's like he's an obsessive ex. Jarvis, can you thin it down to the basics? Powers, personal information, risk level?"
"Of course, sir," the AI answered as half of the screens went blank and the remaining half emptied to a few dozen pages.
The two men approached the screens, taking a closer look at the files. The pages were filled with observations and inferences. The information ranged from possible identities
to likely whereabouts in relation to her various escapades. Beside Steve, Tony shook his head in surprise.
"This girl has quite the list of powers. Radiation, pyrokinesis, matter manipulation, intangibility…"
Steve froze as he came across another list, this one much more impressive. It listed names of agents, some of whom Steve knew personally, who had come in contact with
the Alchemist.
"Pull up the files related to both the Alchemist and these agents, please," he said, catching Tony by surprise.
Several new pages appeared over the original files, closely followed by video recordings of debriefings. The last one to appear began to play of its own accord. It revealed a
solemn-faced man with black hair combed back from his face. Angry red marks were visible just beneath his collar.
"State your name for the record," an unfamiliar voice announced.
"Agent Grant Ward," the man answered automatically.
"Your assignment?"
"Shadow the possible threat known as 'the Alchemist'."
"Your analysis?"
The man, Ward, sighed before looking back up into the camera, "The Alchemist has shown no more potential capabilities than she has before. She seems reluctant to kill,
though she doesn't hesitate to hurt. If anything, she just wants to be left alone, allowed to continue her work without interference."
There was a pause before the agent spoke up again, this time his words earnest rather than simply stating facts, "In all honesty, sir, I think something's bothering her. She
seems to have a motive behind her actions. When you look at her, you can see guilt. Something weighs her down and, as far as I can tell, she just wants to make up for that.
She's protecting someone, too. It's why she wants us to back off. There's someone she goes home to that she doesn't want us to find."
"But is she a threat?"
"Undeterminable," he replied shortly.
"Agent Ward," the interrogator implored, "we need to know whether or not she is a threat to society."
"The Alchemist has the potential to be a dangerous enemy should she turn on us," Ward admitted grudgingly. "With her capabilities and strength, she could easily take out a
city if she wanted to. But she shows restraint and I don't think she'll actually hurt a civilian. If we keep hounding her, though, she's going to end up losing her patience. And I'd
hate to see her angry."
The video ended and Steve and Tony were left staring at the unmoving hologram as they took in the information. Slowly, Steve mentally replayed what Agent Ward had said.
"Jarvis, when was the first debriefing like this one?" Tony asked quietly.
"Almost eight months ago, sir."
Steve blinked in surprise, recalling what Fury had told him at his own debriefing. Anger boiled up beneath the surface as he began to contemplate just how far the Director was
going.
"He lied," Steve muttered curtly.
"Who? Ward?"
The captain shook his head, "Fury. He said they had no contact with the Alchemist. It sounds like they've been on her trail for a while now."
"Fury always lies," Tony replied. "He's the king of lies. I've said it once, I'll say it again: his secrets have secrets. You can't trust him."
"This is the organization that's supposed to be protecting people. Why would they provoke a problem where there isn't one? Why would they lie over something like this?"
"That's the modern world for you, Capsicle," Tony said grimly. "When we want something really bad, we lie."
Back at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, Phil Coulson watched the projected screens on the window with a grim finality. Footage of the Alchemist fighting in various locations played in
loops. It was a little known fact throughout the organization that Coulson was, in fact, the man spoken to when a psychological evaluation was needed. He could read people
like books and he was supposed to be searching for an answer in the footage.
Knowing the question he was supposed to answer would have made things much easier for the senior agent.
If he was being completely honest with himself, he wasn't too keen on what Fury was planning to do with the information he had. As far as he had seen, the woman in the
videos just wanted to be left alone. From what he had seen and heard, she was coarse, reclusive, and borderline antisocial. But it wasn't a natural disposition for her.
Something had caused her to become this way. That much, Coulson was sure of.
And he was sure of so little these days.
The door behind him slid open with a soft whoosh, but Coulson elected not to glance behind him. He could recognize Nick Fury's long stride anywhere. The Director came to a
stop right beside him, his remaining eye focusing on the videos Coulson was staring at.
"You said you had important news?"
Coulson nodded, "Yes, sir."
"And?"
"Skye managed to locate the Alchemist's base of operations with the tracker planted on Agent Ward's ID card."
"What did you find?"
"She's a few hundred miles outside of Misty Grove, Montana. The address comes up as a hospitality house for the homeless."
"The Alchemist is running a homeless shelter in Montana?"
Coulson shrugged, "Seems to fit with her usual methods. Helping people, that is."
"She put Ward on injury leave for at least two weeks," Fury pointed out.
"We shouldn't pursue her. The risks are too high. She seems to respond most positively when left to her own devices."
