#you mean to tell me that scar is standing menacingly in the field

[berrysquared]

Noonwraith / Południca

This one is really me seeing a frame in grains 2nd session of Scar standing in the wheat right after he was killed, waiting for his timer to go down and my slavic brain going brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

(Mini explanation for non slavs: Południca (referred to in English as "Lady Midday", "Noonwraith" or "Noon Witch") is a slavic demon, which appears in the wheat fields during noon time. They usually carry either a scythe or shears. Noonwraiths stop men in the fields and ask them difficult questions, if the person answers them wrong or tries to change the subject, they cut his head off. Very often those demons are young women who died tragically before, during or short after their wedding (also its my favourite slavic demon, love them)

[clerichoard]

even if it's a lie

shen & ahaz (& crew), atla campaign, 2.1k

a  simple moment between two men who decidedly shouldn’t have this at all. and yet.

(ahaz ofc belongs to @darlingicarus​)

“We’ve received an invitation it seems.”

They’re in the safehouse in Republic City when Ahaz holds up the small piece of paper. Bai-lee is instantly on her feet, talking loudly about all the parties she’d attended before- everything. Ahaz seems to be nodding politely along to what she’s yelling about but Shen has tuned it all out. He hears the word party and immediately looks back down at the book he’s reading.

Maya joins the conversation, seemingly excited as well, and Shen grips the cover of his book tightly in his hand. He knows one of them will try to pull him into the conversation. It’s only a matter of time.

When he glances up he meets Ahaz’s eyes. He raises a brow at him and Ahaz motions towards the invitation now in Bai-lee’s hand. Shen promptly gets up from the couch and moves to walk up the stairs.

“Shen! How do you feel about parties!” Bai-lee yells at his back as he ascends. His shoulders pull up towards his ears on instinct but he doesn’t deign to give that question a response.

Suni sits at the top of the stairs, head cocked towards the sound from downstairs. She looks interested and Shen can’t blame her. He’s sure there would be plenty of extravagant food and even more extravagant people to steal from. When Shen was her age a fancy party would have been a field day.

But he’s not her age. And he’s not going to some party. He couldn’t think of anything worse. People...staring. Gawking. Asking him how and when and question after question. And even if it’s not the questions it's the stifling presence of people with imaginable wealth and power. They’ve helped the city enough that they’ve garnered attention for it but Shen wants no part of that.

He’ll retreat to his room and whenever one of them asks again he’ll ignore it until it goes away. It’s worked well enough so far. And if it’s- Ahaz…he’ll think of something. Maybe calling him a murderer again will do the trick since it was so helpful last time.

He groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. Even after everything- after saving Ahaz over and over, sitting in the quiet of the evening sharing Shen’s pipe, lingering eye contact across the camp, fire, table- he doesn’t understand what Ahaz is after. What his possible end game could be by being like that towards Shen. He doesn’t want to think about it, in fact he wants to do the exact opposite.

Quickly, methodically, he pushes the feelings back behind the vault door they somehow escaped from. There they’ll remain to collect dust for the rest of his life if he has any say in it.

Bai-lee asks him outright the next day who he’s excited to see at the party.

“Hope some of my old pro-bending buds are there!” she exclaims through a mouthful of rice. “Got any friends in the city?”

Shen pointedly does not answer and continues to eat his rice slowly with his chopsticks.

“Me, I got lots of ‘em!”

At this point she starts naming off a list of people that Shen tunes out as best he can. It’s hard when a piece of rice from her mouth flies and hits his cheek. Suni snorts a laugh from beside him and he can feel the amused stare of Ahaz burning a hole in his head from the other side of the table.

Bai-lee offers an offhanded apology as he wipes the rice from his cheek carefully.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he mutters as Maya introduces the conversation topic of what they’re going to wear. If he leaves the table with more force than necessary, he doubts anyone notices.

There’s a suit on his bed in his size the next day. He shoves it under the mattress and doesn’t think about it.

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

Ahaz is standing in his doorway. Shen can’t lie to himself, he stares. He stares for a long heavy moment, lingering on the the way the suit clings to the line of his shoulders. Tight enough that is shows the definition of his arms unlike his armor does normally. His hair is down and combed and Shen has had enough within the five seconds he spends openly staring at him.

“I’m not going,” he manages finally. He clears his throat and goes back to writing his notes. “Enjoy the party.”

But Ahaz doesn’t move from the doorway. He can feel his eyes on him again. Like a pinprick in the back of his neck, like the edge of a knife pressed there, like he’s teetering on the start of something. It makes him feel unbalanced. He longs for a time when Ahaz’s stare made him feel an impenetrable anger beneath his skin.

“What,” Shen starts, shoulders tensing underneath his gaze. “Do you want?”

Ahaz takes a sharp breath. Shen’s sure he meant for it to be quiet but it echoes loudly in the room like a warning bell.

“Would be a pity for that suit to go to waste,” Ahaz says.

For some reason it doesn’t surprise him that Ahaz knew about the suit. He probably orchestrated it.

“I’m sure it has good resale value,” Shen mutters. He won’t look over at him. He won’t.

Ahaz is still lingering in the doorframe and Shen is having more and more trouble pretending he’s not still there. For a moment he thinks that this will turn into another one of their fights, throwing sharp quiet words back and forth and biting his tongue against worse ones. Feeling the hot anger rise in him like mercury.

Instead, Ahaz says, “If you’re sure,” and leaves the doorway.

It’s been different for a while now. Less fighting. Less war torn words squirming their way up from a place he wished they’d stay buried. Replacing them might be something much worse.

He gets up to close the door to his room. He leans his back against it and allows himself to listen in on the conversation behind it.

“...Shen’s not coming?” he hears Maya ask as she passes the door.

“He’s come down with something, unfortunately. You’ll have to bear my presence for the evening,” Ahaz replies smoothly. The implications that she wouldn’t have to if Shen were there are loud and clear. Maya laughs and their footsteps trail away down the stairs.

Once they’ve left, Shen opens the door and stares into the empty hallway. Something in him regrets not going but he won’t dwell on it for long. He has notes to write.

He paces. He paces the living room with the radio accompanying his footsteps. He bends himself tea, not used to having to actually heat it on his own anymore, tries his best to pay attention to his notes on healing waterbending forms. But all he can think about is how late it’s getting. The clock seems to stare down at him menacingly from above the hall table.

He’s too young to be waiting for someone to come home, staring at a clock and worrying like a mother hen. But he’s too old for the flickering flame in his chest that tells him that there’s someone else, someone to be occupied with, someone who will look back.

There’s only so many times he can pull away before someone will move on, turn their back to the scarred mess of a man before them.

Hypothetically. Because there’s nothing there, there’s no flame, no hope. No feelings trapped behind a six foot thick metal door. And Ahaz is no metalbender- there’s no way he’s getting in there.

It’s well past one when the four of them enter the safehouse in a sudden heap. Maya and Bai-lee have tripped over each other upon entry and erupted into drunken laughter. Suni steps over them but even her cheeks are rosy and there’s a small curling smile on her face. Ahaz looks on from behind them with a fondness Shen is sure isn’t of sober mind.

“Shen!” Bai-lee shouts when she sees him. “I hope you’re feeling better!”

He nods in answer as she becomes distracted in helping Maya upstairs. Maya seems to have nodded off in the time it takes for them to be even halfway up. Shen turns his attention back to his now cold tea on the table.

“You missed quite an evening,” Ahaz says. His voice is a little hoarse from overuse Shen’s sure. He probably spent the night charming everyone within a twenty meter vicinity at all times.

