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chapter twelve
FREE FALLING
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CERES THOUGHT SHE would be immune to "first day of work" jitters at the age of 95, but apparently they find a way to plague someone no matter their age.

She's been with SHIELD for over a year now. This is far from her first day, but it is her first mission, and Fury had decided to throw Ceres and Ilyas into the team to see if they're ready. Success means they'll be assigned more work both with the STRIKE team and other agents.

It helps that Natasha is here. Kind of. She carries herself with a cool confidence Ceres will probably never achieve, which is reassuring and intimidating. It has impressed her ever since they met—not counting their actual first meeting where she met Ceres in disguise at the bar she worked at, wearing a wig and SHIELD's facial-distortion technology. "Annie" is one of her many aliases.

"You'll be fine," Natasha says, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "Stop worrying so much."

Ceres drums her fingers on her door, trying to expel some of the nervous energy swarming in her gut. She hates feeling this restless before a mission. Back when she was active in the X-Men, she wouldn't think before heading into battle, but now she can't help but feel jittery.

Her brief stint with exposing the Hellfire Club was nerve-wracking, but not like this. She fell back into fighting with her old friends like it was muscle memory, knowing how each of them worked under pressure and trusting them with her life. This time she's with a new team comprised mostly of people she doesn't know. She's met Brock Rumlow a handful of times as he helped with training, but his STRIKE team is entirely foreign to her.

"Should I call him a fossil?" Natasha questions, a smirk tugging up the corner of her lips.

Ceres scoffs. "If he's one, so are Ilyas and I."

"Ugh, you're right. When did my idea of company start involving a bunch of old people?"

Though Ceres turns to glare at her, she also fights a smile. Natasha's wry humor always manages to lift her spirits. She can formulate a joke for almost any situation—often at the expense of men—and it always strengthens the bond of solidarity between the two women. After so long of dealing with only Ilyas, Ceres is grateful to have another feminine acquaintance to level out the overwhelming amount of testosterone in her life.

Natasha presses a few buttons on the car's touch-screen monitor. In a few seconds, the coordinates to Steve's location appear, placing him as a small red dot on the streets of Washington DC. Ceres has gotten to know the area fairly well in the past few weeks. She sometimes joins Steve on his jogging route, though she'd been too full of pre-mission nerves to do so today.

This area brings back more memories than she thought it would. They pierce into her like daggers as they weave through several blocks, the recollections as fresh as if they'd been formed yesterday, though it's been over thirty years since she was last here. Raven, bleeding on the sidewalk, a bullet lodged in her calf. Erik using his powers to drag her closer to him. People screaming at the sight of Hank and his bright blue fur, his sharp teeth gleaming in the light. Ceres's hair soaked from the fountain Raven had pushed her into during her attempted escape.

They had been trying to avoid the assassination of Bolivar Trask, which set off a chain of events that would destroy the reputations of mutants for decades to come, but had only succeeded in making people more afraid of them. And all of this came about because Logan from the future inhabited the body of Logan from the past, where he then informed the X-Men of the plight in his present.

It was a very confusing time.

The memories she has of Washington DC are not great. But hopefully she can replace them with better ones through her work here.

Ceres blinks when Natasha revs the engine, pulling herself out of the flashbacks that clouded her vision. They slow to a stop by the curb. She notices Steve first—he's closer to them, standing with his hands on his hips, his large frame making him stick out. His blond hair is tousled and blows like dandelion fluff in the breeze. His grey shirt fits snugly on his body, his muscles visible underneath it and his biceps practically bulging out of the sleeves. She wonders if it's too small and makes a mental note to buy him another one.

When Steve turns at the sound of the engine, his movement reveals another man crouched in the shade of a nearby tree. His dark skin glistens with sweat though he's easily as muscular as the super soldier before him.

Natasha rolls down the passenger-side window. "Hey, fellas. Either of you know where the Smithsonian is? I need to drop off a few fossils."

"That's hilarious," Steve replies dryly, walking toward the vehicle. He opens the back door and squeezes himself inside.

The other man smiles at them, revealing gapped front teeth and kind eyes. When Natasha gives him a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes, he nods at her. "How you doin'?"

"Hey," she replies. Ceres is amazed at how much finesse she can put into a single word.

Mindless flirting is more of Natasha's thing. Instead of joining, Ceres settles on a friendly wave. "Hi."

"Can't run everywhere," Steve says to the man.

He's still grinning when he answers, "No, you can't."

