[A/N]: Have you guys watched Endgame? Watch it. Then watch it again. In fact, you probably do need to watch it twice to catch all the little details (and plotholes, which, unfortunately, exist). I'm booked for three Endgame sessions this week (yeah, I thought I was crazy too) - I just watched it for the first time yesterday and damn. I already can't wait to watch it again. The cinema I went to had shitty volume, which was the only downside of the experience. Sigh.

Anyway. No spoilers are in this chapter or anything, so don't worry. I wrote most of it pre-Endgame, so there won't even be a hint of Endgame knowledge leaking into the story.

Watch Endgame. Seriously. Especially if you're an avid Marvel fan - don't think you can get the most out of the experience unless you've followed Marvel religiously, tbh. But don't worry if you haven't - you'll still enjoy the movie just fine, I think.

Gah, I can't stop talking about Endgame. Okay, okay. That's it. Enjoy the chapter!

Jessamine entered Stane's office at nine forty-two in the morning. He was in a meeting with the board, and had another meeting scheduled at quarter past ten in his office. She would be back at her desk by then.

She went around his desk, pulling the USB Stark had given her from her pocket. Dennis had been salivating at a chance to analyse the contents, but unfortunately, Jessamine had kept him quite busy over the weekend, scouring S.H.I.E.L.D's records for mentions of magic. He had turned up with nothing, which was suspicious enough in Jessamine's opinion. She shook her head; there was time to worry about that later. For now… She plugged the USB into the computer. Only a moment later, the screen flickered to life, and a red warning box flared. Security breach. Jessamine glanced at the door, which remained shut. A beep mere moments later. Access granted.

The virus started working through the files with ruthless efficiency. In seconds, it had found the information Jessamine knew Stark would want—Sector 16. Her eyes widened as she took in its contents. Was this what she thought it was? A weaponised armour? It was almost medieval, but Jessamine knew that if Stane was interested in this, it would be equipped with state-of-the-art technology. The best that Stark Industries had to offer, and that was no small thing to scoff at. Jessamine shuffled through to the next file, snorting as she read the name: Ultra_Secret.

Inside, however, Jessamine found the desired proof. A video of a bloodied and dazed Stark, streaked in ash and grime, squinting at the camera. He was surrounded by men with hidden faces, armed to the teeth with rifles. One man was speaking, and through her rather patchy Dari, she caught snippets of 'kill', 'Tony Stark', 'Obadiah Stane' and 'price'. A vivid picture was painted, and she almost smiled, a distant satisfaction settling in her in the confirmation of her theory. Here, undeniably, was the proof that Stane had ordered a hit on Stark. She shut the video off and started transferring the files. Groping with her senses, she knew that Stane was not anywhere in proximity. She relaxed.

The download did not take long. It was as Stark promised—better, even. It took a little under three minutes for everything to be transferred. She even had time to snoop through the files on Sector 16. From the measurements, she saw that the armour was a bulky, clunky thing, made for power and little finesse. It was but a work in progress, however—a mere prototype. Based on what, she wondered. Jessamine did not think Stane had come up with this idea; he was a businessman, not an inventor. Stark, however, was. The notion solidified in her mind the more she thought of it. Yes, she was certain of it; this armour was Stark's work.

"Very impressive," Jessamine murmured. The suit needed to be powered by some sort of battery that was built into the chest plate. What the battery was exactly, however, was unspecified in the file. Perhaps even Stane had yet to figure that part out.

There was a ping on the edge of her senses. Stane was returning, earlier than anticipated. Jessamine scowled, tugging the USB from its slot. She started to clear away evidence of the computer being tampered with, but paused and stared down at the USB thoughtfully. There was something off here. She felt it weigh down on her shoulders. It felt like a shift in the air, an imbalance. A moment later, a cold breeze swept over the back of Jessamine's neck.

You interfere.

Ah, Jessamine thought. Death's voice was full of impressions and images. Not all her message was conveyed through words, but it was received clearly. Why? She asked.

Some things must occur, child. Accompanying the words was a pressure like a knife's edge, dozens of them grating over her skin.