“I’m sure.” Shen doesn’t feel like having this conversation now. He’s had hours to stew in his thoughts and he’s had enough. He needs a smoke and to sleep within the next five minutes.

“I had to babysit Bai-lee and Suni the whole night,” Ahaz continues as he walks closer to where Shen is sitting.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to keep them on a leash,” Shen replies sarcastically.

“Really, you should be.” Ahaz is standing in front of him now as Shen moves to stand from the table. His hair is mussed and there’s a red stain on his suit that worries Shen for a moment. Ahaz must catch his eye because he laughs and wipes at the stain uselessly with his hand. “It’s wine, darling, don’t look at me like that.”

Shen looks away to hide whatever expression was on his face. He’d been worried it was Ahaz’s blood- and that scares him more than it being someone else’s would.

“As I was saying, you owe me,” Ahaz says with the confidence of someone who’s had a few drinks at least. “A dance for my troubles.”

He moves away then, Shen letting loose the breath that caught somewhere between his pride and his willpower, and turns on the radio. He finds a slow tune and turns back to Shen with his arm outstretched.

“Do I look like I dance,” Shen says quickly and firmly. Before- he had loved it. Had joined his friends in jazz bars and danced for hours until his feet were blistered. But this- this is is after and he hasn’t danced in two years. He won’t now.

Ahaz raises a slow eyebrow, aided by the slight intoxication he’s sure, and says, “Do I look like I care?”

And really, he doesn’t. He’s staring at him like he always does. That...look Shen can never decipher. He knows objectively what it means but there’s no way it means that when it’s aimed at him.

Maybe that’s what spurs him to step closer to that outstretched hand. He doesn’t understand Ahaz no matter what look he’s giving him. But there’s a deep longing in him that seems to want to know the answer.  

He extends his hand and Ahaz takes it gently in his own, pulling him towards his chest.

Shen stares up at him for a moment when his hand snakes around Shen’s waist ever-so-carefully. He hums quietly to the slow tune, looking over Shen’s head casually like Shen can’t feel the rabbit of his pulse underneath his fingertips.

He smells like smoke and wine and the deepest part of a campfire. His hand fits perfectly into Shen’s like two puzzle pieces accidentally clicking into place.

Shen hates the way Ahaz sways them back and forth in the dim light of the room, hates that he can sense the romance of it all, hates that tomorrow Shen won’t be able to look at him. But he’ll have this. He’ll have this memory playing like a moving picture on the back of his eyelids whenever he distinctly tries not to think about it.

The song has faded to the back of his mind and he thinks stupid, poetic, idiotic thoughts about it all. About Ahaz. About this simple moment between two men who decidedly shouldn’t have this at all. And yet.

At some point Ahaz’s hand has tightened around his waist and Shen is almost pressed against his chest. At some point Ahaz stopped avoiding looking at Shen. His eyes linger where they shouldn’t and Shen feels his own do the same.

They’ve stopped swaying gently to the music. Ahaz is holding his hand and his eyes flick back down to-

The voice on the radio interrupts them, exclaiming something about the tune they’d just played but Shen isn’t hearing it through the ocean of thoughts that flood his mind.

“I-” Ahaz starts but it’s too late. Shen drops his hand, steps away from the arm around his waist, places his stoic mask back where it belongs.

“Goodnight,” he says quietly as he turns his back on Ahaz.

He doesn’t hear anything in return as he ascends the steps, shedding emotions as he goes.

[jd-rush]

Chuck help me--I committed fanfic: Tony Stark meets the Guardians of the Galaxy.

TITLE: Units From Heaven* AUTHOR:  J.D. Rush FANDOM:  MARVEL, MCU--Iron Man and Guardians of the Galaxy PAIRING:  Tony Stark/Peter Quill kinda RATING:  R for excessive f-bombs and sexual innuendo  (I mean, it IS Tony Stark after all) SPOILERS:  a couple of minor ones for “Guardians of the Galaxy 2”, nothing too damaging SUMMARY:  The Guardians arrive on Earth with a dire warning.  Perhaps someone should have warned them about Anthony Edward Stark.  Takes place approximately three years after “Captain America:  Civil War”, and the Avengers are still estranged.  (I guess that's the nicest word for it.) DISCLAIMER:  Characters belong to MARVEL and Disney and anyone else who could sue me.  I also stole borrowed a couple of lines from “The Avengers”.  I’ll return them when I’m done with them. AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Humour, it's what I do.  This turned out more cracky than I expected, and while I poke fun at Tony, it's done with deep love.  Also, I don't know how long it takes Groot’s species to age or how the aging process works in space; for the sake of argument, let's say he's now the equivalent of early 20's, ‘kay? SECOND AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Many thanks to my lovely friend, Michele, for giving me the encouragement to write this, even though it meant putting up with my current Iron Man obsession and my crippling writer's block.  The XF joke is just for you, sweetie.

Italics mean inner thoughts

“Boss, an unidentified flying object has landed in the south corner of the Compound.”

“Unidentified?  As in. . .”

“As in a space ship, Boss.  It just appeared and. . .”

Tony Stark didn’t wait to hear the rest of what FRIDAY had to say.  With a flick of his wrist, his armor formed around him; in the blink of an eye, he was suited up and flying out to meet his ultimate nightmare.  He had been preparing for this moment for years, and he was ready.  Whatever came out of that ship was going to regret even thinking about coming to Earth, let alone being stupid enough to actually do it.

Tony landed about ten feet from the brightly coloured alien craft, the mid-day sun reflecting off its vivid blue and orange hull.  He barely had a moment to be thankful that he had stuck to classic hot-rod red and gold for his suit when he noticed a side door begin to lower and a shadow crossed the opened hatch.  Bracing his hands in front of him, Tony powered up his repulsors.  

Okay, Stark, here we go.  Showtime.  Shoot first, ask questions later.  Bring it on, you space motherfuckers.  You are going DOWN!

The invader appeared.  It was a large grey bald male humanoid; shirtless, his bare torso was covered in intricate scarlet scars.  He wandered slowly out of the ship, his red-rimmed ice blue eyes looking around in wonder, a big smile on his pudgy face.

“What the fuck?” Tony muttered under his breath.

The first visitor was followed by another male humanoid who was wearing some kind of metal mask with red-disk eye lenses which rendered his face completely unreadable and reminded Tony a bit too much of that putz, Ant-Man.  He was decked out in a long brown leather duster, two high-tech guns strapped to his waist like a genuine space cowboy.

“No, what the actual fuck?” Tony asked again.

At that point, two shapely female aliens made their way down the ship's ramp--one was a stunning brunette with green skin, the other was pretty with pale skin, big dark eyes and two tiny stalks protruding from her head.  Tony gave them the once-over and nodded.

“Okay, hot chicks.  Good.  I can work with that, even the antenna.  But I still gotta ask. . . What.  The.  Fuck?”

He didn't get an answer.  Instead he got a fifth alien, and this one was definitely not humanoid.  In fact, it looked like a raccoon, walking on its hind legs, and wearing a uniform that contained more weaponry than Black Widow on a normal Thursday morning.  Tony tried to remember if he had gotten drunk last night so he could explain all this away as nothing more than a severe hangover.

“What in the name of fuckitude is going on here?” Tony groused.  “I seriously don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit, and I get paid a fuck-ton, thank you very much.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when a tall tree-like creature lumbered out of the ship and walked over to stand with the others.  With a disbelieving headshake, Tony threw up his hands in defeat.  “You know what?  I’m out of fucks.  Seriously, there are not enough fucks in my data bank for this.  I surrender.  Take me to your leader.  What the fuck ever.”

