"Captain Rogers." The cool voice rang out in the hall. Accompanied by the hard click of high heels on tile, Maria Hill's footsteps were as forceful as her personality, making it easy to suspect she'd nailed a few steel plates to the soles. Even after working together for years, Steve Rogers still found it hard to get used to Agent Hill's icy tone once she slipped into work mode. He knew she had plenty of human warmth, but the responsibilities she carried left her no room to relax.
Steve had to stop in the foyer and wait for Maria Hill to step under the lights.
Many of the tubes hanging from the ceiling were already burned out; the remaining fixtures just barely lit the path for the Avengers living here to reach the residential wing. The agents who worked for the Avengers lived in a nearby housing area about a thirty-minute drive away—on land that also belonged to the Stark family.
Steve Rogers glanced at Agent Hill's outfit. "I thought you were scheduled to be in D.C. for questioning today."
"Ha, the same old song. Congress doesn't care what I say. If people in power aren't reminding others they have power, that power might as well not exist—which is why bureaucracy exists in the first place." Agent Maria Hill waved a hand, a little of the ice melting from her face. She wore a deep blue sleeveless, form-fitting long dress cut clean and sharp, with no adornment but a silver collar pin; even her dark hair was pulled tight. The heels were plain. It was a perfect ensemble for routine hearings. She dressed about the same every time she went to Washington, but her tall frame made it striking. Sometimes after getting back, she'd regale the Avengers with stories about the fools at the White House who'd tried to hit on her—a regular topic at the team's evening get-togethers.
"I got back a little early today." She lifted what she was carrying, and only then did Steve notice that besides a handbag, she had a FedEx box. "It's addressed to you. Cleared for safety." She didn't hand it over immediately. "The problem is the postmark and the return address… I didn't know you had friends in the Vatican, Captain."
"What?"
"Looks like you weren't expecting this package either." Maria Hill stepped closer and pointed at an armory case Steve was holding. "Then what about that? You can't be getting two anonymous deliveries in one day."
"Agent Hill, this isn't S.H.I.E.L.D." Steve Rogers's tone carried a reminder.
"Sorry. Force of habit." Maria Hill coughed twice and passed him the FedEx box. "A Latin-language Bible with the current Pope's autograph. Whoever sent it must be pretty close to you—or the Vatican wants to stage some kind of event. I don't suppose you're about to become Captain Vatican?"
"Of course not." The joke made him smile. "I don't fight for God."
"I figured. The White House considers Captain America U.S. property. Not even God gets to take him. If He tried, those idiots would probably declare war on Heaven." Maria Hill nodded calmly. "If you can, keep an eye on Pietro's training. He's been distracted lately, making mistakes. Good night, Captain Rogers. I'm sure you've had a long day."
Heavy-hearted, Steve Rogers went back to his room, set the weighty armory case down carefully, then dropped onto the bed. Inside was the shield provided by the Undying City. The reason he'd skipped training today was to get up to speed on how to use it as soon as possible.
Though he already understood the pressure the Avengers were under, he hadn't planned to switch to the new shield so soon; he meant to wait until he'd led the team through its transition before unveiling the gear change. But the subtext in Maria Hill's words left him deeply uneasy. Maybe someone had snapped a photo of him during the fight against the neo-Nazis. If Agent Hill had inherited Nick Fury's intelligence network, she might already know exactly what he'd done in Eastern Europe—the Undying City's presence there wasn't a secret; most national intel services just didn't know where it came from. Others might not know—but Nick Fury certainly did, and Maria Hill might as well.
Because of Solomon Damonet's staggering destructive capability—and because he spent most of his time maintaining the appearance of "behaving himself at Oxford University, rarely meddling in affairs beyond magic"—otherwise that dangerous man would have been on wanted lists long ago. Someone like Solomon was a terrifying threat to any holder of power: no weak points, utterly focused, and willing to use any means to reach his ends. If he wanted a person dead, not even the richest tycoon throwing unlimited money at the problem could avoid death—and life is the only thing tycoons truly prize once they have wealth.
Agent Hill's warning had come just in time—one might even call it sincere.
Captain America is U.S. property. If Captain America does something that defies the White House's interests but accords with moral principle, then even the man who embodies the American spirit can be branded a traitor. It could absolutely happen. During the HYDRA uprising, the White House indiscriminately labeled every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent as HYDRA; only he escaped charges thanks to immense public support. There was political infighting in that, of course, but it also revealed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s true nature: a political instrument—public affection means nothing. Steve Rogers recalled something Solomon had told him long ago: As long as people's lives and property aren't under threat, public opinion can be manipulated at will. Not everyone can think independently, and elections merely prove it's an entertainment farce. Social media can make the Avengers beloved—and turn them into pariahs overnight. The truth doesn't matter; expression does. That's why the Silicon Valley tycoons who control social media and the traditional Jewish news media are always politically tilted.
Even if Captain America went to Eastern Europe to fight the neo-Nazis, the media could spin it into the exact opposite. In that case—setting aside whether Tony Stark could be convinced—the Avengers' overt transition would run into obstacle after obstacle, and a split could happen outright. That was the last thing Steve Rogers wanted to see.
He shoved the tangle of thoughts aside for the moment, picked up the FedEx box from the floor, and opened it. He'd assumed Agent Hill's "Latin Bible signed by the current Pope" was a joke, but it wasn't. When he opened the cover, a postcard slipped out. Steve picked it up and read the single line on the back.
This is a keepsake worth saving. I will come to take it back in the end.
"Oh, Solomon." Steve Rogers sighed. He had no idea what Solomon hoped to achieve by doing this. After turning it over and over in his mind, he could only chalk it up to the sorcerer's extraordinary gift for prophecy. He tossed the Bible onto the nightstand, left the room alone, and headed for the bar to find something to drink and think hard about the Avengers' future.
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