Chapter Text
Phil adjusted his earpiece and leaned back against the brick wall of the building across the street from their target, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the sidewalk. He wore an older brown overcoat that was a touch too heavy for the late spring evening in order to hide his gun, and a pair of aviators that disguised his intense interest in the back of a seemingly abandoned warehouse. He glanced around surreptitiously, making sure he was still alone, then went back to watching the back door of the building. “Barton, talk to me. What do you see?”
“One sniper, fifth floor, third window from the right of the red brick building, just where I said he’d be,” Clint said, the rush of wind over the comms muffling some of the sharper sounds. “Looks like an older rifle, nothing high-tech. Don’t see anyone else up high. No cameras, but we knew that. Foot patrol every fifteen minutes, dressed like civilians, but they walk like military. Looks like the same two guys walking the same route each time.”
“Are they going to be a problem?” Phil asked, frowning.
Natasha answered, her voice hushed. “They have radios, but they’re not doing regular check-ins from what I can tell. Once we take them out, it’ll be at least twenty minutes before they’re missed. Amateurs,” she added in a scathing undertone. Thor, who had insisted on coming over Phil's repeated objections, and Steve muttered an agreement.
Phil smiled, though no one could see him. “The planning may be amateaur, but their fighting style was not, don’t forget. Dr. Banner, how are you and Loki doing?”
“We have the package, and are about ten minutes out. Loki is...”
“Fully ready to answer for himself. And I am ready to retrieve my mother from these idiots,” Loki snapped, interrupting Bruce. “And wreak vengeance upon Schmidt for taking her in the first place."
Bruce sighed. “We’ll be approaching from the west.”
“We are both ready to rescue Mother,” Thor spat, his voice hard. Even after Phil had agreed to let Thor help, it had taken the team a very long time to convince him that rushing in headlong to snatch Frigga away from Schmidt was actually the best way to get her killed. It was Loki who had persuaded Thor that Phil was right, in a scathing tirade that had shocked everyone. At the end of it, Thor had meekly agreed with Phil's plan, and Phil's own estimation of Loki had inched upward. He had teamed Thor up with Steve and Natasha, who were acting as muscle this time around, and hoped that the man could take out some of his aggression on the guards.
“Everyone in position?” The whole team replied in the affirmative: Tony from Phil’s apartment; Clint from the roof of the sniper’s building; Thor, Steve, and Natasha from the alley that backed up to Schmidt’s warehouse; and Bruce and Loki from the van carrying the Tesseract. “Okay, Barton, take out the sniper. Cap, Natasha, Thor, you’re up.”
He pulled out a small cell phone from the pocket of his coat and powered it up, dialing a number he’d memorized years before. It rang twice before the other party picked up with a barked, “Fury.”
Phil smiled. “Hello, Nick. Long time no see.”
--
Steve nodded as Phil gave them the go ahead, and signaled to Natasha and Thor. They’d discussed their plan before, and though Steve was a little wary of allowing their untrained client loose on a couple of thugs, Thor had insisted. Steve had to admit, the plan was almost elegant in its simplicity. He just hoped Phil and Clint didn’t actually kill him for his part in it. He liked all his limbs where they were, thank you.
Natasha looked at her watch, and counted down silently. Sixty seconds before they expected the guards to pass them, she grabbed Steve’s arm and the pair of them stumbled out of the alleyway, clinging to one another and giggling drunkenly. Completely ignoring the two men, Steve twirled Natasha around until she was back against the brick wall of the building, and grabbed her ass with both hands, drawing a not-entirely feigned gasp of surprise. He grinned and leaned down to kiss her, slanting his mouth over hers. “Mmm, girl,” he mumbled against her lips, loud enough that the goons could hear, and completely ignoring Clint’s outraged squawk over the comms.