“I am Groot,” the tree-creature rumbled, its arms--or rather limbs--stretched out wide in greeting.

“Yeah, right, you come in peace,” Tony snorted with a sarcastic laugh.  “I’ve seen that movie, pal.  Not buying what you're selling.”

“I am Groot,” the creature repeated, the tone of the words slightly different from the first time.

Hearing that, Tony lowered his hands.  Retracting his helmet, he glanced over his left shoulder towards the cluster of trees at the edge of the field.  “Yeah, I suppose she’s sexy.  For a tree.  I don’t know.  Elms never did it for me.  Give me a Northern Red Oak anytime.  Nothing like a redhead, right?”

“I am Groot?” the creature asked, curiously.

“Nah, none around here," Tony answered.  "Sorry, bud.  Get it?  I called you ‘bud’, because you're a tree and you sprout buds.  Or maybe you don't, seeing as you're an alien tree.  Maybe you sprout, I don't know, starfish or cupcakes or something weird like that.  Although a cupcake sprouting tree would be pretty fucking fantastic, now that I think about it.”

“I am Groot!”  Now the creature sounded miffed.

“Hey, not my fault for once,” Tony fired back.  “I wanted to plant some, but Bruce wouldn't have it.  He’s a big Earth Day kind of guy.  ‘You can’t bring in non-native plants, Tony.’  ‘They mess with the ecosystem, Tony.’  ‘I told you to buy organic, water-based lube, Tony.’  Do you know how hard it is to find that in Key Lime Pie flavour?  I mean, don’t get me wrong.  He’s a total honeybun.  Well, when he’s not turning into a big green rage monster.”  He gestured over at the green female alien.  “I can hook you up with him.  You two would make a good looking couple.”

“Wait a minute!” Cos-play Ant-Man cut in, obviously flustered.  Pointing at the tree creature, he asked, “You understand him?”   “Well, yeah,” Tony replied, “he’s a great conversationalist.  Much more eloquent than our current (sarcastic air quotes) ‘president’, I can tell you that for free.”

“I am Groot.”

Tony let out a loud belly laugh.  “You got that right!  I‘ve done business with that douche canoe.  *I* sure as hell didn't vote for him.”

The cowboy stepped forward and demanded, “HOW can you understand him?  I've been traveling with him for YEARS and I still don't get it!”

With a shrug of his armor-covered shoulders, Tony remarked, “Compared to Dum-E, he’s practically Oscar Wilde.”

Retracting his own helmet, Definitely Not Ant-Man said, “I have no idea who that is.  And what is a Dum-E?”

Tony was momentarily knocked breathless by the handsome green-eyed, artfully-bearded face that the helmet revealed.  “Whoa!  Wow!  Was not expecting that!  FRIDAY, take a note--the chicks aren’t the only hot aliens on that ship.”

“If you call me a chick once more, I'll pull your spleen out through your nose and make you eat it," the green chick, ahhh, female humanoid snarled.

“No offense intended," Tony quickly apologized.  “Seriously, I meant it strictly as a compliment.  You’re total babes.  Plus, I sort of don’t know your names.”

The green alien chick, ahhh, babe, ahhh, lady tilted her head and narrowed her eyes menacingly, causing Tony to take a step back in case his spleen was still in danger. (He wasn’t entirely sure what a spleen was but he certainly didn't want to eat one, especially his own).  After a moment, she conceded, “Okay, I'll let it slide.  For now.”

“She's getting soft,” the furry raccoon-like being chuckled.

She turned her glare on the critter, for which Tony was thankful.  “I’ll show you soft,” she hissed.

“I’ve seen her soft and it’s not half bad,” Hunky Not-Ant Man smirked, and Tony fell just a little bit in love with him.

Green girl took a deep breath, released it slowly, and started again. “I’m Gamora.  And this,” motioning to the bug alien, “is Mantis.”

Mantis smiled, making her already pretty face glow.  “Hello, you have a beautiful world,” she said, her voice soft and soothing.  “I look forward to seeing more.”

“So do I,” Tony replied, suavely, throwing in a wink for good measure.

“Don’t tell me--you flirt with everyone, don‘t you?” Gamora asked.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Tony admitted with a smug grin

Shaking her head in dismay, Gamora muttered, “Great.  Another one.  What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“You were an intergalactic assassin who killed many people and destroyed untold lives,” the big bald alien stated matter-of-factly.

“Yes, right I did do that,” Gamora admitted between gritted teeth.  “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You are welcome,” the big bald alien said, totally without sarcasm or irony. “However, I do not understand how you could forget something like that.”

Gamora clenched her fists tightly and took another deep breath.  The calming techniques Mantis had taught her usually worked when she was ready to kill her crewmates, though not always as the hole she had recently punched in the galley’s door would testify.  Pointing to the big bald paisley-printed alien she continued, “That’s Drax and the ‘other hot alien’ as you so obnoxiously put it, is our captain, Peter Quill.”

“I am Groot,” the tree announced proudly.

"You've already met Groot," Gamora commented dryly, “and last but not least. . .”

“I'm Rocket,” the furry animal creature cut in.  Looking up at Gamora, he snarked, “Sorry, sweets, but I was growing old waiting for you to get to me.  We’re The Guardians of the Galaxy. It’s what we call ourselves.  Sort of like a team.  ‘The Universe’s Mightiest Heroes’ type thing.”

“That’s my line,” Tony grumbled under his breath.

“Actually, they call me Star-Lord,” Quill corrected as he stepped forward, hand extended, pointedly ignoring Gamora’s eye roll.

“And you can call me anytime,” Tony crooned in his best seductive voice, which was pretty damn good.  His right gauntlet folded back upon itself effortlessly and he grasped Quill’s warm hand, shaking it a bit longer than necessary.  Quill blushed slightly, which made Tony grin.  'I still got it', he thought cheerfully.

“We know who you are, Anthony Stark,” Gamora said, interrupting the magical moment.

“It's why we chose this spot to land,” Mantis added with a nod of her head which made her antennae bounce gently.  

Tony stop shaking Quill's hand (much to the man’s disappointment) and regarded the two females suspiciously.  “You know me?  How?  ‘Cause if it was those damn YouTube videos again, I swear I’m just gonna buy that fucking company and burn it to the ground.  I don't care what my lawyers say.”

“Ain’t you Iron Man, the guy that blew up the Chitauri army?” Rocket asked, waving at Tony's armor.  “I mean, ‘cause your outfit is kind of a dead give-away.  Great suit, by the way.  Nice and shiny.”

“Thanks, I polished it today.  You wouldn't believe the amount of Turtle Wax I go through in a week, and that's not including the extra-curricular activities.  And yeah, I nuked some alien space ships, but in my defense, they were sort of destroying Manhattan at the time, so they definitely deserved it.”

“Your name is known throughout the cosmos,” Mantis informed him, respect and awe in her voice.

“They sing songs of you and your legendary deeds!” Drax boomed, excitedly.

Tony pondered that for a moment before saying, “Well, I suppose that weekend party at Hef's in ‘05 would qualify me as a ’legend’ but that doesn’t explain how YOU know who I am.”

“I am Groot.”

At that, Tony eyed the group skeptically, then shook his head.  “Bullshit.  You're pulling my leg.”

“That is impossible,” Drax declared emphatically.  “We are standing too far away to even touch you let alone pull your leg.”  Off to the side, Quill did a dramatic face-palm.

