Three days after Invasion
When Jessica Jones saw a portal open up in the sky, she felt worry coil in her gut. When she flew out of Othrys to fight a host of invading aliens, that worry was accompanied by a rush of adrenaline. When she smashed a Leviathan through the spike of the Chrysler Building, the adrenaline and worry had been replaced by a bone-deep feeling of tiredness and general rage as she saw more and more people vanish in explosions and under mounds of rubble.
But when her boss and (sort of) boyfriend sped past her faster than the speed of sound, carrying a nuke on his back through the portal up in the sky, to God knows where… that was the first time Jessica Jones experienced true dread.
A massive light had suddenly bloomed on the other side of the universe, visible even from where she was flying, and as one, the Chitauri around her fell from the sky like flies, not even so much as a twitch to be seen on any one of the ugly fuckers.
For a brief moment she dared to feel hope, before it was ruthlessly squashed by a chilling fear as the beam that had been connected to the portal cut off out of nowhere, the inverted sinkhole in the sky rapidly shrinking, trapping Michael on the other side of the universe-
-And then a small shape sped through the portal, the tear in space-time slipping shut right on his heels, the smoking form of Michael McCole surveying the battlefield in a triumphant pose, having saved the day.
After that rollercoaster of emotions, having been stuck in an active warzone for hours, Jessica did the only thing she could think of as she floated up towards the New Titan.
She kicked him in the balls as hard as she could.
Between Michael's natural toughness and his armor, he was (relatively) fine, but the giant still let out a high-pitched groan as he nearly bent over double.
"W-What… the hell, Jess?"
"Take that fucking helmet off so I can kiss you, you asshole." Was her reply as she fumbled for the claps of his armor, her bruised and blood-covered fingers trembling at her hurried motions.
And kiss him she did, in full view of the army, the Avengers (as they turned out to call themselves), Phineas' legion of drones and just about every New Yorker still present.
Looking at the 20 feet tall mural that graced one of the intact buildings outside of Manhattan, depicting her and Michael as if they were the modern day version of Gustav Klimt's The Kiss, Jessica couldn't help but slightly regret her rash decision.
Not the kissing, as always that had been most… enjoyable.
She'd just prefer it if it hadn't been captured by dozens and dozens of camera's (she was going to have words with Phineas).
Thankfully, Michael kept most of the spotlight on himself (though Susan and the Avengers got plenty of news coverage as well, especially Susan), releasing a 20 minute video of the greatest highlights of the battle.
The ground-shaking punch that took out the first Leviathan, teaming up with Susan to roast another, being smashed into the street by the largest Leviathan of all only to reveal that he was holding the beast up as if he was Atlas instead of Hyperion, then actually riding the damned thing… (she would never admit it out loud, but that gargantuan space whale that was frozen on their front lawn creeped her out a bit)
The short film had gone trending on every possible media outlet in the world. It was the only thing that everybody talked about, and as such, they also talked about some of the things they noticed in the video, and which Michael kept bringing up in the interviews that he kept doing almost perpetually now that most of the clean-up had been handed over to Toomes (there had been some brief legal scuffle about who got to haul the aliens away, but Hogarth had jumped into that fight like a superpowered shark smelling blood, and though Jessica hadn't bothered to pay much attention to it, she knew that Michael's top lawyer would get away with what she wanted).
Judging by the heated debates online, on the radio, and on television, just about everybody in the world was screaming bloody murder at the news that a group of powerful politicians (which most people hadn't even known had formed a group in the first place) had ordered a nuclear strike on a civilian target without any efforts of evacuation or warning beforehand.
The fact that this was an international group (meaning that some of the people that authorized a strike on American citizens weren't even affiliated with the US at all) almost caused an international shit-show as the Government (eager to save face) started pointing fingers, but the most damning verdict of all came from a single statement made by a tired Steve Rogers.
Humanity's first supersoldier had ditched his iconic suit that Jessica had grown up seeing in comics and animated shows, instead wearing camouflage-patterned cargopants and a t-shirt with the US-military logo displayed prominently. It seemed the time-displaced man had found a home amongst the soldiers that had been there during the War for New York, and was still hanging around and assisting with the clean-up and search and rescue missions only days after recovering from the battle.