“Hey, you two! Get a room,” one of the thugs called out, stomping toward them. Steve ignored him in favor of rubbing his cheek against Natasha’s while he thumbed the gun at her hip, ready to draw it if necessary. He could feel the warm metal of the blade at her wrist caress the skin at the back of his neck as she shook it loose of its sheath under the guise of running her hands through his hair.
A loud thud and its accompanying shout caused the pair of them to break apart and whirl on Schimdt’s men. One was already on the ground, groaning and bleeding from the head. Thor was laughing as he grappled with the other for control of his gun, a bloody hammer in one hand. “Speaking of amateurs,” she muttered, low enough that Thor couldn't hear as she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. Then, raising her voice, she instructed, "Don’t kill him. We need them all alive."
Thor nodded, and with that same bloodthirsty smile on his face, wrenched his hand hard enough to snap the man’s wrist. The goon howled in pain and dropped to his knees, where it was easy for Thor to knee him hard in the face. He crumpled to the side, blood spouting from his nose, and the gun clattered to the ground.
Steve kicked it out of the way, and knelt to check the first man’s pulse. “Tasha, grab the rope,” he said. Between the three of them, they tied up the two guards and dragged them back into the alley, hiding their prone forms behind the dumpster. Thor wiped his bloody hands on one of their shirts while Natasha disarmed them both. All told, it had taken less than two minutes.
“Clear here,” Steve said after they were done.
“What the hell was that, Rogers?” Clint yelled, and Steve and Thor both winced at the volume. “You just decided to mack on--”
“That, Barton,” Natasha snapped back, “was an excellent plan, which I approved, and since I’m an adult, I have that right. And it worked just fine, so put on your big boy panties and get over it.”
“We’ll discuss how you chose not to run your ‘excellent plan’ by your team first when this job is over, Natasha,” Phil said tightly. Clint muttered petulantly, and Natasha rolled her eyes, but they didn’t argue any further. “We can’t get distracted right now. I’ve made the call, so we’re officially on the clock. Stark, how long before he traces the phone’s location?”
“Given the government’s outdated software, and the fact that none of their techs are a genius like yours truly, you have,” he paused, humming to himself, “a little more than half an hour.”
“More than enough time,” he said. “Barton, report.”
“Sniper is down, sir. I have, uh, reappropriated his nest, and have eyes on Loki and Banner,” he said, his tone fully professional. “They’re about three minutes out.”
“Okay. Steve, Natasha, I need you to get in the warehouse from the side door. Take out as many as you can, but silently. Do not get caught,” he said. “Loki and Banner will be coming in the front, and Schmidt will have Frigga with him there. Thor, are you listening?”
He glanced over to Steve before answering. Steve just shrugged. “Yes, Coulson, I am listening.”
“I think it would be better for everyone if you sat this part out. Before you argue,” Phil said, cutting Thor off, “these men have had your mother for a week now. We know she’s alive, but we don’t know exactly what sort of conditions she’s been living in. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Thor nodded. “You’re saying that I will see things I would rather not see. That these men have hurt my mother.”
“Exactly.” Phil sighed. “And if you go after one of them, tip our hand... If you’re going in, you have to trust that I know what I’m doing, and that I have your mother’s safety at the forefront of my mind. Do you trust me?”
The only sound was the vaguely electronic crackle of the comms as Thor considered. “I trust you. I do not like staying my hand when it is my mother’s safety at stake, but I will follow your orders.”
Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and Natasha shot him a pleased smile. “Good,” Phil said. “Now remember, don’t get caught. I don’t want anything to distract Schmidt from Loki and Bruce. And for god’s sake,” he added, his tone exasperated, “don’t kill anyone.”
“We’re pulling up right now,” Bruce cut in.
Natasha was already making her way toward the side entrance of the warehouse. “We’ll see you inside,” she said, and Steve sent a brief prayer heavenward. They needed all the help they could get.
--
Bruce glanced over to where Loki sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hugging his briefcase to his chest. His expression was stony, betraying nothing. “We’re going to get her back, Mr. Laufeyson. This team, um, we’re very good at what we do.”