Tony continued to study the individuals in front of him, searching for any sign that they were joking but it was obvious they were serious.  He laughed uneasily.  “No, ah. . .see, I think you’re mistaken.  I’m not even a hero on this planet, let alone across the universe.  You can ask anyone.  I mean, Rogers probably has a entire notebook filled with my faults.  And I’m pretty sure S.H.I.E.L.D. had to start a second file cabinet.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Stark,” Quill said.  “You actions saved many worlds from invasion.  Billions of beings, trillions maybe, owe their lives to you.  You are indeed a hero, and it is an honour to finally meet you.”

For once in his life, Anthony Edward Stark was truly speechless.  He just stared at the six beings in front of him as he tried to process what they were saying.  He couldn't remember the last time he had been told he did something good, never mind getting any praise for it.  “I, ah. . .wow.  Okay. Thanks,” he finally stammered.  “That’s, um, good to know, I guess.  It still doesn’t quite explain why you’re here, though.  I mean, you could have just sent me a cookie bouquet or something.”

“We're here because of Thanos,” Gamora stated simply.  

“Say who?” Tony shot back.

“He’s Gamora's father,” Mantis answered.

“Adoptive father,” Gamora corrected. “Intergalactic terrorist, genocidal maniac, menace to all life forms. . .“

“Big time dickbag,“ Rocket added, disdainfully.  

“Yeah, that, too,” Gamora agreed.  “He wants to rule the universe and impose his will on every living creature in it.  And Terra is first on his list.”

Tony huffed.  “I‘m guessing we‘re ‘Terra‘?” At Gamora‘s nod, he whinged, “Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch.  What did we do to piss him off?”

“Besides blow up his army?” Rocket retorted.

“You ever hear of the Infinity Gauntlet?”  Quill asked.

“Opening band for Black Sabbath?” Tony guessed.

Gamora just grimaced.  “Why am I destined to be surrounded by the biggest idiots in the galaxy?”

Quill quickly began talking fast before Gamora's sword made an appearance.  “Best as I can explain it, there’s this glove, and it holds these six stones. . .”

“Infinity Stones,” Rocket supplied.

“Right, Infinity Stones,” Quill continued. “They’re really old and super powerful and whoever has the glove and those stones can rule the universe.  Thanos already has four, so once he gets the final two. . .”

“The Mind Stone and the Time Stone,” Tony interrupted.

Mantis's already big eyes grew bigger in surprise.  “How do you know about those?” she asked breathlessly.

“Oh, that's easy,” Tony said.  "I've got them."

"WHAT?!??!" the Guardians all exclaimed, well, all except Groot, who exclaimed, “I AM GROOT!”

“Not ME personally," Tony clarified.  “My friend, Stephen Strange, has one of them.  Well, I SAY friend.  Sorry.  Bad ‘Sherlock’ joke.  Had to do it.  Anyway, it’s encased in this pendant called the Eye of Amaretto or something like that.  Tacky ass thing, but major league hoodoo I can tell you that.  We got drunk once and he used it to turn me back into a virgin so he and Rhodey could. . .”

“And the other stone?” Gamora prompted, not wanting to know where that story was going.

“Yeah, the Mind Stone.”  Tony chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  “Well, it's currently embedded in the head of my accidental mystical android son.”

Gamora rubbed her eyes tiredly and groaned, “I really don't even want to know.”  Tony got the feeling that was her default reaction to most things.  “The point is, we have to get to them before he does or else. . .”

Quill mouthed ‘Ka-Boom’ while miming an explosion with his hands.

Tony mulled their words over before confirming, “So you're telling me that we’re going to be invaded by space aliens again.  Extra-terrestrial armies, space ships, powerful super-beings, advanced weapons, all that shit, right?”

“Exactly,” Quill replied.  “That’s why we journeyed across the galaxy.  To warn you and maybe help Terra prepare for. . .”

But he didn‘t get to finish what he was saying as Tony let out a sudden, excited shout, “That is fucking AWESOME!”

Everyone just stared at Tony in confused silence until Drax asked, cautiously, “It is?”

“Fucking A+ it is!”   Glancing upwards, Tony screamed to the sky, “You hear that, Rogers!  I was right, you sanctimonious twatwaffle!  You and Barton can both eat me!”

Rocket snorted.  "Twatwaffle.  I like that.  I'm stealing it."

"What else is new?" Gamora scoffed.

“Um. . .” Quill started, but Tony just talked right over him.  “For years I tried to tell them.  I kept saying, ‘The aliens are coming back‘.  ‘They’re gonna kick our asses‘.  ‘They’ll make New York look like a day at Disneyland’, but would they listen to me?  Oh no.  They were all like ‘You’re crazy, Tony.’  ‘You’re drunk, Tony‘.  ‘You’re being paranoid, Tony.’  ‘You’re talking out of your ass, Tony.’  Well, suck my hairy balls, you assclowns, because I fucking NAILED IT!”  He ended his victory speech with a couple of fist pumps and a happy ‘robot dance’, including some moon walking which looked rather graceful even in the armor, proving it probably wasn't the first time he had done it.

Quill gave a long, low whistle of approval.  “Sick moves, bro!”

“Like 'em?” Tony said with a saucy smirk.  “Had a private session with Beyonce once.  And then we did some actual dancing.”

Mantis leaned towards Gamora and asked uneasily, “Are we sure this is the man who will save the universe?”

Gamora stepped forward, determined to reason with this obviously eccentric (though desperately needed) man and get their mission back on track.  “Mr. Stark, if you would just. . .”

Tony held up his hand to silence her.  “No, no, sweetheart.  Wait a minute.  Let me enjoy this for a few seconds.  I’ve earned it.  And please, it’s Tony.”

“I like this guy,” Rocket announced, hands--or rather, paws--on his tiny hips.

“As I was saying, TONY,” Gamora continued, undaunted, “super villain on the way, imminent interplanetary war, millions of planets at stake, not much time.  Need a plan.  Is there some place we can talk?”

“Yeah, sure, you can all stay up at the Compound,” Tony replied, breezily.  “We’ve got plenty of room.  Most of the team is out on a mission right now.  I only stayed behind because I promised Parker I’d help him with his senior class science project.  Not that he really needs it—the kid’s a goddamn genius but he seems to like my input for some reason.  I think he does it for the hugs and the Double Stuf Oreos.  And Strange is mixing it up in the multi-verse somewhere.  He’s gonna be so stoked to meet you, Star-Lord.  All the awesome facial hair bros!”

Quill's smile was almost blinding.  “You called me Star-Lord!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Tony commented.  “It’s much cooler than ‘Peter’, and cool’s the rule right?  Hey, I just thought of something--I've got TWO Peters now!  I really should make some kind of pervy sex pun about that.”

“Please don’t,” Gamora muttered.  “It’s really not necessary.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Tony grinned.  “Man, I can't wait until Rhodey gets a load of you guys.  He's gonna lose his shit!”

“Isn’t that what you want to do with sh--” Drax began but Gamora quickly cut him off before he could finish.  “And our ship?”

“Don’t worry about your ship--it’ll be totally safe.  Eject!”  With that, the Iron Man suit opened and Tony stepped out, dressed in the tight black jeans and even tighter black tank top he was wearing when FRIDAY had sounded the alarm.

“GUH!” Quill gasped as Tony Stark was fully revealed for the first time, noting that he DEFINITELY put that smoking hot Rajak girl to shame.

Tony preened a bit.  ’Oh yeah, definitely still got it’, he thought, but instead he patted the suit‘s shoulder and said, “52 here will watch over it for you.  He'll like that.  Will make him feel useful.  Sentry mode.”  At the command, the suit closed back up and raised its arms to chest level, repulsors at the ready.