And boy had he needed to recover. Just like Michael, the Avengers had been in the thick of the battle for hours, but unlike Michael, not all of them were ridiculously durable. Thor was relatively fine, other than his exhaustion, a rare thing for the Asgardian Warrior Prince, and the Hulk's alter-ego Bruce Banner had been spotted walking in and out of Stark Tower looking relatively fine. But the ground forces of the Avengers were still operating at human limits, and though they thankfully hadn't suffered any drastic losses, the damage they had incurred over the course of hours had piled up to form an ugly picture.
The two S.H.I.E.L.D.-agents that had been spotted (nodoy knew whether their codenames were revealed, or were given to them by the internet, but they were called Black Widow and Hawkeye) were the worst off, the archer having lost his bow and the use of his right arm (Jessica had seen the pictures of the stark white bone jutting through flesh, it hadn't looked pretty), and the Widow having lost some of her beauty as her face was marred by a deep gash, going almost from the lobe of her ear to the bridge of her nose (though Jessica thought that the scar at least would be badass).
Peggy Carter had burst onto the scene, leading the military with a furious zeal and busting alien heads with brutal enthusiasm, but had taken a shot to the knee shortly afterwards. She refused to leave the field, however, coordinating the military and providing back-up to the Captain using long-range weaponry pilfered from the very alien that had shot her.
And the Captain... well, the Captain certainly hadn't taken lightly to his girl getting hurt. Before, he had been a symbol of hope as the star on his chest and shield nearly shone with his iron conviction that hung around him like an aura almost. Wherever he went, backs straightened and eyes hardened, people from all walks of life moving in unison at his commands.
And then Peggy got shot and Steve Roger's got angry... and as the world now knew, Steve Roger's was scary when angry. He didn't go berserk, or anything at like that at all (which just made him even scarier), but that same aura from before, warm and protecting, suddenly turned ice-cold and calculating. The sheer brutality in some of the moves he used (the one where he picked up an alien, flipped it over his head, and drove it hard enough into the road to fold its spine in half with an audible snap was one of the many memorable gifs now floating around the internet) combined with his calm, almost blank expression was enough to give a platoon of Chitauri pause merely when he straightened to look at them with that cold glare.
Of course, throwing himself into the fight like that had not been without cost, and it hadn't taken Jessica's sharp eyes going over the news footage of him to notice the way the skin was gnarled and pinched together from what she could see peeking out underneath the sleeves on his beefed up arms. Massive third-degree burns covered the upper-right side of the Captain's chest and arms, something that was revealed when he was interviewed during the clean-up, where he hammered the final nail into the WSC's coffin.
A news team had managed to slip past the cordon that had been set up, a young woman by the name of Christine Everhart practically jumping the Captain after he took a break from hauling rubble in order to clear the roads.
"Mister Rogers! Mister Rogers, sir! What do you have to comment on the news that the World Security Council condemned 8,5 million people to die in a plan that analysts all over the world have pointed out was doomed to fail from the start?!"
As one, without even so much as a word or order, surrounding platoons of soldiers had dropped everything they were doing and prepared to drag the suddenly terrified looking woman off the premises in order to give their living legend a break, but all it took was a single nonchalant wave of the Captain's hand (which incidentally showed off more of his burned skin, already healing rapidly), and the soldiers fell back, despite the fact none of them had to answer to him, and a couple of them even outranked him.
But this was Captain America.
For just about everybody there, the legends told about him by their fathers and grandfathers had been the entire reason they signed up for service in the first place.
Taking into consideration that they had fought side by side with him in one of the most desperate battles for humanity's survival in recent memory (or ever, really) and there wasn't a doubt in Jessica's mind that those guys would follow Steve Rogers into hell and back without question.
As the Captain toweled some of the sweat off his dirt-stained forehead, the ninety year old soldier gazed straight into the camera with a look that showed every single one of those years.
"Seventy years ago… I intended to sacrifice my life in order to stop a madman from launching devastating weapons at some of the largest and most vital cities in the world, New York being one of them. And now, after seventy years… I wake up to a world where my own government tried to do the same."