He nodded, but wouldn’t meet Bruce’s eyes. “I’m sure you are. And perhaps I would be more confident if my mother’s life wasn’t at stake. This whole plan of yours... It’s mad. It’s completely insane. There’s too much that can go wrong.”
Bruce sighed. “I know, it’s hard to trust us. But Phil--he knows people. He reads people, that’s his thing. And I, I trust him with my life.”
Loki scoffed. “You trust him with your life? That’s rich, coming from a wanted criminal.”
“Not all of the team came from a glamourous life of crime, Mr. Laufeyson,” he retorted, slowing down and switching on his turn signal. “I wasn’t a criminal until the government made me one. I was a well-respected scientist until the research I'd worked on for years caught the interest of the wrong type of people. All Phil would have to do is drop my name in someone's ear, and he’d get a full pardon and enough money to buy a small island. As I said, I literally trust him with my life on a daily basis. I’m not saying you have to take my word for it, but even if you don’t, remember that we also have a vested interest in making sure every computer on the East Coast doesn’t go down at once.”
Loki didn’t respond immediately, waiting until they were nearly to the warehouse before he spoke. “Why are you trusting me with this?” he asks, his voice soft enough that the others couldn’t hear him over the comms. “I’ve no reason to keep your secrets after my mother is safe.”
“You’re trusting us with one of the most important people in your life,” Bruce said, his voice very serious.
“Besides,” Tony piped up, his voice echoing tinnily through both his and Loki’s earpieces, "if I even hear a whisper that you’ve sold Bruce out, I will personally destroy you and take your company apart brick by brick until it’s nothing but rubble and bad memories.”
“Tony--”
“No, no,” Loki said, waving off Bruce’s objection. “I understand his threats more than I understand your sentimentality, Dr. Banner. Perhaps when this is over,” he added, his tone sly, “I can work off my debt to you and your friends by providing you with some information on a mutual enemy.”
Bruce could almost hear the wheels turning in Tony’s head. “Stane,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.
“Even so,” Loki said, a smirk on his face. “He has been a thorn in my company’s side for far too long. Watching him brought low by the very person he thought too stupid to run SI... Ah, the delicious irony.”
“I think we can discuss this afterward,” Tony said, his voice slightly strained. Bruce heard the longing in his words, and prayed that Loki was serious. If he wasn’t, he might have to hurt the man himself, to punish him for getting Tony’s hopes up.
Bruce straightened up as he pulled onto the correct street. “Call him,” he directed Loki, who was already dialing the number Schmidt had given him. “We’re pulling up right now,” he said for the benefit of the rest of the team.
“We’ll see you inside,” Natasha said in his ear.
The garage bay door creaked to life and he jumped, his heart thundering in his chest. “He says to pull in,” Loki murmured.
“Make sure to keep a hold of the briefcase,” he whispered back, before easing the van up the drive and into the building. “Do you have your switch?” Loki nodded and patted his breast pocket.
Having spent the last eighteen hours watching the warehouse, its layout wasn’t a surprise to Bruce. It was a large, mostly open space, with solid concrete floors and a cinder-block foundation. About six feet up, the weathered cinder-block gave way to red brick and square-paned windows. Some enterprising soul had stapled clear plastic over a handful of the broken panes, but most were boarded up with plywood and scrap wood. The rafters were rusted steel, held up by concrete and brick pillars, and Bruce forced himself not to glance up to where Clint’s camera-arrow was still lodged and broadcasting to Tony’s command center.
He shut off the van’s engine, and they were immediately swarmed by six of Schmidt’s men who yanked the doors open, guns trained on Bruce and Loki. Bruce raised his hands to show he was unarmed, and deliberately stumbled a little as they dragged him out of the van and onto the dirty warehouse floor. Two of the men took his arms, while the third prodded him from behind with the gun, directing him to where Schmidt was standing backed by four men in para-military fatigues. Each held an automatic weapon, but that sight wasn’t was gave Bruce pause.