“Fucking cool,” Rocket stated, clearly impressed.

Tony preened some more.  He liked it when people geeked out with him over his tech--even when those people were walking, talking raccoon-like things.  “I know, right?  You should see the awesome shit I’ve got in development.  I’ll give you a tour of my lab later.  You’ll love it.  Your whiskers may never stop twitching.”  

“That might not be a great idea,” Quill warned, recognizing the scheming twinkle in Rocket’s eye.  

“Nah, it’s a great idea.  I always have great ideas.”  Slinging an arm around Quill’s shoulders, Tony started leading him towards the Compound.   “For instance, there was this one time that me and Reed Richards--great guy, maybe you‘ll get to meet him if Disney ever gets the rights back from FOX--anyway, we had this idea to. . . oh wow, is that an actual Zune?  Cool.  Haven't seen one of those in years.  Retro-tech.  You'll get along great with Parker.  That’s my other Peter by the way.  Still haven’t thought of a good sex pun yet.  Seriously, you should see what that kid can do with a Nintendo Game boy, a roll of copper wire, and a box of Legos.  Here,” digging into the back pocket of his jeans, Tony slapped a cellphone into Quill’s hand. “Starkphone 8.0  Latest model.  Not even on the market yet."

“Why would I need a phone in outer space?” Quill asked, puzzled.

“It holds 50,000 songs, not including the entire AC/DC song library, which comes pre-loaded,” Tony explained.  “Cost me a fortune for the copyrights, but totally worth it.  Can you believe there are people out there that don't know the words to 'Highway to Hell'?  I mean, what's wrong with this world?  Maybe I should let Thermos have it after all.”

“Thanos,” Rocket corrected.

Tony waved his hand dismissively.  “Him, too.”

Gamora shook her head and admonished, “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Funny things are,” Tony shot back automatically.  “Whoa, déjà vu!”

“Did you say FIFTY thou--?”  Quill couldn’t even find the words he was so overwhelmed.  Throwing his arms around Tony, he gave the man a huge bear hug.  “I love you, bro.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” Tony laughed, patting Quill on the back.  “Would this be a good time to tell you I fully intend to go old school Captain Kirk on you later?  Explore the final frontier, if you get my drift.”

“Just so you know, I don‘t put out just for a phone, even one as awesome as this,” Quill bantered back, caressing said phone as if it were the greatest treasure in the universe.  “You also have to buy me dinner.”

Tony squeezed Quill‘s shoulder and grinned widely.  “Oh absolutely, Star-Lord.  I know how to properly woo a guy.  Way to a man’s heart, all that jazz.  Hey, do you like shawarma?  I know this great place.  They deliver.  Well, they’ll deliver for me.  They’re back in the city so it’ll take a couple of hours but I guarantee it’s the best food you folks have ever eaten.”  Calling over his shoulder to the other Guardians, he asked, “Anyone else in?”

“I should like to try it,” Mantis said with an excited smile, hurrying to catch up with Tony and Quill.  “I like experiencing new things.”

“There are so many ways I could respond to that, but most of them will get me slapped,” Tony quipped.

“Or worse,” Quill said.  Leaning close to Tony’s ear, he whispered, “Drax kinda has a crush on her, and his nickname is ‘The Destroyer’.”

“Say no more,” Tony whispered back, happy for the warning, though truthfully he only had eyes for Captain Hottie anyway.  To Mantis he said, “Just follow me, my dear lady.  I’ve got a whole world of new things to show you.”  To the others, he gestured grandly towards the Compound,  “C’mon Treebeard.  You too, Crash Bandicoot.  Right this way.”

“I am Groot?”

Tony stopped, turned around, and dramatically clutched at his chest in horror.  “Are you kidding me?  You don't know who Treebeard is?  Fuck me sideways.”

“Do-able” Quill mumbled.

“That’s it, we're definitely watching 'Lord of the Rings' tonight.  The Director's Cut.  You’ll love it.  Oh, and don’t even think about stealing the suit, Meeko,” Tony warned, seeing Rocket making a move towards the Iron Man armor.  “First off, it’s coded just to me, myself, and I, and it’ll turn you into a smoking grease spot faster than you can say ’boy, that was a dumb fucking thing to do.’ And second, it wouldn’t fit you anyway. No sweat.  I can build you one.  I’ve got some odds and ends hanging around the workshop.  Should only take me a day or two.”  He motioned to the last two Guardians.  “You joining us, Green Bean?  Conundrum?  Shawarma for everyone!”

Drax followed along after the others, musing aloud, “How is it possible that he can talk out of his ass?  They did not mention that in any of the tales.  Indeed, he is a hero worthy of song!”

“Fuck my life,” Gamora muttered as she trudged after her team, knowing the hole in the galley door was going to have a new friend very soon.  

THE END *Title is a play on the phrase, "Pennies from Heaven", ie. unexpected good fortune, and as GotG use 'units' instead of money, well, there you go.

[writersstareoutwindows]

Operation: Albion

That incessant yelling in the background is me, I hate this story, I started writing just the first scene because it seemed badass and then I kept going?? It’s been a month??

I took the plot for Rocket’s Red Glare and mangled it to fit my purposes (i.e. made it better). Knock Knock isn’t my Sole Survivor; I based her on the NPC from Little Lamplight. In my story she and her brother join the Brotherhood at sixteen and travel to the Commonwealth aboard the Prydwen. Knock Knock is sent to find Danse’s missing team, and they slowly become friends. At this point in the story, she’s escaped the Brotherhood with Danse after Blind Betrayal, and the two of them have joined the Railroad.

It features my own headcanons (which I adopted from youtube videos) about what happened to Sarah Lyons. It also mentions my Lone Wanderer, Teagan Macleary, because I love her.

“Rhys, I just need the vertibird. Rhys, come on. Stand down, it's me.”

Rhys, standing on the steps outside the Cambridge police station, was pointing a rifle at Knock Knock’s heart. Despite her reticence, Knock Knock held her own steady. She stood alone in the courtyard, surrounded by armed and armored soldiers who called her traitor. She could not afford to waver.

“Knock Knock.”

Her eyes moved to the figure in the doorway. Her aim stayed true.

Haylen was there, glaring at her. “I slaved to keep that man alive. If you kill him, I'm returning the favor.”

“I just need the vertibird, Haylen. I need to reach the Prydwen.”

Haylen stepped slowly down the stairs, hands out as if calming a wild dog. “Your brother’s on that ship. So is Curie. Your friends.”

Knock Knock’s grip on her rifle shifted uneasily. Rhys seized the moment to dart towards her. Panicked, she whipped the rifle against his face. He swore, stumbled, lunged.

“Rhys!”

He slunk back at Haylen’s call. Knock Knock cringed when she saw his split lip.

“Go to hell,” he spat, and blood came with it. “Traitor.”

“I'm just--I'm just--”

But she realized that the moment she'd swung at him, the other knights had surged into a tight knot around her. She heard a whimper and turned. A soldier she knew by face held Tom around the neck.

Knock Knock lowered her rifle.

“Sorry,” Tom managed. He was supposed to stay hidden until she got inside the station.

The soldier rapped him with a pistol. “Shut up.”

Knock Knock turned to Haylen. How had this gone so wrong? “This is on me. Don't--don't--this is me.”

“What are you doing here, Light?”

Haylen had reached the bottom of the stairs. She made Rhys look at her, seemed to judge him unharmed.

“I need the vertibird.”