And with those morose words, Captain America turned away from the camera intent on saving as many people as he could. And just like that, the political careers of some of the most powerful people in the world had been instantaneously and absolutely shredded.
Being compared to the Red Skull, by what was basically the living embodiment of Liberty and Freedom?
It didn't matter who you were, or how many friends you had.
You were done for.
She had to give it to Fury though, she mused as she slowly floated past the building with her and Michael's kiss on it. She started heading towards her destination, taking in all the destruction she saw, floating over burnt-out tanks that had been dragged off the roads and the ruined remains of helicopters still embedded in the sides of buildings.
The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. (who she only knew through tales of Michael and Phineas) had been quick to distance himself from the WSC, citing his now public refusal of their orders ('since it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it' was quickly becoming a meme) as only part of a larger string of discussions in which he spoke out against the Council (making most of them available to the public, though edited to leave out classified information, had been a stroke of brilliance, Fury's caustic sense of humor making him an internet sensation overnight).
Pointing towards Damage Control as an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. branch that had been voluntarily put under federal jurisdiction as one of many steps Fury has tried to take to get out from under the thumb of the WSC (and the more was revealed about them, the more people understood that sentiment), Fury managed to spin a narrative in which S.H.I.E.L.D. was an organization that tried it's best to do right by humanity, but was consistently hamstringed by executive meddling.
Jessica knew that this was a load of bull (some of the heavy weaponry in Othrys' armory was directly based off of S.H.I.E.L.D. R&D concerning the Tesseract after all), but while Phineas was sitting on the kind of dirt that could spell a lot of trouble for the agency, Michael hadn't chosen to use it just yet.
It was part of a larger mind-game between him and Fury, Michael had told her when she had asked about it when they had been lying in their bed (after thinking, for however briefly, that the giant had sacrificed himself to save Earth, Jessica had simply grabbed all her shit, dumped it in a bewildered looking Michael's room, and then simply told him 'I sleep here now'. Michael had briefly appeared to want to argue, before he shut his mouth with a sigh, and gave a shrug of his massive shoulders).
She and Sterns had agreed that once things were finally cooled down enough, they would finally confront Michael on his inexplicable knowledge, apparent mind games and ultimate goals. They had gone along with a lot of things the Titan had asked for them ever since they had begun working for him (hell, Sterns had followed the man to another continent, but the way he anticipated, and was playing off, an alien invasion?
That just crossed the line. They deserved answers at this point.
She knew that Phineas and Harper wouldn't care much about Michael's motivations, and Burstein and Hansen were still completely absorbed in studying that weird ass seed with the absolutely massive root system (it took up an entire quarter of the bio-tech wing, so Phineas had to find a way to move around some walls in order to give the two scientists a bigger lab, or else have weird, fleshy roots spread across the hallways). Pangborn would have questions as well, but he was fairly new, so was unlikely to push his powerful boss, and the Asgardian ex-Berserker was… well, an Asgardian ex-Berserker.
Despite having lived peacefully amongst humans for the past thousand years or so, Jessica very much doubted that the alien warrior had the same view on morals as she did.
And then she had to put that whirlwind of thoughts out of her mind, since she had arrived at her destination. An upscale rehabilitation center in New York, far enough removed from Manhattan that the building was hardly damaged, though Jessica could hear the telltale sound of diesel generators working to compensate for the energy grid being offline in most of New York (thankfully most of the waterlines were still functional, though Manhattan itself had been deemed a warzone, with nothing working there).
Despite this being a classier neighborhood, Jessica still spotted tags in several alleyways, some artistic depictions of scenes from the One Day War, but most were just hasty scribbled hate-messages against the WSC, and even a few at aliens in general (though people were split on Thor and thus Asgardians. On the one hand, they had been worshipped as Gods in the past, and Thor had clearly fought his hardest to save New York. On the other hand, they had been worshipped by Vikings, and it had been Loki of Asgard that had led the Chitauri on their murderspree).
Taking a deep breath, Jessica slowly descended down to the street, internally wincing when she saw people look up and point at her. Lightly touching down, she was somewhat thankful that she wasn't immediately swarmed by the gawking pedestrians, so she quickly shoved open the door to the rehab center and made her way inside.