In their nearly day-long surveillance, the camera had not caught a glimpse of Schmidt’s face. He’d worn a red bandana over his nose and mouth, presumably to filter out the air in the warehouse, or to hide his own identity from his own men. Now, the cloth hung loose around his neck, and Bruce saw the real reason Schmidt hid his face.
The bottom half of his face was covered in such extensive scarring that Bruce was honestly surprised the man could speak. His chin, which had been prominent in the photo from years before, was nearly gone, covered with ruined skin that dripped and flowed like melted wax. The tip of his nose was simply gone, and his scarred lips were twisted back in a permanent grimace. Apparently, the bomb in Vienna had taken out more than just the dam. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, his German accent heavier than Bruce expected. “I understand you have something I need.”
Loki, like Bruce, was flanked by three armed men. He clutched the briefcase tightly in one hand, the switch in the other. “And I believe you have something I need as well.”
“Ah,” Schmidt said, twisting his face up in a macabre expression of delight. “Indeed I do. Hans, please, bring me the prisoner.” One of the four men behind Schmidt nodded and turned toward the small office near the center of the warehouse. He unlocked it and opened the door, cursing softly in German. Bruce heard a soft scuffle that ended with a meaty thud. He clenched his fists and began to count in Hindi, trying to calm the rage that was bubbling up inside him as the thug dragged a bound and gagged Frigga into the open.
Her blonde hair was dark with sweat and blood, and both her eyes had been blackened at some point in the last week; one had already begun to yellow as it healed, while the other was dark and purple. A smear of blood trickled down from her lip where she’d been hit recently. She was still wearing the dress she’d been taken in, and while it was obviously dirty and ripped, it was mostly intact. Bruce breathed a small sigh of relief at that; she probably hadn’t been sexually assaulted. He thanked God for small mercies.
He glanced over at Loki; besides a tension in his jaw, the man looked unaffected by the sight of his mother, beaten and bloody. “I believe you promised that she would be in good condition. That,” he said, tone as flat as if he were discussing a car rather than a human being, “is not what I consider ‘good condition,’ Dr. Schmidt.”
Schmidt smiled, or what passed for a smile with his ruined face, while Frigga whined softly. “Ah, so sorry. She was, um, recalcitrant.”
“Mmm,” Loki said, nodding. “She can be quite stubborn,” he agreed, pointedly not looking at her.
“So, my merchandise?” Loki moved to hand him the briefcase, but was stopped by a thug. Schmidt shook his head. “Slide it to me, if you would.”
Loki nodded, and knelt, setting it flat on the ground and sliding it over. As he stood, he looked at Bruce, who nodded. “And Frigga?”
A harsh laugh that Bruce supposed was Schmidt’s laugh echoed through the empty warehouse. “I think I will check to see that you have not double-crossed me first,” he said.
Loki pursed his lips. “I would expect no less,” he replied cooly.
Schmidt unlatched the case with a click. As he lifted the lid slowly, a cool blue light washed over his face. His grin faded, and he looked up and glared at Loki. “This is not the Tesseract,” he snapped.
“No,” Loki said, his voice like silk, but his face stony, “it isn’t.”
“Do you think I am bluffing?” He stood up, his already hideous face contorted with rage. “Do you think I won’t kill her?” He leaned down and wrapped his arm around Frigga’s neck. “Do I look I’m bluffing? Where is it? WHERE IS THE TESSERACT?”
Loki cocked his head to the side. “I don’t have it.”
“You don’t have it?” Schmidt spat as he stood, tossing Frigga onto the floor. He took two steps toward Loki. “Did you not bring it, or did you not finish it?”
“Well, to be honest, Mr. Schmidt--”
“Doctor! I am a DOCTOR!” he yelled.