“You might have tried asking nicely.”

Knock Knock looked at her feet, thought better of it, and turned her eyes on the laser weapons pointed her way.

“Who's your friend, Light?”

“He's good with tech. To get it in the air for me.”

“Who is he?”

“What do you want from me, Haylen?” Desperation bent her forward at the waist. “I listened to Danse, like you asked me to. Isn't this what you wanted?”

“I'm scared of what you want. How many bombs does your friend have with him?”

“I'm under orders, Haylen. Same as you.”

Knock Knock bent at the knees, halfway to pleading. Haylen looked at Rhys, then tossed her head at Knock Knock. Before she could protest, he removed the rifle from her hands. She reached for it, but withdrew when Tom cried out.

“Don't--don't hurt him. This is on me. Please.”

Haylen took the gun from Rhys with a sigh. “I'm a field scribe.” She twisted it, and several energy cells fell into her hand. “I don't hurt people.”

She tucked the gun and its ammunition into her pack. Then, with a toss of her head, she ordered her knights, “All right, stand down. No firefight today.”

The soldier behind Knock Knock shoved Tom to his knees and leveled a pistol at his head. “You're not in charge here, Haylen.”

Even as Knock Knock prepared to fight, there came a whirring, clanking, booming at her side--the sound of heavy metal footfalls.

“She's not,” Danse said. “I am.”

He had reclaimed a full suit of power armor and stood every inch a soldier. Knock Knock found that she was drawing herself up beside him. He looked as he had when she first met him here. Gone was the fear and anxiety; a commander remained. Scarred and lined, but alive.

She heard Haylen release the same hitched breath as her. The soldier, pale at the sight of Danse, flooded his face with disgust.

“Synth!” he yelled. The pistol moved from Tom to Danse.

“Paladin,” Danse said firmly. “I outrank you.”

The soldier lifted his chin defiantly, but Haylen marched forward and snatched away his pistol. He didn't fight. As she ushered Danse and Knock Knock toward the police station, he spoke.

“Institute trash! Maxson’s gonna fuckin’ kill you--”

Tom’s fist cracked his nose. He sputtered and stumbled as Tom shook out his hand.

“Ow--ouch!” He shoved back the protesting soldier. “How do you do that so much without breaking your hand?”

He looked to Knock Knock, who burst out laughing.

“Practice,” she replied.

Tom looked at his scraped fist, shrugged, and punched him again.

Knock Knock could not help her laughter, but as Tom joined them and they headed inside, her anxiety remained. Danse creaked menacingly in his armor and Haylen walked with purpose, but they left a restless group behind. How had this gone so wrong? Knock Knock reflected again, thinking now of the whole scope of her stumble in the dark since she'd knocked Maxson cold and vanished into the night with Danse.

Without pausing, Haylen went to the terminal behind the front desk.

“You don't need bombs to take down an army--I know that's what you've got, don't look like that.” She glanced at Tom, but didn't wait for a response. Navigating the terminal, she continued, “You don't even need to bring it down. Just tell the truth.”

Haylen loaded a holotape. Knock Knock approached, looking over her shoulder, but could make no sense of the data.

“What truth?”

“They've never built armies on honesty,” she sighed. “We all should have known better.”

“Haylen,” said Danse. “What aren't you telling us?”

She took out the holotape and handed it to Knock Knock. “It's something you need to read for yourself. I can't access it here, but put that in a Prydwen terminal and it'll run a program that digs it up. It's buried deep.”

“What did you find?” Knock Knock asked. Her chest felt tight.

“Something that could do a lot of damage.” She released a long breath and scrubbed her eyes. “It already has. Get it off the Prydwen and you have your new weapon. Come on, let's get your bird.”

When they reached the roof, and the vertibird landed there, Tom got into a fight with the grounding locks. Knock Knock shaded her eyes from the sun while he worked. Rhys had followed them and now stood guard at the door, watching Danse closely as he and Haylen talked. Knock Knock thought she could feel his glare occasionally burn the back of her own head.

He was turning far more hatred on her than on Danse. He had been Rhys’s commanding officer, and Rhys probably still had some respect for him that he did not have for Knock Knock. But that didn't explain away the guilt that constricted her chest every time she felt his glare.

They had not gotten along when Knock Knock first arrived at the police station. To be honest, Danse hadn't been thrilled either: her loyalty was unquestionable, but she had never shaken the reputation for her fistfight in the Citadel courtyard when a knight had insulted the late Owyn Lyons. Danse had more than come around, but Rhys….Knock Knock looked over her shoulder and saw his head swivel away from her. She knew he considered the Brotherhood family, just as much as she had.

Traitor. He'd said it with such vehemence. She pushed her hand against her sternum, trying in vain to shift that tight feeling. She and Rhys had worked together. While he did not like her, he had come to trust her. Then she had disappeared with Danse, only to turn up at the  station weeks later, having proved his old distrust right.

Yet he did not turn that same hatred on Danse as he watched him speak with Haylen.

“Use that landing code and they'll let you fly in. You'll have to move quickly. I'm expecting a mutiny at any moment and I don't know how quickly word will reach the airport.”

Danse nodded. Haylen paused to smile, touch his arm, and tell him something that Knock Knock couldn't hear. Then Tom cut in.

“The vertibird’s good to go. Ready for takeoff.”

“Good job, soldier,” Danse said. He blinked, looked at Tom, then shook his head. “Let's get going.”

“Fly safe,” Haylen said.

But as Knock Knock approached, Haylen gripped her arm. Danse and Tom had already vanished onboard the vertibird. In a moment of panic, she looked back, expecting to see the barrel of Rhys’s gun. There was no one behind her.

Though the beating of the rotors already muffled sound, Haylen leaned in to her. “Is it too late to get off the train?”

Now Knock Knock blinked. Train? What the heck did that mean…? Then it dawned on her, the way Haylen had turned Knock Knock’s own punny wordplay back on her. There were few groups in the Commonwealth resourceful enough to move against the Brotherhood, and only one recently emboldened to do so. And Tinker Tom did not, after all, come across as your average scavver.

“How did you…?” She shook her head, considered Haylen, her friend. “It's too late for both of us.”

Haylen jabbed her in the chest. “You chose this fight, Light, he didn't. You protect him.”

Haylen let her go. As Knock Knock climbed into the vertibird, glancing at Haylen’s retreating back, she realized why Rhys’s glare made her insides shrink. The Brotherhood, she reflected, had betrayed Danse, but she had betrayed the Brotherhood. She chose to walk away, a luxury Danse had not had. She chose to join the Railroad, while Danse had no other safe option. She chose the fight. He didn't.

You protect him. At least she knew someone else was in this fight for Danse.

-

“Wait, wait, there's a terminal down here!”

Knock Knock kept her voice to an emphatic whisper. She and Danse had been pressed against the belly of the Prydwen for a half hour, barely breathing, waiting for the search to die down. Someone, she didn't know who, had recognized them and raised the alarm while Knock Knock grabbed Danse’s hand and leapt over a railing.

They’d lain unseen beneath humming pipes, but now crawled toward the empty stowage deck. They climbed up among the scattered beer bottles, crates acting as chairs, and crushed cigarettes. Knock Knock went to the recreation terminal where she'd played Red Menace a thousand times. She loaded Haylen’s holotape while Danse looked over her shoulder. Nothing happened.

“Come on. Come on!” She smacked the side of the terminal.

“This one's not connected, is it? Damn, Ingram disconnected it from the mainframe, remember?”

Knock Knock shifted from foot to foot, tugging at the heavy collar of her fatigues.