She knew that if it hadn't been for her healing factor, there had been a large chance of her ending up in such a place in her youth when she had resorted to drinking enough liquor to kill a full-grown bear. As such, places like this always gave her the creeps, but she just squared her shoulders and moved forwards, stalking towards the gleaming reception desk.
"Hi. I'm here to see Trish Walker? I have an appointment." She quickly said.
"Your name plea-" the words died in the receptionist's throat as her eyes travelled up to Jessica's face, her expression turning white as a sheet.
For a moment, Jessica was somewhat confused, before she noticed the slight, subconscious flick of the other woman's eyes to the side. Turning to look over her shoulder, Jessica saw a tv hanging on the wall, and couldn't quite contain an annoyed sigh.
Once again, it showed Michael riding his Leviathan, crashing it into the side of the one she had been struggling with. And as she had seen a hundred times by now, the miniature her on screen shot forwards, grabbed the gargantuan thing by the tail, and slammed it onto the spike of the Chrysler building, the gleaming tip effortlessly spearing through the top of the tough skull.
It had been stuck on that spike for two whole days until it had finally been removed yesterday after Toomes called up Michael, telling him that even he couldn't get rid of the thing without damaging the building, so Michael flew up, and simply lifted the spacewhale straight up into the air, before neatly depositing it on the road train bearing Toomes' logo.
Her boyfriend- ahem, her boss, of course, had milked that publicity stunt for all that it was worth, seemingly effortlessly smiling at just the right moments for the journalists to capture his proud expressions and confident grins.
Turning back towards the gob smacked secretary, Jessica gave the woman a caustic smile, before tapping the counter.
"Trish Walker?"
"R-Right! Room 11-B, a lovely view, no expenses spared!" the other woman was quick to say, handing Jessica a visitor's badge with trembling fingers.
Pinning it on with a sigh, Jessica turned on her heel and made her way over towards the elevators, ignoring the fearful woman behind her.
For all that the forces of Titan Solutions and the Avengers were hailed by the majority of the population as extraordinary heroes, people that went above and beyond what was humanly feasible in order to save the planet, there was still a vocal minority that feared them for their powers.
Fear mongers sprang up on street corners, on internet forums, even in politics, pointing towards the large scale destruction of New York, and screaming at the top of their lungs: 'What next?!'
One glance at the various footage of Michael, or Thor, or even her, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that they were only following the law out of courtesy. The rules and guidelines that guided society and kept it from collapsing into anarchy no longer applied to them, because, honestly, who in their right minds would try to enforce them?
According to the populists, at any moment, a cop could give her a parking ticket or something, and Jessica would end up ripping a skyscraper out of the ground and beating people over the head with it, simply out of general annoyance.
And sad as it was, there were people out there who believed it.
She was drawn from her musings as the lift finished its ascent, opening its doors with a cheery ding. Stepping out, Jessica's eyes were visually assaulted by the aggressively boring pastel colors that covered everything.
Seeing a shock of blond hair seated in what appeared to be a lounge area with large windows overlooking the outskirts of the city (meaning that thankfully there was no view of the destruction that was now downtown Manhattan), Jessica quickly made her way over towards the young woman, who only briefly looked up from the book she had been reading.
Pale blue eyes met softly glowing ones, and a scowl appeared on the woman's face, before she buried it in her book again.
Now close enough to touch her if she reached out, Jessica frowned slightly, before she let out a sigh as she sat down on the small chair in front of the scowling woman.
"Hey Trish."
Trish Walker, former upcoming pop-star, currently in rehab dealing with a drug addiction, only briefly glanced up at her adoptive sister, before her eyes settled on the pages in front of her, though Jessica could tell she wasn't even reading them, since her eyes didn't move from left to right, staring straight ahead instead.
Knowing that pushing her sister would only work against her, Jessica leaned back a bit as she scanned the room, trying to ignore the stares that she and Trish were getting from the few people that were present, though they all thankfully kept their distance.
"This place seems… nice." Jessica managed to bite out as she glanced at the frilly tablecloths and annoyingly vague motivational posters that covered the walls.
She wasn't hating on rehab centers (despite her own aversion to them), and was happy they provided the care that they did, but this place…
It just wasn't Trish.