Jessamine's jaw tensed. Death would have her way. She pocketed the USB but left minor hints of her presence. The mouse slightly askew. The computer not set to its initial screensaver. The newspaper flattened out on the tabletop, instead of folded. He would notice, then he would check the security tapes. She could feel Stane entering the lift. Quickly, she slipped out of the office, and sat herself down behind her desk. She picked up a phone and made a call, as though she had been doing that the entire time.

When Stane strode through a minute later, he hardly even glanced at her. The moment the door shut behind him, Jessamine sprung from her seat—she did not want to linger for his reaction. Quickly she went to Pepper's office and was admitted in an instant; from the look on the woman's face, she knew quite a bit of what was happening. Jessamine handed her the USB stick wordlessly.

"What's on it?" Potts asked, looking fretful and anxious. "Did he suspect anything?"

"Evidence," Jessamine said. "All that Mr Stark needs to know. And he might have. I would get this information to Stark as quickly as possible."

"Jesus. I need to call Tony." Potts flicked her phone out, then swallowed. She stared down at the small, black item as though it was poison. "Is Obadiah—is it true?"

Jessamine eyed her. Stark trusted Potts more than anyone—cherished her more than anyone too, most likely, even if neither knew that yet. It was, Jessamine wagered, the only reason why Stark had risked revealing sensitive information and asked for Jessamine's help with the task of retrieving information from Stane's computer, rather than have Potts do it instead. "Yes," Jessamine said, deciding. "Mr Stane hoped to assassinate Mr Stark in Afghanistan." She paused, watching Potts carefully for a reaction. "Mr Stane also has a project ongoing—from what I saw of the schematics, he is attempting to build some sort of armour."

"Armour," Potts said falteringly. "Like a suit?"

Jessamine tipped her head. "Is that what Mr Stark is calling it?"

A flinch. Quickly suppressed, but there. "I don't understand."

"The suit Mr Stane had on file was rough work. But ingenious. He is not a very imaginative man. Was it Afghanistan?" Jessamine threw out a guess.

Pepper did not reply.

"I wondered," Jessamine said. Then she stilled. There was a familiar presence that had just walked into Potts's waiting room. He was only sitting, but Jessamine could feel his alertness. "Get that information to Mr Stark, Miss Potts. The sooner the better; Mr Stane has obviously been attempting to rebuild Mr Stark's work. I'm not sure of his success, but if he does realise I have been in his office… That will doubtless be a rather difficult situation."

Potts bit her lip. "Thank you, Jess," she said, glancing at her watch. "I think I'll take this straight to Tony."

"Of course. Are you clearing your schedule for the day then?" Jessamine said. She stood on the spot, not moving though Potts had already begun to walk towards the door.

"Um, not exactly," Potts said, giving her an odd look. "The rest of my day is free, really."

"No meeting?" Jessamine prodded. Outside, Coulson had jerked upright. So the room was bugged. "With a certain S.H.I.E.L.D agent, perhaps?"

"You mean Agent Coulson?" Potts said. A stain of impatience coloured her voice now. "No, my meeting with him is tomorrow. Jess, I really have to get this to Tony now—"

"Clearly he got the date wrong," Jessamine said, taking out her phone. She flicked through her contacts and dialled Dennis's number. "Step aside please, Miss Potts."

"Step aside?" The woman looked utterly baffled right now, but it seemed a decade of being Stark's assistant had ingrained in her a habit of following strange instructions before demanding answers, and she stepped aside.

"The number you have dialled is currently unavailable," a robotic voice said into her ear. At the same moment, the door swung open. The nozzle of a pistol nudged in first. Coulson held his gun steadily, confidently. "Please leave a message after the beep." The tinny, high-pitched beep seemed to echo in the silence that had fallen. Potts's eyes swung from Coulson to Jessamine, wide and horrified. A soft oh my God fell from her lips.

"Agent Coulson," Jessamine said coolly.

"Jess," he replied, his pleasant mask turned hard and blank. "Is that your real name?"

"Is MACUSA currently breaking through my wards?"

There was a flicker of surprise in Coulson's eyes, but his aim never wavered. "MACUSA?" he said. Jessamine could almost taste the falseness of his confusion.