“There's one in Neriah’s lab--” he started.

“But there's gonna be scribes all over it. We're gonna get shot before we get near any terminals. There's just too many people, they all know us…”

“Maxson’s room.” Danse looked slightly ill just suggesting it.

“What, his personal terminal? That's--” she paused. “He's never in there during the day. And it's a straight shot up the back stairs and through the airbags.”

Danse nodded, an unpleasant look on his face. Knock Knock didn't know if he was remembering the last time he'd seen Maxson, or if he was struggling, like her, to untangle loyalty from their goal. She felt dirty, constrained by familiar clothes, crouched like a traitor in the red light in the belly of her broken home.

He'd called himself paladin with such confidence. I outrank you. He had not flinched when the soldier called him ‘synth.’ It seemed he knew what he was, while she continued stumbling.

“All right. We’ll go that way.”

She removed Haylen’s holotape, but hesitated to follow Danse.

“Come on,” he said. “We don't want to waste time and risk them catching Tom.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, I just wanna check something...crap!”

Danse was back at her side. “What is it?”

“How did Delacroix beat me? I made a jump from the top of the Prydwen, it took me ages to climb up there! I had the record! There's no way he walked away from Trinity frickin’ Tower without mods.”

“Are you--are you kidding me?”

Knock Knock shot him a defiant look. Open on the screen were the scores for highest power-armor falls.

“I don't kid about these sorts of things.”

Danse slapped his forehead. “You go through hell and come out exactly the same.”

“We’re not through yet, tin can.”

They moved quietly up the steps that backed the Prydwen’s hull. Knock Knock rolled up her collar to hide her face, yet they only glimpsed other people at a distance as they cleared each landing.

Then it really was a clean break across the catwalk to Maxson’s room. The muffled quiet was stifling. She felt the weight of Tom’s explosives as they passed under each balloon. She adjusted the bag so that it rested behind her. No bombs; it was the promise Haylen had wrung from her. Yet Knock Knock didn't think she could have used them anyway, not really. Because she felt, even still, like a disobedient child, trespassing where only proctors should go. It felt like she could just take Danse’s arm, walk downstairs to the mess hall, get something strong to drink, and just relax. Just breath, for the first time in weeks.

Her fingers traced the place where a bullet had entered below her ribs. Enough of that. She could wear the old fatigues and walk the old halls, but she could not go back.

Danse, closing Maxson’s door behind them, leaned heavily against it.

“I keep expecting him to turn up and send me on laps for insubordination,” he said with something like a laugh.

His face was lined. He'd lost the command he'd held in Cambridge, looked small and human.

“Once, he had me do pushups until my arms gave out. Fell smack on my face. Bloody nose and all.”

“Bastard,” Danse laughed.

She grinned at him, but the tension in the room did not ease. At least when she loaded the holotape this time, something finally, finally happened. Knick might have understood all the code that scrolled across the screen, but she and Danse were at a loss. Then the codes ran out and the screen sat blank as the terminal made several uncomfortably loud whirs. One by one, a series of innocuous emails loaded.

“August 23, 2282,” she read. “Operation Albion--I've never heard of Albion.”

She looked back at Danse, but his eyes were on the screen. Something started in Knock Knock’s heart, a new feeling; not the guilt or misdirection, no. She felt cold.

“That's the point. Haylen said it was buried.”

Fear.

She started to read. Her hand went out and found Danse’s.

Fr: [ERROR::REDACTED]

To: [ERROR::REDACTED]

She is planning a prolonged offensive on the supermutants based in the Capitol Building. Others will separate her from her unit. You must be in position before then.

Fr: [ERROR::REDACTED]

To: [ERROR::REDACTED]

I will be if you can just tell me where she's going to be.

Fr: [ERROR::REDACTED]

To: [ERROR::REDACTED]

Take up position in Seward Square. Other areas will be covered. You must be ready by 14:00 or you're putting the future of the Brotherhood in jeopardy. We need a strong leader. Ad victoriam, brother.

Fr: [ERROR::REDACTED]

To: [ERROR::REDACTED]

Reporting, Operation: Albion successful. Sarah Lyons was fatally shot, alongside “Lone Wanderer” Teagan Macleary. Unfortunate collateral--I was told Lyons would be alone.

Now we can begin to rebuild. Ad victoriam.

Knock Knock clutched Danse’s hand. He grabbed her by the elbow as she swayed. In the half-moment before understanding caught up with her, she saw anguish on his face.

“Knock Knock…”

“Danse.”

But her brain wasn't here. It was 2282, she was nineteen. She was nineteen. And she remembered, she could see them marching home, two girls on their shoulders. She painted Teagan’s 101 on her armor that night. And she remembered, she could hear the boy, that day she'd gotten into a fistfight in the middle of the courtyard, shrieking, spitting, split-lipped and furious.

“I'm proud to be serving under Elder Maxson. I've had enough of Lyons and his foolish ways.”

They were practicing with rifles and she swung hers at his head without thinking. Fury caught up to her, overwhelmed her in a wave. Some part of his face cracked. She was on him, the rifle tossed aside. Punching straight through his defense, clawing, going for the eyes.

“Lyons was a hero, Sarah was a hero, how dare you, how dare you--!”

Knights dragging her off, brother locking her arms behind her back, then trying to mend her split lip.

And Maxson. Arthur Maxson, young eyes, reprimanding her himself. Taking to power like he was born to it--because he was.

Danse shook her.

“Come back to me, soldier.”

It was what he'd said at Arcjet. It was familiar; it brought her back. But she wasn't a soldier anymore, and she wouldn't be again. That knowledge overwhelmed her in a wave.

The Brotherhood of Steel killed Sarah Lyons. An assassin waited in Seward Square and shot her in the back of the head. And the Lone Wanderer--unfortunate collateral. The woman who brought them water, just because she was in the wrong place.

They killed Sarah Lyons so that Arthur Maxson could succeed the throne. And Knock Knock had followed him blindly.

She was shaking. She felt like her chest was on fire, like something was rising in her, and she needed to do something or else it would kill her. She stalked to the door, threw it open with a bang, jerked to a stop. What was she doing here, what was she doing, what was she--?

Danse reached for her hand, but they both froze suddenly. A familiar figure began to take shape as he strode down the dim catwalk. The childlike terror that bloomed in Knock Knock’s chest drowned in furious, violent energy.

She charged Arthur Maxson and punched him in his perfect teeth. He reeled, swung back, immediately on the defensive. By the time he recognized the person who was so suddenly attacking him, she'd already crashed her whole furious self into him. They crashed to the floor.

“You killed her!” she screamed, tearing at his face. “You killed Sarah, you killed her, you're a bastard, you're a power-grabbing bastard--”

She broke his nose, punched him so hard in the belly that he stopped breathing. She was nineteen again, kicking, spitting, and something had to be done, there had to be some justice.

Maxson gasped, seized her arms, heaved her off. She yelled and twisted. His uppercut cracked her teeth.

“Stand down!” he yelled, as though she were any knight, as though nothing had changed and obedience would bend her.

“You killed Sarah Lyons!”

Maxson slammed her into the railing. She spat blood, tried to pull away.

“What are you talking about, Light!”

There was blood on his lips, his teeth. Knock Knock wrenched her hands free and drove her elbow into his face.

“August 23, 2282.” She was breathing so hard that she found it difficult to speak. “A Brotherhood sniper shot and killed Sarah Lyons in an alley behind the Capitol Building, and you took her place six months later--you--you--!”