For all her faults (and as her sister, Jessica could list many, just like Trish could list all of Jessica's faults off the top of her head as well), the one thing that best defined the dour woman sitting across from her was vibrancy.
She threw herself into everything she did with a passion that amazed Jessica at times, even when she knew that the one calling the shots and steering her sister was actually their fame-obsessed mother (who, after a lifetime of disinterest bordering on neglect, suddenly hadn't stopped trying to call her ever since footage of her tossing around aliens became public. Eventually, Jessica asked Phineas to simply filter out any and all calls from the woman).
But to see her sister, the one who was amazing at dancing, singing, or even just conversing with people over the most varied of topics, sitting here in a boring woolen sweater and slacks, surrounded by posters of kittens and colors ranging from lime green to bubblegum pink…
It didn't fit.
Again, Trish ignored her sister, so Jessica leaned forwards a bit, carefully placing a hand on the blonde's shin. As if burned, Trish immediately pulled away, drawing her knees to her chest and shooting Jessica a venomous look, who tried her best to hide that brief flash of pain at the hostility her oldest friend displayed.
"Are you… doing ok? Getting the… help you need and… stuff?" Jessica tried, mentally wincing at just how spectacularly bad she was at comforting other people, especially when they didn't want to be comforted in the first place.
"I'm doing fine. And if I need help, it's certainly not from you." Trish bit out, and this time Jessica's hurt was transformed into a flash of annoyance.
She loved Trish, she really did. But it just wasn't in her nature to let other people walk over her, not even family. Rising to her feet, Jessica placed her fists on her hips, shifting her trusty leather duster as she did (after it saved her life countless times during the One Day War, she never left Othrys without it).
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jessica asked vehemently, and finally it seemed she got through to her sister, who with a snarl threw the book down as she sprung to her feet as well.
"It means you can't help me!"
"Look, I'm trying here-"
"Then don't! I never asked for you! I never wanted you to ruin my life! So why the hell won't you leave it alone! Go back to your happy life in your castle, with your prince Charming and your superpowers so you can go spear aliens on buildings, and leave the normal people the hell alone!"
Jessica drew a breath through clenched teeth, her fists balling at her side as her eyes started to burn.
"What the hell are you talking about?! You didn't ask for me?! What the fuck did you think I felt?! My family fucking died, you think I'm happy about it?! I. was. Alone! Alone, and scared, and a freak, and the only person who supported me, the only fucking person that's supposed to be on my side, was you! You were my sister, for fuck's sake, and look what you did to yourself!" Jessica roared back, and from the corner of her eyes, she saw the other residents run like hell from their confrontation, willing to be anywhere but near the lady who redecorated the Chrysler Building with alien brains.
Trish didn't seem to care though, getting right up in Jessica's face.
"You did this to me! Nobody sees me anymore! I'm not even a person now, all I am is Jessica Jones' little powerless, useless sister! I was gonna be a star! Everybody loved me! Everybody knew me! Everybody was happy for me, but you! Admit it! You were jealous of me, you always have been! I was the pretty one, I was the popular one, and what did you have!? All you had was being pissed off at me for being more successful than you, even when I gave you my own money!"
"I was the jealous one!? Don't you hear yourself?! How often have I seen you look at me with nothing but greed whenever I used my power!"
"Of course I did! I worked my ass off for everything I had! And nothing I ever did would ever give me what you had! Nothing!"
"I didn't ask for any of this shit!"
"Bullshit! You didn't have those!" Trish spat out, pointing harshly at Jessica's burning eyes, making the superwoman lean back slightly, causing her crying sister to step even closer, once again her hand stabbing forwards, pointing at Jessica's chest.
"And you sure as fucking hell didn't have those! So don't give me that same old story that you just want a 'normal life'! You wanted more power, even when you already had more than I would ever get! All I wanted was an equal! All I fucking asked for was a sister!" Trish spat, tears streaming down her face.
Jessica was breathing heavily herself, and judging from her blurry vision, she was crying as well, hissing and smoking tears slowly dripping from her glowing eyes. Her vision was clear enough to see her sister pull her arm back though, clearly prepared to throw one of the most telegraphed punches in history.