"I see," she said. She glanced to Potts, and that look broke her from her stupor.

"What the hell is going on?" Potts said. "Why are you pointing—pointing a gun at Jess?"

"She is highly dangerous individual, Miss Potts," Coulson said calmly. "Please, step outside. Jess, will you come in quietly?"

Jessamine sighed. "You should get those files to Mr Stark, Miss Potts."

"Miss Potts, I'm going to have to ask you not to leave," Coulson said. "I would also like to know what are on those files that Jess is talking about."

"It's, uh," Potts faltered. "Um. It's Obadiah—"

"Why ask, Agent Coulson? You heard the entire exchange, did you not?"

Potts blinked. Comprehension followed shortly after. "You bugged my office?"

"This is a matter of national security, Miss Potts. We will see to Obadiah Stane, but for now, if you could drop that USB into my pocket and step outside please."

"Oh God," Potts muttered. "Okay, okay. Shit." With shaking fingers, she gave the USB over. "I'm calling Tony. Oh my God." Jessamine's phone vibrated. She peeked at the screen. It was from Dennis: SOS.

"You were too clean," Jessamine said after Potts had left, half-panicked and close to tears. There was a mild charm on the room, deterring Potts's attention and keeping her from listening too closely to their conversation. Coulson looked at her in askance. "The database. Not a single mention of magic in it. Initially, I'd thought perhaps MACUSA had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D and was wiping the information from your surveillance. But the more I thought about it, the more unlikely that scenario seemed. Dennis showed me how much surveillance S.H.I.E.L.D monitors worldwide, and we magical folk have never been particularly careful nor conscious of Muggle technological advancements. You would have caught us out long ago, I think. Too many of us to keep the secret."

Coulson's face was impassive. She wondered if he hoped to continue the charade of ignorance. "Muggle?"

"Perhaps you know the phrase better as No-Maj. Americans," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I suppose S.H.I.E.L.D has an understanding with Prestige Swiftborn? Very reckless of him, isn't it? I can't imagine the ICW would be pleased to know that the President of MACUSA is collaborating with Muggles in direct contravention of the Statute of Secrecy."

There was a long, tense pause. "You need help, Wright. This—magic—it isn't real."

Jessamine snorted. "My apologies. 'You're mad' is an ICW favourite. So the agreement is with them, hmm? I expect the heads of the magical states are the only ones authorised to know of S.H.I.E.L.D's existence and awareness of the magical world." There was a tick in Coulson's cheek that jumped with every word that left her mouth. "I wonder how on earth the ICW ever agreed to working with Muggles. They're quite a close-minded lot, you see. Many of them seem to think Muggles are dirt on their boots." She paused. "But you won't tell me, will you." Though phrased like a question, her tone suggested that it was anything but. The finality in it seemed to alert Coulson, and he took an inching step forward.

"Come quietly, Jess," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Jessamine said. Something frozen stabbed at her insides. Her face felt as though it was carved from granite—her wards had fallen, far quicker than anticipated. She felt their break rolling through her as though the earth was tilting sideways. A snap in her magic that recoiled on her like a fired gun. The wards had not been made to withstand a siege, only made to divert; she should have been more careful, but had instead chosen to be experimental. Now she paid for it. There was no more time left to waste.

Coulson's finger pressed on the trigger, but Jessamine was faster. Her magic locked his body in place. He stood still as a statue, lips half-open in surprise, eyes darting from side to side as he struggled in vain against her power. A low, groaning moan slithered out of his throat.

"A simple spell, but I'm afraid it's beyond your capabilities to escape," Jessamine said. "Good luck trying."

Another groan forced out his lips. She ignored it, and closed her eyes, readying her wand by her side. She hoped that Dennis had managed to hold on. Pulling her thoughts together, she focused on home and twisted her heel.

Crack!

—

Later, Jessamine would reflect that there were better ways to enter a battlefield. A way with some semblance of a plan, perhaps Apparating to a distant building to survey the situation before engaging. Or diplomacy, even, might have mitigated the damage. But as her Apparition warped around her, tightening and choking with her fury, Jessamine saw no better way. She had not felt such anger in a long time, maybe even since the days when Voldemort sat in the back of her head and stirred up her temper at his whim.