"We can't just leave her be," the Director snapped. "She's a walking nuclear reactor. We need to find out just what she wants."
"Infiltrating her home would be a suicide mission. We both know that."
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, "I can't argue with the World Security Council."
"There was a time when you fought them with everything you had," the agent pointed out. "What happened?"
"They're threatening to replace me if I don't look into this Alchemist business."
Coulson stopped short, the words he had been prepared to say dying on his tongue. He tore his eyes away from the footage, but Fury wouldn't return the gaze.
"Why?"
"You've been updated on the Freyja files."
"Yes."
Fury gave a wan smile, "I kept her presence here unknown to the Council."
Coulson blinked in surprise, "Why would you do that?"
"Thor asked me to. He said it would be wiser if fewer people knew she was here. But it can be difficult to hide an entire alien invasion."
"They can't replace you," Coulson said automatically. "You're the only person keeping this organization from capsizing."
"Which is exactly why I'm sending someone in. Any suggestions as to whom?"
"Steve," Coulson answered automatically.
Fury finally glanced at the agent, thinly veiled surprise evident on his face, "You said this was a suicide mission, and now you want to
send Captain Rogers, you're favorite war
hero, in for it?"
"Steve has the necessary social skills for this mission," Coulson explained. "If there's anyone who might be able to keep the Alchemist on good terms with us, it's him."
"He can't know what his mission is."
Coulson gave an almost sardonic laugh, "And what do you suggest we tell him? That he's infiltrating and gathering intel on a potential ally?"
"We'll tell him that we've found a possible asset of Hydra."
"He won't forgive us if he finds out we're lying," Coulson muttered. "And he'll certainly never trust S.H.I.E.L.D. again. We could be losing a valuable ally."
"We don't have another choice. Unless you'd send Barton and Romanoff."
"If we sent them in, she'd realize what was going on and we'd have a bigger threat to deal with."
"Then call him in."
"This isn't a good idea."
"Neither was the Avengers Initiative, and that one worked out well."
"That's different."
"How so?"
"I supported that plan fully."
Fury allowed himself a small, amused smile as Coulson waved his hand and the videos closed down. He turned and walked away without another word. A little voice in his head
whispered over and over that this was a bad idea. Just as he made to walk out the door, he turned one last time to look at the Director.
"Oh, and sir, if this plan leads me to get stabbed again, I'm asking for a pay raise."
Since being pulled out of the ice not two years before, Steve had found he had become something of an insomniac. Though he had gone to sleep not long after the rest of the
house's occupants finished dinner, he had woken not long after to find that the sun had yet to rise. So, having nothing to do within the confines of his bedroom, he decided to
silently wander the house and see whatever he happened to stumble upon.
The rest of the house seemed to be in a similar condition as the first floor. Signs of half-finished renovations stood out starkly against the rustic look of the seemingly ancient
house. Then there was the inexplicable – the random burn mark or indention in the wall that offered no feasible reason for being there. But there were also signs of the
teenagers that made up the majority of the house's population: a crumpled magazine, a few unmatched socks, and the occasional stray board game piece.
But the house was silent in the early hours of the dawn and Steve wondered if this would be one of the few moments of peace he would have in the coming days. He
wondered idly what Natasha and Clint were up to at that moment. No doubt the archer was still sleeping soundly, refusing to get up until at least an hour after the sun rose.
But the ex-soldier's reverie broke with the familiar sound of a punching bag.
He followed the noise, gently pushing an ajar door open to reveal a large room divided in two by a partial wall. On the one side was a TV with a few shelves of DVDs and a
large couch that looked as though it had seen better days. The other side was sparsely lined with very worn exercise equipment including a treadmill, an elliptical machine, a
stationary bike, and a few punching bags.
Nikki, who had her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail, was swinging at one of the punching bags. She wore a slightly faded shirt that he couldn't read and what looked like
sweatpants. Though she wasn't too far off proper form, her blows reminded him more of the men he would pick fight with back in the 1940's. Steve silently shut the door
behind him, making sure not to disturb her. Still, she glanced at him out the corner of her eyes and offered him a half-smile.
"You're up early," she remarked before noticing his stunned expression. "I heard you come in."
Steve raised his eyebrows, "You must have pretty good hearing."
"With a house full of rowdy teenagers, you have to," she said with a fond smile. "They keep you on your toes."
He nodded, "I can only imagine. And with the…powers they have, it must be even more difficult."
She gave a sharp laugh and what sounded vaguely like, "you have no idea," before returning to her task. Steve watched her deliver blow after blow to the punching bag. She
hit like a street fighter, he realized. No military training, then. It was obvious that she had learned everything she knew on her own.
"You know, you'd have a lower chance of hurting yourself if you'd hit with your knuckles instead of the flat of your fingers," he noted.
Nikki looked at him strangely before continuing, "Thanks."
