Radioactive | Bucky Barnes

THE AVENGERS: CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rhiley sat silently at the round table, Phil's blood still on her hands, staining the sleeves of her SHIELD uniform. Dried. Dark. Permanent.

No one had asked her to clean up. No one dared. She wasn't sure she could. She couldn't bring herself to wash away the last real piece of him.

Around her, the others had gathered—Steve, Tony, Fury. Hill lingered to the side, stone-faced but not untouched.

They were talking. Strategizing. Mourning in their own quiet, careful ways.

She was numb.

When Fury pulled out the bloodstained Captain America trading cards—Phil's cards—Rhiley didn't react. Her eyes flicked down as they slid across the table, each one a slow-moving avalanche.

"These were in Phil Coulson's jacket," Fury said, low and deliberate. "Guess he never got you to sign them."

He directed it at Steve, but it hit everyone.

"Everyone you care about dies."

Howard's voice drifted through her mind again like smoke—persistent, cruel, familiar. She didn't look at him. She didn't need to. He was a phantom. A construct. A memory conjured by a fractured mind.

Her fingers twitched against the table. Blood on the cards. Blood on her hands. It all blurred together.

"We're dead in the air," Fury said, moving around the table. "Communications are shot; the Cube's out of reach. Banner's gone. Thor too. I got nothing."

Rhiley barely noticed him. The blood was still warm in her memory. Still pooling. Still real.

Fury stopped behind her. "Yes, we were building weapons with the Tesseract," he admitted. "But that wasn't my only play. There was an idea—Stark knows this—called the Avengers Initiative."

He stepped between Steve and Tony now.

"The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. When we needed them to. To fight the battles we never could."

Rhiley's throat clenched.

"Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea," Fury said. "In heroes."

In her.

It was the last thing Phil said with his eyes.

"They need you, Rhiley."

Tony stood first. "Well... It's an old-fashioned notion."

And just like that, he was gone.

Hill followed silently. Steve hesitated. Sat with her a moment longer. The silence between them cracked with tension.

"Rhiley—" he started gently.

"Don't." Her voice was hoarse, a whisper worn raw. It was the first thing she had said since Phil died. "I don't need a Captain America pep talk."

Steve didn't argue. He just nodded, quiet.

She kept her eyes on the cards. "Phil made me meet him once a week. Some hole-in-the-wall diner. Coffee and pancakes." Her voice caught. "I wanted to die, and he knew it. I never told him... but he knew."

Her lip trembled. "He didn't save me with words or some grand speech. He just showed up. Every time."

Steve listened, his heart heavy. He didn't try to offer comfort—he knew the look in her eyes. He'd seen it before. In the mirror. After Bucky.

"I just want to be alone, Steve."

He nodded. No argument. Just... understanding. He stood, gave her one last glance, and walked away.