This time, however, her anger was her own, and it was edged with lethality instead of hurt. Jessamine felt the Apparition begin to fade. She gripped her wand tightly, her legs coiled to spring into motion the moment the blackness before her eyes wisped away to reveal daylight.

"What is—Impedimenta!"

Jessamine tumbled low to avoid the spell. Calm was settling over her mind already. Battle calm. She'd not experienced it for years—she had not realised how much she'd missed it. There was a swirl of blue MACUSA Auror robes before her, and with a flick of her wand and a whisper of a thought, she set it on fire. The Auror cursed, immediately trying to put it out. Jessamine's Stunner hit him full on in the face. She rose out of her crouch and surveyed the area. The living room was caved in from spellfire. Directly above it had been the library, but the ceiling had shattered, and now their research, papers and papers of it scattered across the ground floor. To the side, Dennis's laptop lay, crumpled and shattered. There had been spells in place to protect exactly this sort of thing from happening, but clearly they had not been able to withstand whatever had occurred here.

She threw out her senses. The Auror she had felled had apparently managed to send out some sort of distress signal, because there were ten witches and wizards converging on her. She animated the furniture, the carpet, the shattered glass. They waited.

The first witch who came through was stupid enough to forgo a shield spell. The lamp skewered her through her belly, and there were shrieks and shouts. A moment later, she vanished, taken away by an emergency Portkey. The next Aurors through were layered in shield spells. Distantly, Jessamine recognised that some of them wore customised robes from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes's defensive products' line. There was a spark of humour in that, but it was vague. It was unfortunate that the Aurors had chosen those products—once upon a time, it had been the Weasley twins themselves who had confided in she and Hermione of a flaw in its spellwork that they could not solve. Jessamine and Hermione had managed a solution—but years later, Jessamine had realised that the flaw was not entirely fixed. Patched over, but still vulnerable, like a raw scar. By that time, however, Jessamine had not spoken to the twins in three years, and was not inclined to speak to them again. Thus the vulnerability remained, and Jessamine knew that Hermione, too busy to even think on it, had not yet realised it in all these years.

She exploited it freely now. With a twist of her magic, the shield spells were flayed open and turned to grey dust. Dispassionately, she watched as her increasingly battered furniture crushed, stabbed, sliced and smashed into several Aurors, knocking them unconscious. A cutting curse sliced deep into her arm, and Jessamine gave a grunt of pain. Her calm was almost blankness now, simmering beneath a placid surface. Her furniture increased their frenzy, until even when the Aurors had all been knocked unconscious, one armchair determinedly ground its leg into an unconscious Auror's temple.

"Enough!"

The cry came from behind the door. Jessamine tilted her head. There were three more outside the room. Two of them were terrified, close to fleeing at any moment.

"Please." It was a man. Was he the leader? She felt strength and determination in him, as well as responsibility. The deaths of his comrades weighed heavily on him, festering in him as guilt and hatred. "Stop it. I want to talk."

"I want my friend. Bring him to me, and I'll stop," Jessamine said. The coldness in her voice made the man shudder.

"He's safe. He's in MACUSA headquarters."

Jessamine flicker her wand, and everything stopped. The man exhaled in relief. "That was a lie," she said. She bent, picking up a jagged piece of glass. She walked over to a prone Auror and crouched before him. She woke him, keeping her eyes on the leader the entire time. "Tell me the truth." The Auror in her grasp reached slowly for a wand. She placed the edge of her makeshift weapon right over his jugular. "Please don't."

"Don't—okay. Wait. It's going to be okay, Jenkins."

"Yeah, boss," Jenkins said shakily.

The lead Auror stepped forward hesitantly. A bead of Jenkins's blood bloomed. He stilled. "Creevey is outside," he said. "I can go get him now."

"You will stay right here," Jessamine said. "The one outside can go. The woman—the one who seems to be on the verge of pissing her pants. Really, do keep yourself together."

A flicker of surprise flashed across the Auror's face. "Sokolov, get over here," he said reluctantly.