Not willing to let her sister break her hand on her Amber Armor skin, Jessica's arm quickly snapped up, intercepting the weak blow and gently directing it to the side. That didn't stop Trish from trying again and again, her stumbling attacks intermingled with heaving sobs and unintelligible curses, suddenly reminding Jessica of herself, not so long ago, after that disastrous mission with Harper's team.
'Seems we're more alike than we give ourselves credit for.' Jessica thought morosely to herself, before deciding on how she would deal with her sobbing sister.
Stepping into a flailing punch, Jessica engulfed Trish in a hug, feeling how the blonde first stiffened, before she started struggling. The struggling quickly subsided until only the shocking of Trish's torso remained, as the young woman released all the emotions that Jessica's visit had brought up again, slim arms coming around to hug the superwoman close to her as she buried her face in her sister's shoulder.
Furiously blinking away the hissing tears from her eyes so they wouldn't fall and hurt Trish, Jessica spoke up in a thick voice.
"You idiot. You have a sister. You've always have."
Five days after the Invasion
Erik Stevens, known to some as Killmonger, known to the world as N'Jadaka, son of N'Jobu, Rightful King of Wakanda, sat on his throne and pondered. He knew he shouldn't be: a King's duties never ended, especially over the course of the last month, as he had been steadily trying to get Uganda within the fold of his new Kingdom, which turned out to be one challenge after the next.
Not the actual conquering of Uganda, mind you, no that was the easy part.
Between the War Dogs still loyal to him, his own extensive paramilitary training, and the vastly better technology available to his forces, he was capable of taking down all of Africa at a speed that would make Napoleon himself bow his head in reverence of his tactical skill and military might.
No matter how much some of his soldier grumbled about not using the War Rhinos properly.
Ahh, those fucking Rhinos.
Just one more part in this new world that Erik now found himself in, just one more point that hammered home a bitter truth.
He was a stranger to these parts.
When his group of military advisors had led him on an inspection of the troops, Erik had spoken up with some incredulity when the Rhinos were introduced as part of his new army.
"Why are we using a cavalry made up of wild, dangerous, barely controllable animals… when we literally have hovercrafts and flying tanks, right there?!"
It was one of the Dora Milaje who spoke up, her tone barely even concealing the disdain in her voice.
"Because they are part of our culture. They belong with Wakanda and its people."
The pointed stare she had given him had made it quite clear just who she considered to be part of the Wakandan people, and evidently, he didn't make the cut.
Of course, that upstart woman was now enjoying a little time-out in order to cool her head down in his dungeons (after misconduct in her earlier operations was 'suddenly' found, no reason to come across to the people as a petty tyrant), but the point that she had made (no matter how disrespectful) still stood.
Was he really part of these people?
He had read up on their history. He knew their language. He shared their ancestry.
But was he really a part of them?
After a year on the throne, a year filled each and every day with little instances like the Rhinos and Erik had to admit something to himself that he had been trying to ignore ever since he left T'Chaka's cooling corpse at his feet as he ascended the steps to the throne he now sat upon.
No. These may be his people… but he was not a part of them.
To the Wakandans, he was an outsider, a foreigner, as white as the people that he had seen as oppressors all his life during his childhood and adolescence in the States.
He had had plans beyond merely avenging his father's murder. It was his main motivation for every action he had ever taken, a driving force that propelled him ever forwards, even now. But he knew to look beyond that, and he had found a goal for himself.
A united people, the worldwide uplifting of all who he considered his brothers and sisters, against those who would keep them down.
Except…
Looking around, Erik saw precious little unity.
Even the Wakandans, steeped in tradition as they were, were secretly divided. Just look at what had happened when he called for the destabilization of Uganda. Before he could actually make a move, he had to overhaul the Wakandan military doctrine (they had wanted to walk there! Using spears!), which had caused for some backlash.
Not enough for him to lose his support base thankfully, since he knew enough about unstable nations that he recognized when a leader needed to bow to the wishes of the people if they didn't want a rebellion on their hands.
But enough that only some of innovations were put into practice (he had to compromise with the Rhinos. They were now shackled together in pairs, pulling what was essentially a flatbed for troops and supplies, and were mounted with a gunnery platform), but by that time, his cousin had gotten word of his plans, which could only mean that his own rogue War Dog network had gotten info straight out of Wakanda itself.
