Into the Mist. (Avengers FanFiction) Sequel to Away We Go

Chapter 2

Steve Roger's a.k.a Captain America's P.O.V.

I shot up in bed, eyes drifting lazily around the room, looking for the thing that had awoken me. I waited, ears straining, before the sound was made again.

Knock-knock.

My eyes flashed to the door, watching the light that seeped underneath distort itself as someone shifted around outside.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!

I scrambled out of bed, realizing that I'd been simply staring at the hall light for a good five minutes. Quickly tucking in my shirt, I took a deep breath, pausing before twisting the knob.

I swung open the door, shocked at who stood before me. She looked...older, than when I'd last seen her, more withdrawn. She donned plain city clothes, everything about her appearance unremarkable. Even her bob of red hair seemed flat.

"Natasha?" I exclaimed, barely having time to move before she barged into the hotel room, switching on a few of the lights. I closed the door, confusion coursing through my drowsy body. What was she doing in New York?

"I heard that you think Calypso is still alive," she said, taking a seat on the single chair that lay in the corner. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, evidence hat she'd been sleeping just as well as I had.

"Yes... I know she is," I mumbled, rubbing a hand down my face.

"How? How can you be so...sure?" Natasha queried, voice desperate. She still carried a lot of guilt over not saving Calypso, about not throwing the knife harder or aiming for his hands instead. No matter how many times we all told her that it couldn't be helped, she still resorted to blaming herself. It was uncharacteristic of Natasha to do such a thing, but it was just proof of how much we'd all changed in a weeks time.

I yawned, before telling her exactly what I had told Stark, even adding in the significance of such a thing. She was quiet for a few moments, drumming her fingers against her leg before speaking.

"What if it's just a cruel joke by Loki? That whole episode in the warehouse never sat right with me. We have no idea what she told him. It could be him trying to exact his revenge for his defeat," she reasoned, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.

"No. She wouldn't tell him about that. She wouldn't. She survived and I just need to figure out how," I said, stroking one of the more decayed petals.

"I'll help you. I- I don't want to get my hopes up, but I need this. If what you're saying is true, and I'll admit it does make sense, then I just have to sure," she said, nodding as a confirmation to herself.

"Alright. We'll start as soon as we can... What time is it by the way?" I asked, as she scribbled down some information on the hotels complimentary notepad.

"Two in the morning," she replied, getting to her feet and walking over to the door.

"How did you find me?" I piped up, as it suddenly occurred to me that I'd told no one where I was going.

"Good night, Steve. We'll talk tomorrow," she said, before slipping back outside, almost like she was never even there. I shook my head in incredulity, before heading back to the creaky mattress. Sleep didn't take me until around four in the morning, after I'd laid there, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, pondering the meaning of life and what time the cafe downstairs opened for business.

Tony Stark's a.k.a Iron Man's P.O.V.

"Everyone grieves in their own way-"

"That's not grieving Pepper! He's delusional!" I shouted, slamming my hands down onto the desk. The force of the impact sent a glass to the floor where it shattered into dozens of fragmented pieces.

"Tony, please. Just let him get it out of his system. It might be what he needs to move on," she murmured, placing a gentle hand upon my shoulder.

"She didn't deserve to go that way, that young," I said, knuckles turning white as I gripped the mahogany tabletop. It was almost paternal, the relationship between Calypso and I. She brought out the inner hero in me, just like Coulson's death had.

"I know," she soothed, patting me lightly on the back, "I know."

She left when I didn't respond, thankfully understanding that I needed to be alone. I let my legs guide me over to my suit, taking in the scratches and dents that littered the smooth surface. The memories that came with them were too much to bare and I soon found myself at the built in bar, knocking back a glass of brandy. It soothed the dull ache in my chest nicely.

I'd read about this feeling before, in a book at the public library when I was a kid. It was a self help novel about survivors guilt. The only reason I'd picked it up was because I'd mistaken it for a robotics book. I guess I'd have to admit that sooner or later I did have the syndrome, but today was not that day.

I downed another glass of the amber liquid, reveling in the burn as it scorched a path down my throat.

I caught Pepper's retreating form from just outside the glass door, watching as she ascended the stairs and disappeared from sight.

She and I both knew that it was going to be one those nights.

Bruce Banner's a.k.a Hulk's P.O.V.

I furrowed my brows, zooming in on the small screen. I'd changed my mind about leaving my things in the lab, going back to retrieve them after everything had calmed down. But as I was packing up the last of my papers, one of the monitors had begun to go haywire, before abruptly shutting off again.

I was currently trying to pull the alert screen back up, but was having no such luck. The only data I could access was that it was indeed a power source of some kind, but it was very faint. I huffed, shutting the screen off before swinging it away from me.

It was probably just a stray aircraft.

I darted around the room, gathering all the folders into my arms before clicking off the lights and exiting the lab. My shoes clicked against the linoleum as I made my way out of the building, mouth pulling into a tight line as I noticed how utterly decimated it was. Some buildings had whole walls blown out, others missing a few bricks, while some were just charred piles of ash.

"Banner!" a voice called, just as I reached my car. I turned, to find Maria Hill leaning against a nearby jeep, nodding as I packed my things into the truck of the SUV.

"Maria," I acknowledge, going to stand in front of her. She had a puckered, pink scar from where a bullet had just grazed her chin, and it twisted as she smiled.

"You're leaving?" she asked, gesturing towards the vast expanses of the desert. I followed her gaze, watching the last bit of sunlight linger on the mountains. A few cactuses were caught in the setting sun, the shadows making them appear spike-like.

"Yeah, hopefully somewhere you want be able to find me," I joked, but we could both hear the half truth in my words. I wanted this to be my final retirement.

If I was called back into service again, and hopefully that could be avoided, I don't think I'd go. If it was a dire situation with Earth hanging in the balance, I suppose I could go out with a last hoorah.

"Good luck - with whatever you decide to do," she said, sticking out her hand. I took it, shaking it once.

"Same to you," I replied, heading back to my car. Once inside, I turned on a nice smooth jazz station, pulling hastily from the lot. I took off down the main road, rolling all the windows down.

I thought about where I would go from here. Maybe Bermuda? The Caribbean? A small, unnamed island in the Mediterranean? I'd heard the water was nice this time of year. All I needed was some time, free of stress and free of work. After all, that's what retirement is supposed to be, right?