Natasha revs the engine a few more times for good measure before speeding back onto the road. Ceres instinctively grips the edge of her seat. She hates to act her age sometimes, but she has yet to get used to Natasha's chaotic driving style. Not to mention it's been a long time since she's had to ride in a car anyway. At home in Brooklyn, she either walked or took the subway everywhere.

Once she's certain she won't be tossed around in her chair, Ceres turns with a teasing smile. "So, who's your new friend?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "I just met him today."

"And? You're telling me you didn't introduce yourself?"

A beat passes before he admits, "I did. His name is Sam."

Her grin widens. If there's one thing she knows about Steve Rogers, it's that he'll always place politeness first. He greets everyone. She wonders if he's always been like that or if he goes out of his way to be kind to offset his intimidating size and reputation.

When they arrive at the hangar, Ilyas is waiting for them. He's already dressed in a dark blue SHIELD uniform and seems pissed about it. Then again, he seems pissed about everything, so Ceres isn't sure what made him grumpy this time.

"'Bout time," he says when they approach.

"We had to pick him up from his daily death jog." Ceres jerks her head toward Steve.

Several agents pass them their uniforms, each folded with military precision. Ceres's is the same navy color as Ilyas's, but Natasha and Steve each receive custom outfits in their trademark designs—midnight black and a walking American flag.

"How come you guys get special suits?" Ilyas asks. He tugs at his neckline. "This one doesn't fit me right."

Natasha opens her mouth to remind him that each SHIELD suit is specifically tailored to each agent's measurements, so it fits him perfectly, then realizes he's just being an asshole and shuts it again. She cocks her head to the side. "Stick around and maybe you'll get one someday."

Minutes later, Ceres has changed into her uniform and tries not to feel disappointed. She runs her hands over the smooth material, made mostly of spandex to conform to her body and allow for fluid movements, knowing that it will do its job. She's never fought in anything that wasn't designed by Hank. She knows that whoever had tailored her suit had made it heat-proof to work with her powers, but there's still a sliver of doubt that lurks in her chest. Something could go wrong. She doesn't know who made her uniform. She doesn't have complete faith in them like she does Hank.

Ceres curls her hand into a fist at her side as they board the quinjet, willing herself to stay calm and focused. She can't let these negative feelings distract her. The sooner she accepts that she's not with her old team, the better. For everyone.

Fingers graze her own and pry them away from her palm, revealing crescent-shaped marks in her skin. She turns to see Steve loosely holding her hand. His expression is soft and reassuring, his cerulean eyes seeming to stare deep into her soul.

"You've got this," he says.

Ceres nods, sucking in a breath to fortify herself before replying, "Yeah, I've got this."

The quinjet is packed with people, forcing Ceres to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the people around her. They each face a screen that displays a diagram of the ship they're targeting. Rumlow debriefs them quickly and succinctly, pinching and pressing his fingers on the monitor to enlarge the blueprint.

"Target is a mobile satellite launch platform, the Lemurian Star. They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them ninety-three minutes ago."

"Any demands?" Steve asks.

"A billion and a half," Rumlow replies.

Ilyas whistles as he fiddles with one of his knives, much to the chagrin of the agent next to him, who keeps a wary eye on the spinning blade.

Steve, now accustomed to Ilyas's personality, ignores him. "Why so steep?"

"Because it's SHIELD's."

"So it's not off-course, it's trespassing."

"I'm sure they have a good reason," Natasha says.

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of being Fury's janitor."

"Relax, it's not that complicated." Natasha's eyes flicker to Ilyas and Ceres. "And watch your mouth in front of the newbies."

Steve, remembering that this is their first mission and the last thing they want to hear is someone complaining, drops his grievances for now. He turns back to Rumlow. "How many pirates?"

"Twenty-five, top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc."

He presses a few icons, allowing the man's image to pop onto the screen. Batroc has a weary yet stern face lined with vitriol. The crease between his brows suggests he's spent most of his time frowning. His ears slightly stick out, balancing out his large nose.

"Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He's at the top of Interpol's Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy's got a rep for maximum casualties."

"Jesus," Ceres mumbles under her breath.

"Hostages?" Steve asks.

"Uh...mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell." Rumlow pulls up his SHIELD identification photo and personal information. "They're in the galley."

"What's Sitwell doing on a launch ship?" Steve mutters to himself, strapping his fingerless gloves onto his hands. "Alright, I'm gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. You two, follow after me." He looks at Ceres and Ilyas. "Clear the way to the control room. Ceres, secure it. Ilyas, keep the deck empty. Nat, you'll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to the life-pods, get 'em out. Let's move."

"STRIKE, you heard the Cap," Rumlow says to his team. "Gear up."