"Y-Yes, sir." It was the Auror who had gone to Gary's café. She did not look so confident now. Her face was white with fear and horror as she looked around at the room.

"Get Creevey."

"Contact MACUSA and I'll cut dear Jenkins's throat right here, then maybe I'll cut his throat if I have the time." Jessamine paused. "Terribly sorry, I never got your name."

"Dolohov."

She raised an eyebrow. "Dolohov? Curious. I didn't know they had an American branch." Sokolov stood, petrified at the doorway. "Go on, girl, what are you waiting for? Do you want your throat slit as well?" Sokolov squeaked and fled. "MACUSA seems to be scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one."

He ignored that. "You knew the British Dolohovs?"

She grinned. "I had a few dealings with Antonin. Nasty piece of work, but he paid well for what he wanted." Dolohov blinked. He could not quite mask his confusion and Jessamine picked up on it in an instant. Her smile widened. "Dear me. MACUSA has not done their homework. Do you have any idea who I am?"

"We know what you've done."

"What have I done then? I should like to know MACUSA's reasons for this invasion of my home."

His eyes were steely grey, unyielding and fierce. "Illegal entry into magical America. Illegal impersonation of a magical American citizen, Jess Wright. The kidnapping of Jess Wright. Extortion of Veronica Wright. Use of magic on a No-Maj. Illegal placement of dangerous wards on an unlicensed property. Endangering the Statute of Secrecy. Shall I continue?"

"I can categorically deny several of those charges," Jessamine said. "The biggest one is the endangerment of the Statute of Secrecy. When have I ever done that?"

"You revealed yourself to a highly militarised No-Maj government agency that specialises in subterfuge and intelligence gathering!" Dolohov gaped at her. "You revealed magic to goddamn spies!"

"I suppose I did," Jessamine mused. "And I doubt all of them were in the know… Nevertheless, my breach seems to pale in comparison to what would happen if the magical world were to find out that S.H.I.E.L.D not only already knew about magic, but has been cooperating with top government and ICW officials to suppress the existence of magic. No?" Dolohov stared. "Oh dear. Clearly, you weren't qualified enough to know."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jessamine probed towards Sokolov. She was making her way back in, as slowly as possible it seemed, with Dennis beside her. Buying time? Anxiety, fear and trepidation. Also a tinge of anticipation. The little bitch had contacted MACUSA after all. "Ask your President, why don't you? I'm afraid I must go collect my friend. It seems Sokolov does, miraculously, have some spine left in her." Her eyes flicked down to Jenkins. "Unfortunately, I did make a promise."

"No, no—he has a family, a wife, two kids!" Dolohov said, eyes widening. He started towards Jessamine, then froze in place.

"We struck a bargain," she said. "The bargain was broken, thus the agreed upon collateral must be collected." Jenkins trembled in her arms.

"Collateral?" Dolohov said in horror. "He's human! He's a good man, a good Auror."

"Kate," Jenkins said frantically. "The children too—tell them I love them, more than anything—please, Rughar, please—promise me—"

"This isn't necessary," Dolohov said. "Just go now, take your friend and go! I'll give you time to disappear—this isn't necessary—"

Jessamine drew her knife across in a smooth, vicious motion. Dolohov's mouth hung open, speechless. "Rest," she said, staring down at Jenkins with an implacable chill. Blood spurted out and stained her clothes, sinking wet and hot into her shirt, pooling out onto the floor beneath. He gasped for air through the blood flooding his mouth. The light in his eyes dimmed slowly, his jaws going slack. He gulped for breath, once more, twice more, and he was gone. A tendril of grim satisfaction unfurled in her belly. "Goodbye, Dolohov. I do hope we never meet again—I rather liked you."

"How could you?" he whispered. Had he not still been bound by the spell, he would have lunged for her by now. Hatred and grief burned to intemperate heights in his eyes, slamming into her, accusing and seething.

Jessamine did not reply. She twisted on her heel, Apparating to Dennis and Sokolov. She appeared only long enough to grasp Dennis by the arm and knock Sokolov out of the way. Long enough for Dennis to take in her bloodied appearance and for his expression to change into horror.