Loki didn’t seem phased. “So sorry, Doctor Schmidt. And to answer your question, both, actually. I mean, I really ought to thank you, on behalf Asgard Corporation. If it weren’t for your, uh, interference, shall we say, I wouldn’t have personally begun working on the Tesseract Project. Honestly, between myself and Dr. Selvig, we’ve made some significant breakthroughs that, I believe, will allow the Tesseract to become market-viable in less than ten years. And with that,” he said with a small, pleased smile, “we will make shatteringly large amounts of money. So, thank you.”
Schmidt ground his teeth together, radiating fury. “And what is to stop me from killing you where you stand?” At that, the man on Loki’s right pressed a pistol to his temple.
“This,” Loki answered, holding up a device about the same size and shape as a ballpoint pen. “You see, you know that isn’t the Tesseract. You didn’t ask what it was.” Schmidt’s eyes widened and he glanced down at the briefcase. “It’s a bomb, Dr. Schmidt. And this,” he nodded at the device in his hand, “is a dead-man’s switch.”
The warehouse was suddenly silent enough to hear a pin drop. The only sound was Frigga’s pained gasp. The thugs all started looking at one another, then to Loki, who bared his teeth in a macabre semblance of a smile. “You do understand the theory behind a dead-man’s switch, don’t you? It means that I must continue to hold this button down, or the bomb detonates. And,” he added quickly, when Schmidt’s gaze turned to Bruce, “my associate also has one, so don’t get any ideas.” Bruce held up his own device, his expression grim.
“So, we find ourselves at an impasse,” Schmidt said.
“Not really,” Loki countered. “Impasse would indicate that you have some sort of power or say in what happens next. That’s not the case. I have all the power here.”
“You won’t do it. Not her,” he said, looking back at Frigga for the first time he’d shoved her onto the floor. “You wouldn’t kill her.”
Loki cocked his head to the side, face expressionless. “Do I look I’m bluffing, Dr. Schmidt?”
Bruce swallowed as the two men stared at one another, neither giving any ground. It went on so long some of the goons began to fidget.
Finally, Schmidt looked away. “And with this power you now possess, Mr. Laufeyson, what do you plan to do?”
Loki smiled again, an expression that gave Bruce chills. “I’m feeling... magnanimous today. If you and your men leave right now, no one has to die.”
“And if I refuse?” Schmidt asked, his ruined face twisted into a snarl.
Loki raised the switch and one eyebrow. He looked from his hand to Schmidt and back. “Then I suppose we all die. It looks as if you’re already halfway there, so it shouldn’t be too terrifying.”
“We will need some time,” Schmidt answered after a short pause, “to gather our things.”
“You have five,” he said. “I’m being generous. Doctor, my mother?”
Bruce nodded and shook off his escorts to kneel by Frigga. “Where are you hurt?”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “My ribs,” she whispered, her accent thick and her voice raspy. “And I think...” She raised her hand to touch the bruises on her face. “I think this bone is broken. The rest is bruises, small cuts, not serious.”
“Okay, we’re going to get you to a doctor,” he murmured, watching the thugs out of the corner of his eye. Loki stood watching the process with his hand prominently around the dead-man’s switch. “Just hang on.”
“This isn’t over, Laufeyson,” Schmidt spat, as he and his men moved toward the back entrance, each carrying parts of the hastily disassembled EMP device.
Loki shook his head, watching their backs as the hustled out through the door. “No, it’s not,” he murmured as the door slammed shut behind them. As soon as they were clear, he turned back to Frigga and Bruce. “Mother!” He dropped to his knees and reached for her, tears in his eyes, his agonized expression a far cry from his earlier blankness. “Mother, I tried to get here sooner, I tried.”
“Oh, Loki, my son, you came,” she said, and threw her arms around him. “I knew you would come.”
“Always,” he breathed, hugging her carefully, his fingers skating over her shoulders and down her back. “You need a hospital.”
Bruce stepped away as Thor came barrelling in, letting the family have their private reunion. “Phil? Did you do it?”
“Package has been delivered,” he said. “Tony?”