Ceres appreciates the cut-and-dry style of Steve's directions. He covers all of the bases while giving clear instructions, ensuring everyone knows what to do. His quick delivery illustrates how fast his mind creates plans.

She hadn't seen him in Captain America mode since they'd first met on the day of the Chitauri invasion. His orders remind her of how he'd directed her to safety, surprising her then and now with his cool confidence. This is his element. Instead of her guiding him, it's the other way around.

Ceres straps weapons into her holsters with practiced efficiency. She slides two handguns near each hip, a knife in a sheath on her thigh, and her walkie-talkie in its place at her other side.

Ilyas taps her. He hands her several more knives. She recognizes them as his own—not SHIELD-supplied, and wonders how the hell he could fit so many on him in the first place.

"You'll need more of these," he says. "Guns'll be too loud."

Ceres nods in understanding. "They'll draw too much attention. Got it. Thanks."

She secures the blades in extra sheaths near her boots and other thigh, then places her comm into her ear. At least this is something that feels familiar.

"Secure channel seven," Steve says into his radio.

"Seven secure," Natasha replies. How she hasn't put her glossy red hair up yet is mind-boggling—Ceres had put hers into a ponytail the moment she heard she was going on a mission. "Did you do anything fun Saturday night?"

Steve pulls a face. "Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so... No, not really."

Ceres and Ilyas had spent their Saturday working. Learning the SHIELD ropes, becoming acquainted with the headquarters, learning their computer systems, and keeping up with the strict physical training required for field agents. She had thus spent Sunday recovering as her sore muscles screamed at her every time she moved.

"Coming up by the drop zone," the pilot informs them over the speaker.

Steve whacks his fist into the button to lower the loading ramp. The interior of the jet glows red, the freezing wind immediately howling in their ears and blowing Ilyas's hair into his face. Maybe Ceres should start bringing an extra hair tie for him.

Natasha's expression is sly. "You know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she'd probably say yes."

Ceres pretends that this talk of setting Steve up on a date right in front of her and Ilyas doesn't bother her, but an itch of irritation blossoms anyway. She tightens her ponytail to the point of pain just to have something to do with her hands.

"That's why I don't ask," Steve says, strapping his helmet in place. He looks at Ceres and Ilyas. "Ready?"

"Ready," Ceres replies, while Ilyas salutes with an, "Aye-aye."

Steve nods, walking down the ramp as it continues to extend. The relentless wind doesn't even bother him. He's steady as marble, his feet set shoulder-width apart to keep him upright. His shield gleams on his back.

Natasha has to shout to be heard. "Too shy or too scared?"

"Too busy!"

With that, Steve hurls himself out of the plane and disappears into the thicket of clouds obscuring the sea below.

Ceres should be surprised, but she's about to do the exact same thing. She turns and gives Natasha a thumbs-up.

"I'd wish you luck, but you don't need it," Natasha tells her. "You'll crush it."

"And me?" Ilyas asks.

Natasha shrugs. "I'm sure you won't die."

The two mutants walk to the edge of the ramp, nearly knocked down by the strength of the wind alone, their limbs locked tight to keep from falling over. Ceres looks at Ilyas for reassurance. He's been her partner for so long that they know each other's breathing patterns. As long as he's here, along with Steve, her nerves don't stand a chance.

A moment later, she steps off the jet. Ilyas turns around and tips backward just to be dramatic.

It's similar to when she had jumped off the jet into the Hellfire Club, only now, they're much higher up and the air is even colder since they're on the ocean. She can't see anything. The dense clouds block her sight, the wind whistling in her ears until she feels like she might go deaf, her teeth gritting together with the force it takes not to tremble from the intense cold.

A few moments later, they fall below the cover of clouds and the ship comes into view. It's enormous, stretching long and thin with industrial floodlights illuminating the front and back. The moonlight reflects on the ocean. It appears inky-black in the dark of night, churning softly around their target.

The ship grows larger by the second. Ilyas snatches Ceres by the waist, putting his mouth close to her ear. "Hold on!"

Originally, she thought they were going to drop into the water, but Ilyas never likes to do things the practical way. She obeys and wraps both arms around his shoulders. He grabs her legs, hooking them around his waist. She has no idea what he's thinking, but she locks her ankles, ducking her head into his body.

The ship is upon them. Ilyas extends his legs out to slow their fall as much as possible, but they're still moving at an incredible speed. For a moment, Ceres thinks they're going to miss the ship and land in the water after all. But at the last second, he reaches out and grabs the railing that lines the deck.