Then they were gone again. A moment later, MACUSA Aurors descended upon the house and found Dolohov cradling Jenkins's lifeless body, apologies spilling from his lips.

—

Redwater, Mississippi

Pink swirled in the sink, running coloured streaks in the water as it drained away. Spatters of red stained the porcelain white, wet and dark. Dennis slept in the next room, mostly unhurt. The Aurors had clearly roughened him up a little while he had been in their custody; a few light bruises that danced over his face and ribs, but nothing serious. The telly was on in the living room, volume lowered to a dull murmur. The rooms were otherwise sparsely furnished, with only the bare minimum of supplies.

Jessamine's clothes lay in a bloody heap on the bathroom floor. Those would need to be disposed of; there was no getting the blood out of them, not even with magic. She stepped into the shower, hissing in frustration when she realised there was not even any soap. "Kreacher," she said with a sigh.

There was a loud crack, and a diminutive, shrivelled creature appeared before her. He looked older and frailer than ever, but he stood upright at her summons. Only to squeak when he caught sight of her. Even half-blind, he saw the layers of dried and glistening blood over her body. "Filthy Mistress is hurt!" he exclaimed.

"I'm fine, Kreacher," she said. "Just a scratch. I need the Mississippi safehouse resupplied, however. Do be careful; MACUSA will be watching."

He narrowed a beady look at her. "Filthy Mistress is not taking care of herself," he declared. "Kreacher is wanting to come with filthy Mistress, but filthy Mistress is saying no! Now, see, filthy Mistress is needing good Kreacher's help."

"Yes, darling," she said exasperatedly. "Filthy Mistress is needing Kreacher's help. Do make sure the kitchen is stocked up as well, won't you? Everything in there is either cereal or expired."

With an appropriately scandalised look, Kreacher gave a series of vigorous nodding. "Kreacher is doing as filthy Mistress says. Kreacher is also making sure this house is spotless, oh yes, he is," he muttered before vanishing again. Jessamine ran through the shower, turning on the hot water until her skin burnt pink from it. When she was done, she dried herself off, pleased to notice that two sets of toothbrushes were now laid out by the sink, which had also been polished back to its porcelain white. The simple pleasure faded quickly as she dressed, however, and by the time she went to Dennis's bedside, her grim mood had returned.

Dennis was pale in the sheets, his bare torso a tapestry of burgeoning bruises. His worst injury was magical exhaustion, and it had taken Jessamine many potions and spells to get him to a stable sleep. His breath laboured in his chest. Blonde hair clung to his sweaty forehead as the fever worked through him. He looked so terribly thin, and Jessamine wondered suddenly if she had been overworking him. She had not paid him much attention in the recent months, and she had not even noticed that he'd lost weight and sleep. "I'm sorry," she said with a sigh, brushing his hair back. Dennis stirred, mumbling incoherently. Then he fell back into his slumber. Jessamine set a monitoring charm around his bed to let her know when he woke, and left the room. She sat herself before the telly, yet though her eyes stared at the images flickering on the screen, her mind was far away.

She needed a new disguise, that was for certain. And she would be more careful this time—it irked her beyond belief that S.H.I.E.L.D and MACUSA had caught onto her within a year. But now that she knew S.H.I.E.L.D was watching, and that they were working with MACUSA, she would be more difficult to find. But where would she go next? She needed to remain in America. That much Death had made obvious. She'd have to steer clear of Stark, though. That one was too smart for his own good. But there were others—she remembered Death had said that Stark was only one of the first to come to the board. Her hands twitched for her deck of tarot cards—they would guide her. Then she remembered that her favourite deck had been among the wreckage of the house. She scowled. It reminded her how much sensitive information they had in the library. And how many of her quite dangerous and one-of-a-kind relics that she'd painstakingly acquired over the years MACUSA were probably studying right now.

Jessamine conjured herself a rare glass of Firewhiskey. "Bloody nightmare," she muttered irritably. She put her thoughts on her next destination on hold. There were still a few loose ends to tie up in L.A. She had letters to write, a sick employee to take care of and possessions to reacquire. Not to mention Pansy to deal with when she caught wind of it and figured out where Jessamine was.