Maxson stared at her, bloody-nosed, scarred, and she had respected and followed and trusted him. He was just staring, he hadn't called his knights to his side. No, of course not, he didn't want them to know. He was the traitor, he was the traitor--

She roared and slammed her fists against him. He covered his face, barely fought back, a coward, a liar. Someone's blood was on her hands and then someone's hands were on her shoulders, dragging her off, locking her arms behind her back.

“He didn't know, Knock Knock, he didn't know!”

Danse’s voice, bringing her back.

“Look at him. He didn't know.”

She saw Maxson as though through a glass. He had pulled himself up and slumped against the railing, staring blankly at her.

He opened and closed his mouth, as though he, too, were in some half-world. Finally, he managed to say, “They killed Sarah?”

She pulled away from Danse, who let her go. Maxson didn't move or even make a sound as she came near. If she saw any emotion in his face, she ignored it. Instead, she grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the railing before he could react. His body slid noiselessly to the floor.

Ignoring Danse’s sounds of protest, Knock Knock stepped over the unconscious Elder Maxson, into the shadow of the airbags. She slung the bag off her shoulder.

“Knock Knock,” said Danse.

Fiddling with one of Tom’s explosives, she said, “Do you remember how these work?”

“Knock Knock!”

“Don't!” She finally turned around. “Look at what they did, Danse! To Sarah, to you. Des is right, they're too dangerous.”

“‘They’? Just a few weeks ago it was ‘we.’ We still have friends on this ship, Knock Knock, we have our whole lives on this ship.”

Her eyes were on the bomb. “Not me. Not anymore, not ever again.”

“Don't you think I'm hurting too?”

Looking up, she saw that anguish on his face again.

“That's--that’s not the point,” she said. “It's not about how I feel, I'm gonna bomb the Prydwen because I'm sad! Didn't you read that email? They murdered her and called it ‘rebuilding’! Rebuilding on fear and control, that's the Brotherhood of Steel! And this,” her sweeping gesture took in the scope of Sarah’s betrayal and death, “I’m not surprised, really!”

But she was crying.

“Knock Knock.” He ducked his head, breathed, looked up with renewed determination. “I need you to stay focused. We agreed not to bomb the Prydwen. Haylen sent us for a reason.”

“Don't order me around! I'm not a soldier, I don't work for them anymore!”

“Knock Knock, I didn't kill her! I didn't kill Elder Lyons, and neither did you. There are people on this ship just like us. Maxson is one of them. We've been lied to, that doesn't make the Brotherhood a lie. Everything we fought for--”

“We fought to free the Commonwealth from synths like you!” She threw it at him like a knife, was furious when he did not flinch. “We're no better than raiders. No, we're worse!”

He caught her wildly swinging arms. “I can't even know how long I served the Brotherhood of Steel, but I will not let it be for nothing. I will not let the actions of a few poison the good that's here. These are my people.”

A million responses flew through her mind. That the actions of a few had already turned her, her brother, Danse, and hundreds of others into monsters. That her own brother had shot her, how was that for ‘good.’ That his people had betrayed him, had tried to kill him--

But they hadn't killed him. She hadn't. They sent her to do it, but she, a knight, had refused. And Haylen, a field scribe, had asked her to listen to him. Danse, at least, believed the two of them were not alone, and he was alive, there had to be some good...

Yet, picturing the Lone Wanderer lying dead in an alley, she could not imagine it.

“What am I doing here?” she whispered in defeat.

“We're finishing the mission.”

He held out his hand. She finally, finally released the bomb.

“Des was right, though. They'll come after us again, wipe out the Railroad. We can't let anyone else get hurt.”

They'd dug up Haylen’s truth. What had she said? You don't need bombs to take down an army.

“Just tell the truth,” Knock Knock said aloud.

It clicked at once in her head: Get it off the Prydwen and you have your new weapon. Danse's mouth turned up ever so slightly as she grinned.

“I know what to do.”

-

Knock Knock and Danse stumbled over each other as they burst onto the flight deck. The several heavily armored soldiers following them got Tom’s attention.

“Go, go!” Danse was already yelling as they raced toward the vertibird.

Tom's eyes got bigger than Knock Knock had ever seen. They must have been a sight, the two of them cresting a wave of power armor and laser rifles pouring from the belly of an airship.

Knock Knock tripped on the stairs and pitched forward. Danse caught her by the strap of her bag. When she regained her feet, he pushed her ahead, running, stumbling, falling into the vertibird that was not moving quickly enough.

“Come on, get us in the air!” Danse ordered. His rifle was already in his hands; he unholstered Knock Knock’s and handed it to her.

“I'm trying, man, it's tricky!”

Hot energy scorched through the cockpit. Danse ducked behind the wall while Knock Knock moved to cover Tom. They returned fire as the vertibird listed, dipped, and slid away from the Prydwen. It grated against the dock, throwing Knock Knock to the floor with a yelp.

Then they were in open sky.

“Just gotta get to a safe distance and we can blow the fuse!” Tom yelled. It was difficult to hear him over the wind and beating rotors.

Her heart rose to her throat as they dipped low over the airport. She could see the top of Liberty Prime’s head poking above the roof.

“More distance, please!” Tom yelled. He was equal parts coaxing and struggling with the controls.

And then, blissfully, they passed over open water. Knock Knock slid to the edge of the bird, slung her bag over her head, and dropped it swiftly over the side.

Not a moment too soon.

“We’re out of the blast range now. Here goes nothing.”

She didn't have time to brace herself before a blinding light engulfed her, followed by two bone-rattling booms. The floor twisted, then fell away. She floated in white space, ears ringing, for half a second. Then something slammed into her spine. Her head snapped back and lightning-pain blinded her. The world had gone black, blurry. She was rolling, falling--

Her arm wrenched back. The floor returned and she sank to it, leaning into something steady.

The world evened out. There was something warm on her neck. She touched it, came away with red fingers. Danse, still clutching her arm, helped her sit properly.

She glanced at Tom, who was rattled but largely unharmed. He gaped at the huge form sinking from the sky before them. Thick smoke poured from a blasted section of hull. Knock Knock was surprised to find her eyes prick with tears as the Prydwen descended.

“What happened?” Tom managed. “I swear, that ordnance could've kicked open a vault. And they couldn't--how did they hit us from here?”

He looked back at them. Knock Knock held his gaze but couldn't hide her instinctive guilt.

“You did plant all my bombs...right?”

Neither answered.

“Oh, shit.” He slumped into the seat and threw his arms over his face. “Des is gonna kill us. And then the Brotherhood’s gonna finish the job.”

Knock Knock turned her eyes from Tom and the sinking ship. She and Danse had planted one of Tom’s explosives; the damage would ground the Prydwen for a while. Long enough for the Railroad to strike at the Institute and retreat: go underground, scatter. They'd clear the church crypts before the Brotherhood got to its feet to find that the Railroad had beaten them to the punch.

The leftover bombs she'd dumped from the bird had packed a bigger punch than she'd expected. Danse was applying pressure to a pad of gauze at the back of her head. She reached behind and touched his arm.

“Thank you.”

He gave that quiet half-laugh. “You're welcome.”

He didn't need an explanation, but she wanted to say something more. She took Haylen’s holotape from her pocket. They'd copied those few emails, their only weapon now. It was as Haylen said: the truth could do a lot of damage. More, perhaps, than a handful of bombs.

She turned the holotape over in her hands, knew he was watching.

“Ad victoriam, brother,” she whispered, though it burned her tongue. But he would understand, and it was all she could think to say.

He leaned his head briefly against hers. “Ad victoriam.”