The sickening sound of his arm ripping out of its socket makes Ceres gag. Ilyas barely grunts, though he must be in agony, and lets them hang for a moment before they softly drop onto the lower deck. She eagerly detangles herself from him. Then she notices that one of his arms is hanging a bit lower than the other, and that it hadn't been dislocated after all—it had nearly been ripped off.

Ilyas pushes his injured arm closer to his shoulder with a grimace so it can mend faster. He does not look fazed. After how many limbs he's lost, this is practically an everyday occurrence for him.

Ceres would be concerned, but he chose this instead of the water, so he can deal with the consequences. She leads the way to the main deck.

The floodlights illuminate everything in stark white lighting, so they stick to the shadows as much as possible. Their SHIELD boots land soundlessly on the floor. When they encounter their first pirate, Ceres takes him down by sneaking up behind him and jamming her fingers into the pressure point near his pulse, turning his legs to jelly. She slams her fist into his temple on his way down.

The closer they get to the control room, the more people they encounter. A man shouts something in French when he sees them. Three others turn their way, seizing the guns at their sides.

Ceres throws an arc of sunlight to blind them. The men cry out at the searing brightness, most covering their eyes except for one. He chooses to shoot in the hopes he will hit them. A bullet rips through Ilyas's abdomen and leg, but he keeps charging anyway, dropping into a sweeping kick to take the guy out. He lands hard on his back. Ilyas stomps down on his face, shattering countless bones, cutting off his scream with a boot to the temple that knocks him unconscious.

One of his knives whistles through the air and embeds itself in a guy's shoulder. Ilyas grabs him, tossing him overboard with a grunt of, "Au revior, enculé."

Ceres works on the other two as this happens. Bullets ricochet around her, pinging off each surface. One strikes a pipe, blowing steam in one pirate's face, causing him to open his mouth to scream in agony, but the sound never makes it past his throat. She knocks him out before he can utter more than a gurgle.

The other man is more of a hassle. Once she's close, he forgoes his rifle and initiates hand-to-hand. Ceres blocks his strikes and snaps an upper cut to his jaw. His head jerks back from the force of the blow, striking a pole. He crumples to the ground.

Once these four are taken care of, Ceres motions toward where Ilyas had thrown the guy overboard and gives him a look that says, Really?

Ilyas shrugs. He whispers, "I'm sure he can swim."

Once they find a door into the ship, they part ways. Ceres tries the handle first to find it locked. She blasts it open with her powers, sweeping her gaze around the interior for enemies as soon as she's inside. Everything is a lackluster off-white. She sneaks through the narrow corridors, peering around each corner before she continues.

A man's voice causes her to freeze. Her French has gotten rusty over the years, but she's certain he's talking about the hostages—and not just because the words are homophones. He's also having difficulty contacting one of the guards on the main deck.

He must be just around the corner. Ceres waits until he turns before blinding him, then jams her knee into his gut and knocks him out in two swift blows that skin her knuckles. Blood sprays from his mouth and onto her face before he falls. She grimaces, wiping it with her sleeve before continuing.

She takes several wrong turns before locating the control room. An armed guard stands just outside it. She moves to blind him again, but he's trigger-happy and fires before she can properly aim. As a result, the blast of burning light strikes him in the chest instead of the face, sending him crashing through the door.

Fire erupts in her thigh as it buckles beneath her. Ceres looks down, noticing dark liquid oozing from a spot in her suit. The agony makes her eyes water, blurring her vision, forcing her to catch herself on the wall before she loses her balance.

"Fuck it," she mutters through gritted teeth.

She's been trying not to rely on her powers for multiple reasons. One, they're not exactly stealthy, and they needed the element of surprise on the deck. Two, she wants to practice her physical combat skills, and what better way than to do it on the field? And three, to prove to herself that she's not as rusty as she feels.

But now that she can hardly stand on this leg without feeling like she's going to black out, she's going all in.

As Ceres approaches the guard now sprawled in the doorway of the control room, she sends a stronger blast of light at his face, causing him to scream as his flesh burns. Discordant shouts come from the room. She limps into the doorway to see two people inside. Before they can react, she throws a hand out and blows them into the walls, sending them out of commission.

She activates the communicator on her wrist. "Control room secure. Do you want me to return to the deck?"

"Stay there, keep it empty," Steve replies. "Make sure nobody shows up to see what's going on."

"Got it." Ceres tries to keep the pain out of her voice. She presses a hand to her bullet wound and perches on the edge of the second row of curved desks. They must house about ten monitors each, with three larger screens displaying miscellaneous information at the front of the room.

