Tell Me When You Know

A Cult

Adina's plan to apprehend the Maximoffs sailed without a hitch.

As Tony knew it would. There was little she—or her team—didn't account for when plotting a mission, and he spoke from having witnessed it first-hand throughout their past missions. Adina's people worked together like a well-oiled machine that sang at the hands of its operator's demanding but reverent hands.

The team had managed to nab the Maximoffs less than a mile away from the church. It had been a risky affair that could have attracted Ultron's attention—and it was Ultron they were meeting because the church had disappeared from the grid at around ten minutes to twelve-thirty, Sokovian time, when it was due a visit from the twins—but Lizabeta was one mean woman, and that was all Tony was going to say on the matter.

"Steve? Can you please sit down?" Bruce's soft request had Tony shifting his attention from his tablet to their Captain. Well, co-leader now, by Adina's grace. "I think I am getting a headache looking at you."

"Why aren't you guys more worried?" the man muttered, but obeyed Bruce nonetheless, flopping down beside Tony on the couch.

"What is there to worry about? Our shield brothers and sister are more than capable of apprehending a pair of witches." Thor stroked an absent hand along Bruce's neck—Tony stifled his grin at his science bro's warning glare to him—before the God realised where his hand had wandered off to and dropped it into his lap with a cocky smirk belied by the adorable blush splashed over his cheeks.

Tony decided to take pity on the man. "Wanda Maximoff is a witch, Thor, not her brother."

The God, in his element again, waved a hand. "The boy's speed must be a result of sorcery, I'm certain."

Loki's sceptre, Tony supposed, was sorcery, after all. Nothing that Earth's science was equipped to handle, at any rate. If only he could've taken a look at it in his lab.

That reminder, coupled with the loss of JARVIS, plunged his mood deeper into the pit of doom and gloom.

"Tony, can you ask Adina how much longer it'll take the team to return?"

Tony opened his mouth to reply but the arrival of the woman in question, heralded by the click of her heels against the marble floor, relieved him of that duty. "Another three hours or so, I'd say."

Steve sprang to his feet. "Are they okay?"

Adina, with a mildly amusing amount of wariness, asked, "Who? Your team or the Maximoffs?"

Tony wasn't sure what he had expected the man's reaction to be—offended? Indignant? Angry?—but it definitely wasn't what came. "Both," Steve said with an impressive amount of righteousness deepening his voice.

Adina stared at Steve, and Tony could see the gears in her head attempting, with all their might, to turn but not quite able to, running into each other constantly and pathetically, giving rise to that beautiful expression of sheer confusion on her pretty features. Oh, how Tony loved Steve for putting that on her face for the who-knew-how-many-eth time within a year of knowing her!

"They're fine." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "All of them. Clint almost got injured, again, but he was lucky this time that Pietro Maximoff is a shit shooter and the bullet grazed his calf."

"Didn't your spies inform you of them carrying a gun?" Steve demanded, an ugly scowl marring his flawless forehead.

"I'm sorry that my people didn't scan the Maximoffs with a metal detector before engaging with them," she deadpanned in response, rolling her eyes when Cap averted his gaze in partial shame. "And fuck off, Stark."