“Yeah yeah, hold your horses.” Bruce could hear the click of keys over the comms. “Ah, Fury’s team is tracking the phone, ETA fifteen minutes.”
“Will Schmidt be back at his safehouse by then?” Phil asked.
“Should be. But you guys gotta get moving,” Tony warned. “He’ll be able to track the GPS back here, and will, once he realizes the whale he caught isn’t the one he’s been fishing for.”
“Understood. Bruce, get them into the van and get out of there,” Phil said. “Steve, Tasha, Clint, meet me at the SUV. We’ll regroup at the bar.” Bruce could hear the grin in his voice. “And then I’ll have another call to make.”
--
“Fury.”
“Hello again, Nick,” Phil said, cradling the phone against his shoulder. He leaned against the scarred wooden bar at John McRory’s watching his team celebrate their success, and listened to the muted sound of sirens on the other end of the line.
Fury huffed out a short laugh. “I found your phone, Phil. Do you want it back?”
Phil chuckled, tracing the rim of his coffee cup with one finger. “Go ahead and keep that one. I’ve got another.”
“I can see that.”
“Don’t bother to trace this one,” Phil warned, as the sound of sirens grew louder, then abruptly cut off with a thump. “It’s a little more high-tech.”
When Nick spoke again, his voice was much more clear; probably sitting in his car, Phil reasoned. “That was very clever, planting your phone on Schmidt when you knew I was tracking it.”
“Sometimes, simple is best.”
Nick sighed. “I suppose I ought to thank you. Johann Schmidt is one of Interpol’s most wanted terrorists, and you practically gift-wrapped him for me. Funny though,” he mused, “my men tell me it looks like he had someone held captive at the first location, but there’s no one there.”
“Is that right?” he asked, noncommittally.
“Yeah,” Nick drawled. “Then there’s the mysterious reappearance of Frigga Alfoder at Massachusetts General Hospital, with injuries consistent with being held against her will and being beaten repeatedly over the course of several days. But between her sons, her lawyers, and her money, we can’t get a word out of her. Do you know anything about that?”
Phil smiled. “I may be a criminal now, Nick, but I’m not a bad guy. Schmidt, on the other hand, is a very bad guy.”
“No, you’re not.” After a short pause, he said, “You could always come back, you know.”
A bark of laughter from the other side of the bar drew Phil’s attention. Tony was on one knee in front of Pepper, holding her hand in both of his, clearly begging for something, but from Clint’s reaction and Pepper’s own tolerant-but-amused expression, she wasn’t buying whatever he was selling. Darcy rolled her eyes at them as she played with Bruce’s hair, while Natasha poured herself, Clint, and Steve each a shot of vodka. He smiled as a warmth spread through his chest at the sight of his team, his friends. His family. “The price of coming back, of course,” he said to Nick, “would be to turn in my team.”
“You know it would.” Phil was surprised to hear a tinge of regret in Nick’s voice. “They’re criminals, Phil. They deserve to be in jail for some of the things they’ve done.”
“And they deserve medals for some of the things they’ve done, and you know it,” he shot back. “We’re two sides of the same coin, Nick, both working for what’s right. We just have different methods.”
“I hope--” Nick paused, and Phil could clearly picture his old partner rubbing his temple in frustration. “Are you happy?”
Phil glanced back at his team. Pepper looked exasperated but fond, as Tony whirled her around the room, dancing to some godawful rock song pumping from the jukebox. Bruce and Darcy had slipped away to a back booth, hopefully to resolve their absurd romantic song-and-dance. Clint was arguing with Steve about something, and Natasha turned to meet his gaze. She raised her shot glass to him and quirked her lips up in a smile. “Yes, Nick, I’m happy.”
His friend--still his friend, even after all that had happened between them--sighed. “Good for you,” he said sincerely. “I’m still coming after you,” he added after a moment.
“I would expect nothing less,” Phil said, and hung up the phone with a solid click. He left it sitting on the bar, and went to join his team.