She's about to look away from the monitors when something catches her eye—target symbols. On various points on the world map. But for what?

"Engine room secure," Natasha reports.

Ceres is probably overstepping her rank here. She and Ilyas had gained some extra points on the ladder due to their time as established X-Men, but they're not as high up as Steve or Natasha, so the information they'll receive about their missions is slim. Just enough to get the job done. Though Ceres can't help but feel curious about the technical jargon on the monitor next to her.

She stands with a cringe and checks out the next screen. The words AI INTERFACE are at the top, followed by a series of codes that she doesn't understand. Another monitor has gibberish that Ceres figures is code. The next, incoming messages from SHIELD headquarters.

Footsteps make Ceres freeze and spin toward the door. The pain caused by the abrupt action makes her vision sway, but she keeps her gaze firmly planted on the doorway until a figure emerges through it.

"Don't shoot!" Natasha cries a millisecond before Ceres can blast her back into the hall.

Ceres relaxes with a sigh, slumping back onto the desk. "Jesus fuck. What the hell?"

"Sorry! Sorry. Have to back something up." Natasha waves a hard drive and examines each screen for whatever it is she's looking for.

"You could've told me you were coming."

Ceres extends her injured leg with a groan. Natasha's head snaps up at the sound. "You injured?"

"Bullet to the thigh. I'm okay. Been shot before." She watches the download bar appear with creased brows. "Thought you were supposed to wait for instructions?"

"I'm not good with waiting," Natasha responds distractedly, her fingers working at light speed on the keyboard. "Besides, I've got other things to do."

CRASH! Ceres jumps to her feet when the other door smashes to the ground, both Batroc and Steve on top of it. Steve smashes his fist into the enemy's face to knock him out cold, making the room fall silent once again except for his heavy breathing.

Natasha, in contrast, had barely moved a muscle. "Well, this is awkward."

Steve turns at the sound of her voice. His brow creases in confusion at the sight of her hunched over one of the monitors. "What are you doing?"

"Backing up the hard drive," she replies nonchalantly. "It's a good habit to get into."

Steve gets to his feet, double-checking that Batroc is still unconscious before heading closer to them. His eyes catch sight of Ceres. He quickly examines the blood smeared on her face, then notices her awkward stance that relies on her good leg, his gaze falling to the bullet still lodged in her thigh.

"You got hit?" he asks. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm fine," Ceres replies. "Ilyas can fix me up in, like, two seconds."

Steve eyes her disbelievingly, but seems to accept her words all the same, deciding he'd like to put more energy into arguing with Natasha instead. "Keep pressure on it." He turns to Natasha. "Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing here?"

As he walks closer, he flickers his gaze from her monitor to the progress bar. "You're saving SHIELD intel."

"Whatever I can get my hands on," Natasha replies.

"Our mission is to rescue hostages."

"No, that's your mission," she corrects him. Once the computer beeps, signaling that the download is complete, she yanks the drive out. "And you've done it beautifully."

Before she can saunter past him, he grabs her arm. "You just jeopardized this whole operation."

"I think that's overstating things."

Something almost hits Ceres in the head, but Steve knocks it away with his shield. A grenade clatters to the floor while Batroc flees. Ceres curses, flinging an arm out to send a burst of light toward the row of windows facing the way she came. The glass shatters on impact, sending a trillion tiny particles of glass flying through the air. She jumps through the rectangular hole from adrenaline alone.

Steve grabs Natasha. He uses the desks as leverage to hurl them toward escape, and all three of them land on the other side of the cinderblock wall as the room behind them explodes.

Stinging pain shoots from Ceres's palms as the broken glass digs into them. She lifts herself up, coughing from the smoke pouring from the windows and the ache in her side. Steve and Natasha lie against the far wall. Both of their faces are lined with ash and tiny lacerations.

"I should've been paying more attention," Ceres groans, sitting up on the pile of glass. "Control room was my job."

"No," Natasha says through heaving breaths, "that one's on me."

"You're damn right." Steve pushes himself to his feet, not giving Natasha a second glance before heaving Ceres up and slinging her arm around his shoulders for leverage.

He leads her to safety, steady as a rock.

________

a/n:

i am so in love with ceres and steve and i can't wait for you to see how their dynamic has evolved since act one! it's been about a year and a half since then since we left off in mid-december 2012.

which character are you most excited to see ceres and ilyas interact with? i, personally, am a big fan of ceres x nat. also ilyas x nat. just all the wins for natasha here.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed the chapter!

— kristyn

TRANSLATION:

Au revior, enculé: Goodbye, motherfucker.

( word count: 4.7k )