"Use your hips. It'll maximize the power behind your blows," he continued, stepping behind her and putting his hands on her hips to show her exactly how to move. "You should
roll your hips into the punch – like this."
She looked over her shoulder at him, a look of bewilderment on her face. His chest was flush against her back, Steve realized for the first time, and their faces only a hair's
breadth away. Her eyes darted away and back to meet his gaze – but she looked more like a deer in headlights than angered by his actions. Steve felt heat rise into his face
as he flushed. It hadn't occurred to him that she wasn't one of the soldiers back on the front and their current position was a bit too intimate to be comfortable. He dropped
his hands quickly, taking a step back with a muttered apology.
Nikki watched him carefully, faint recognition lighting up her grey eyes, "Where are you from, Steve?"
"I was born and raised in Brooklyn."
"Here?"
Steve frowned, "What do you mean 'here'?"
She shook her head, looking almost downtrodden, "Nevermind. Look, I leave for work in twenty minutes or so and I'll be gone most of the day. Bali and Hannah will be leaving in
an hour, so that leaves you and Remy to hold down the fort. We usually have two adults watching everything, but Bali trusts you. So a few words of advice: keep a close eye
on Pietro – he's a bit of a kleptomaniac, Wanda's pretty shy so don't take it personally if she doesn't talk to you, Kevin's a shapeshifter and will impersonate you given the
chance, don't stare at Kurt, make sure Hisako doesn't use her armor if they get into a fight, talk to Tandy if anyone gets hurt, make sure to look carefully for Leigh wherever
you go – oh, and don't play poker with Remy. He'll swindle you out of your money in a heartbeat."
"Look for Leigh?" he echoed, mentally making a list of all she'd said.
"He tends to camouflage into his surroundings when he's calm and he doesn't take too kindly to being run over or sat on."
"Right…"
She smiled once more, "I know it's a lot to get your head around, but you'll get used to it. I was the same when I first found other mutants. Of course, I was seventeen at the
time."
"What age do most mutants get their powers?"
Nikki shrugged, "Anywhere from age twelve to twenty. I developed mine when I was fourteen."
"What are they?"
The elusive smile on her face dropped completely and Nikki gave the punching bag one last hit. With a sigh, she began unwrapping the tape, cotton strips, and gauze from her
hands.
"You're awfully curious," she said with a laugh, though there was no amusement in the gesture. "This almost feels like an interrogation."
"Sorry," Steve said. "I'm just curious."
Before she could anything else, a young girl with auburn hair and doe brown eyes peeked in. Nikki's expression softened visibly at the sight of the girl.
"Nikki?"
"Hey, Sammy," she answered. "What're you doing up, kiddo?"
"It's eight o'clock."
Nikki glanced up at the clock on the wall and muttered something under her breath. She tossed the gauze and cotton onto one of the benches and walked after the young girl.
Just before she walked through the door, she threw Steve one last gl
ance.
"Breakfast time, Steve," she announced. "It's first come, first serve, so you're going to want to come now."
Steve followed the girls out of the rec room and down the stairs, noticing how a few more teens shuffled out of their rooms to join them. One boy about seventeen years old
walked straight through the door as if it wasn't there to begin with. But they all seemed half-asleep as they trekked down the stairs.
Cheerful Caribbean music drifted out from the kitchen, joined by a tenor voice enthusiastically singing along. As he turned the corner, Steve saw it was Bali standing before the
stove, flipping pancakes and watching several omelets as he sang. Hannah was a few feet away from him, piling a plate high in sausage links and patties.
"…We say what we need. And we love everybody, and we do as we please," he crooned, waving a greeting to Steve with his spatula.
"Bali's the best cook we have in the house," Nikki explained. "Help me get out the plates, won't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Steve answered, taking a handful of plates down from the cabinet she had opened.
As he walked into the dining room, there was a dejected exclamation from the kitchen as the song changed to a slightly slower tone. A streak of silver and green past him at a
disconcerting speed and Steve nearly broke the plates as he jumped out of the way. Pietro stood on top of the wooden table, holding an old CD player in his hands.
"Come on, Bali," the boy said. "We listen to that same song every morning. Let's listen to something new. Kevin, help me out here."
An African American boy at least three years older than Pietro clambered onto the table with him, "What song?"
"Luv Me, Luv Me?" a boy with sandy blonde hair suggested.
Pietro hit the fast-forward button once more and Kevin cleared his throat dramatically. When he spoke again, his voice had changed to a smooth baritone.
"This is for all the girls out here. You know I love you all," he said with a crooked grin before starting to sing. "Who the man allowed to make you moist and-?"
"Kevin Sydney!" Nikki yelled, rushing out of the kitchen as she cut the boy off. "What did I say about playing that song?"
"Mr. Lover, Mr. Lover," the sandy-haired boy moaned, matching the woman echoing his words on the CD.
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