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I sat with my head between my knees against the wall outside of Clint's room, where I hoped Nat was. I didn't want to see anyone else.

Well, maybe Thor. It would be great to see Thor. But he was miles away, maybe hurt, maybe dead. I groaned, raking a hand through my curls and pounding my head against the wall in frustration. Not my best idea. Pain rattled my already bruised skull, as even more chills crept down my spine. This cold was deadly, more intense than any I'd ever experienced.

Several moments passed, and finally, the door slid open. I didn't look up.

"Al?" Nat's voice, concerned and soft, came from above me. Only then did I look up and meet her eyes. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she stooped, helping me to stand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

She led me into Clint's room, sitting me down in a chair opposite the bed. While she rummaged through the bathroom, Clint nodded a greeting.

"Agent Barton," I mustered, "Good to meet you."

"Heard you saved Nat's ass back there," he said, extending a hand to shake mine, "Pleasure to meet you, Alivia."

I stayed quiet, wringing my hands as Nat came back with a wet cloth, which she used to clean the blood out of my skin and hair.

"This probably stings like a bitch, but it won't need stitches," she remarked, as she finished cleaning the wound on my forehead. "Are you alright, Al?"

I shrugged. "I've... God, this is going to sound so stupid to you two, it's just—I've never seen someone die before, and Coulson, he... He died right in front of me. You just cleaned his blood off my hands."

Nat squeezed my shoulder, sitting down beside me. "This has been our whole lives, Alivia. You're new to this, and its scary. Even I still get scared, you saw me back there with Bruce. I wouldn't be here right now if it hadn't been for you."

I forced a weak smile at her. Coulson's death weighed heavily on me, of course. But I couldn't tell her what truly bothered me. Seeing Loki that way. Seeing what he had done to Thor. Watching someone die at his hand. Being completely at his mercy. It terrified me.

Suddenly, the door slid open, and Steve entered, clad in his uniform. "Time to go," he nodded at Natasha.

"Go where?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?" Steve asked her.

"I can," Clint answered.

"You got a suit?" Clint nodded. "Then suit up."

With that, Steve was gone. Natasha looked down at me. I looked right back at her. The fight was far from done.

"You don't have to come with us," she told me, rubbing my arm comfortingly.

I shook my head. "I'm not going to walk away from this now. I'm not letting him get away with everything he did. With killing Coulson."

Nat nodded sharply, and the three of us followed where Steve had gone.

We rounded into an armory, where Nat and Clint did just as Steve had instructed. I stood uselessly aside, eyeing the racks of arrows, guns, and other equipment I couldn't even name.

"Little Al," Stark's greeting came with a slap on the back. In his hand he held his Iron Man mask. I folded my arms and looked up at him. He lifted his eyebrows up and down, "Got something to show ya'."

I quirked a brow, and followed him deeper into the armory, past Steve and into a large empty space. He extracted a remote from his pocket, and from the floor, emerged armor stands. Most were empty except for two. One held the rest of Tony's Iron Man suit. The other...

"Is that..?"

"Yours? You bet," he tousled my hair and gave me a light shove forward, "Put on the suit, kid."

It was entirely black, save for veins of iridescent orange, yellow, and red that snaked up the legs and arms, giving the impression of liquid magma beneath the splitting surface of a volcano. There was padding along the shoulders and legs for protection, as well as sturdy boots that climbed to the thighs.

"When in the hell did you have time to do that?"

"I work quickly," Stark grinned, stepping toward it, "See these?" He gestured at the gloves, which looked similar to the palms of the Iron Man suit. "There's a button on your thumb—opens 'em right up for your fire. The material is extremely durable. And this—" He pulled up a helmet, "Does a nice job of preventing brain injuries."

I inhaled sharply. The helmet was black, like the suit, the nose coming down in the shape of what looked like the beak of a bird. The top of the helmet reminded me of the head of a peacock, except the tips were a blazing orange and red.

"Firebyrd..." I read the name emblazoned on the inside of the helmet. Looked up at Stark. "Coulson?"

"He's been spit-balling code names for you since S.H.I.E.L.D. found out about that little incident last year. Always thought Firebyrd was the best."

I shook my head in disbelief, my eyes raking over the suit. I could scarcely believe it. I'd gone from being a princess in an HBO historical drama, to a superhero in an action movie. "Thank you."

"Thank me by kicking Loki's ass," Stark said, leaving me to put on the suit.

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When the suit was on, I tied my hair back into a low bun and fit the helmet on my head. I balled my hands into fists. Released. The suit felt like a second skin. And for the first time in a long time, I felt powerful. My fear was still a deep ache in the centre of my chest, but this suit made me feel like I might be a match for it.

Like I might be a match for him.

When I emerged into the armory, Tony was first to see me. He blew a chef's kiss. Steve tipped his head at me, and I smiled. Finally, I came to Natasha. She grinned, holding her hand out to me. I took it, and she pulled me in.

"Let's go kick some ass, Firebyrd."

I nodded. The five of us made for the hangar, striding past people working on repairs. Stark eventually broke off to fly ahead of us, and Steve led us to a quinjet with an open door, and we poured inside. The man at the wheel stood, his eyes widening in shock as he met Cap's gaze.

"You're not authorized to be in here—"

"Son," Steve began, taking a step forward, "Just don't.

With his shaking hands raised, the man fled from the quinjet. Clint immediately slid into the vacant seat, and like a flash, we were off, tailing Stark toward where Loki was making his stand. My home.

We were going to New York City.

Eventually, Stark jetted ahead of us, his plan being to confront Loki and swap out his suit. We would arrive later as back up.

It didn't take long for the outline of the city on the horizon to become a massive sprawl of buildings beneath us. But my eyes weren't on home. My eyes were fixed on the sky above it, where a massive hole I could only describe as a portal tore open the sky. Out of it, poured an army.

"Stark, we're on your three headed north-east," Nat said into her earpiece.

"What, did you stop for drive-through?" Stark's voice reached our ears through each of our own earpieces. "Swing up Park. I'm gonna lay 'em out for you."

In the seat beside Clint, Nat manned the gun that dropped from the bottom of the quinjet. With deadly precision, she took out the Chitauri swarming the field ahead in a hail of bullets.

Clint pulled up on the wheel, and the quinjet began to scale the height of Stark tower, until we came in sight of the roof. There, my chest swelled at the sight of Thor locked in combat with Loki.

"Nat?" Clint called out.

"I see him," Nat responded, unleashing a storm of gunfire on Loki. It seemed to do nothing but piss him off, and he turned to us, launching a beam of blue light from his scepter that took out our left engine. Beside me, I turned to Steve with wide eyes, clutching his forearm as the jet began to spiral down.

"Hold on," he warned, as he wrapped one hand around my waist, and used the other to clutch the safety bars overhead. I reached up too, clutching on to Steve and the rails for dear life as the jet hit the ground, jarring and shaking violently. Steve looked down at me. "You okay?"

"Sure, we'll call it that," I shrugged, rolling my neck, "Let's go kick some aliens' asses."

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