And rats to hunt.

—

Malibu, L.A.

Phil's phone rang at a really inconvenient time. Specifically, while he was being chased down by a ten foot tall metal machine, flinging its arms around with raw force and brutality. He ignored the ringing, and fired several shots in quick succession at the machine's back, but it was no good. He heard Potts shriek over the roar of tearing metal and sizzle of electricity from snapped wires.

"Check on the rest. I'll go after Stane," Phil said to his only remaining agent. He had a sick feeling in his gut that told him it was highly likely at least one of his men were dead. He pushed it aside and compartmentalised. When his phone rang again, he picked it up with a huff. "This had better be important."

"Fury needs you to come to headquarters now." It was Maria Hill on the other line, her voice severe and clipped.

"I'm busy," he said, sprinting after the trail of destruction Stane had left.

"She escaped," Maria said flatly. "They've got three dead and one really pissed off Minister who's demanding to know everything we know about her. You know her best. We need to find out where she is."

Phil arrived outside the building, just in time to see Stark crash into Stane and hear the ring of gunfire screeching against metal. "Shit," he said.

"Yeah."

"No, I meant… Look, Maria, I have a situation going down in Malibu right now. And honestly, I'm not sure if I'm going to be much help. It's going to have to wait."

Maria sighed resignedly. "I can stall. Do you need backup?"

Phil distantly heard the sound of tires screeching, cars honking and a siren of screams. "Yes."

"On it," she said, and hung up. That was something he liked about Maria Hill—she was the most efficient and unruffled person he'd ever known.

"Miss Potts," he said, running up to her. She looked like she was in the midst of hyperventilating. Her phone was grasped so tightly in her hands he was surprised it didn't snap in half, and her eyes were wide with fright and worry. "Miss Potts, please, stay here. You've done great, now I need you to stay here where it's safe."

"Tony and Obadiah are—they're…"

"Just stay here, Miss Potts. I've got backup on the way. We'll handle them."

"Okay," she said faintly. "Okay. Oh my God, there's going to be press. Oh, I need to—I need to call PR. But not now. No. Not now." Then she shook her head. "I'm okay. Oh shit. Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you, Agent Coulson."

"You're okay," Phil echoed soothingly. She nodded again and he flashed her a reassuring smile before jogging off toward the freeway. Stark would have to handle Stane. According to S.H.I.E.L.D's latest information, Stark would be up for it. Phil put himself in charge of evacuating civilians. He calmly directed them off the freeway toward relative safety, occasionally ducking when a car sailed over his head, thrown by Stane.

"Careful now," he said to one screaming woman who had accidentally slipped and snapped the heel of her shoe off. "The roads are wet. Up you go, off the freeway." She picked herself up and sprinted off again, still screaming. Idly Phil wondered what that was like. To look at a scene of chaos and only think of fleeing and not, oh, the paperwork.

"For thirty years I held you up," roared Stane from a distance. Phil paused, inclining his head for a better look. The larger metal suit lifted Stark in his sleek, red-gold armour over his head. Then Stane smashed him into the ground with a resounding boom. Phil winced. "I built this company from nothing!"

Phil reached for his pistol to help, then cursed when he realised his clip was empty.

"And nothing is going to stand in my way," Stane said grandly, and proceeded to fling Stark into a bus, practically denting it into two halves. Phil's radio crackled to life. A tinny voice spoke. "Sir, we've got two units coming in. Where do you want us?"

"One unit to—" He paused, watching as Stane sent a rocket pummeling into the bus and a massive, blinding bloom of heat and fire roared in the air. A moment later, Stark reappeared, his suit scratched singed and worse for wear, but undoubtedly intact and inside, the man was alive and conscious. Phil loosed a small sigh of relief. "One unit to the Stark factory. Secure the area. Get the cleanup crew to my location, and be ready for a big mess."

"Yes, sir."

He looked around. Blazing cars had been flipped over and debris coated in ash lay scattered across the roads. There were people in the distance, taking pictures of the fight. Then Stane and Stark took to the air, shooting up higher and higher.

Phil sighed. The paperwork, he thought mournfully.