Infiltration was always a possibility, Erik himself knew that all too well, but collaboration was more likely.
And so, when his own operatives busted down the doors of the Ugandan Parliament, with his army mobilized and already on the borders, ready to force a surrender before the battle even begun, all they were met with was an empty Parliament and an army that had already decommissioned their weapons.
The Black Panther had struck again. Erik had initially tried to outlaw people calling his cousin by that title, since it was connected to the position of the Protector of the Wakandan people, something that an exile obviously can't claim. His advisors had pointed out that, exiled or not, T'Challa was still enhanced with the Heart-Shaped Herb, marking him a Champion of Bast, whereas Erik himself was not, and the wishes of Gods superseded that of Kings.
Since the new batch of Herbs was still being carefully grown, Erik had simply decided to take the title of Gold Leopard instead, a counterpoint to the moniker his cousin still so desperately clung to. A bit pretentious perhaps, but he was King.
Pretentious was included in the job description.
He didn't know whether he should strangle or thank McCole for burning the Herbs when the giant had left Wakanda. On the one hand, had he not, then Erik could've strengthened his claim by taking the Herb for himself, thus making him Bast's champion as well.
No matter your political hang-ups, it's kinda hard to rally against a King who was literally chosen by your Gods.
On the other hand, had the Herbs survived, then the faction that secretly opposed Erik might have tried to pull something, use it as justification to shove another candidate for the throne forwards.
After all, they never did find little Shuri.
No, perhaps this was for the best. A few seeds, taken from their vaults, carefully grown and maintained, under lock and key and heavily guarded at all times. In another four to five months they would be ready, and he, and only he, would be able to become Bast's Chosen.
Would that make him a part of these people? And if it did, would it matter?
When Erik had been younger, he had dreamed of this moment. The moment where he would sit on this throne, look out over this palace hall, stand and call all of Africa to unite! For all black people around to world to rise up! As one!
'For Africa to unite… why do I sometimes get the feeling that I'm the only one around here that actually wants that to happen?' Erik thought to himself as he stared somberly at the scene in front of him.
Which brings us back as to why a Wakandan King shouldn't allow himself to drift off into thoughts so much.
Because standing in the hall were two men, yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. One was part of the Foreign Delegation of Wakanda, the other a man the Ugandan people had quickly (and halfheartedly) shoved forwards as their new leader, hence he was the man Wakanda had to deal with.
Erik just knew, deep in his bones, that this was the work of T'Challa. His War Dogs hadn't found anything conclusive (yet), but it was clear even to the casual observer that Uganda was aware their Parliament was spirited away to safety, and was simply waiting for their return in order to be freed from their conquerors.
Because, no matter how much Erik's diplomats tried to get it through the Ugandan's minister's head that Wakanda was here to help, to uplift, they were still seen as warmongering and expansionist.
No better than the white men, centuries before.
Hearing his great dream of unification and liberty being likened to what was in Erik's mind the greatest enemy to their people…
That had broken something deep inside him, something old and… naïve.
'If they will not unify against the whites… then they will unify against an even graver threat.'
He gracefully rose from from his seat, allowing the midday sun to shine upon the flawless ('fuck you McCole, I had earned those'scars') skin of his chest and arms, visible under the open, sleeveless robe he wore. Erik slowly descended the steps leading up to his throne, everybody in the hall (including the Ugandan delegation, as well as the diplomats from the surrounding nations that had been sent to Wakanda the moment rumors began to float around about Uganda's capitulation) having immediately fallen to their knee the moment he moved.
"Look at you. Tearing at each other's throats, like rabid dogs. I came to Wakanda, for two reasons!" Erik said as he kept walking, roaring the last two words, gratified to see those closest to him flinch away from the heat he was giving off.
"To right an injustice…. And to unify my people. All of my people. Not just Wakandan. Not just Ugandan. Not just Kenyan, Ethiopian, Nigerian! All of Africa, united! All of the black peoples, UNITED!" he roared as he spun around, his robes flaring wildly, his eyes burning with a hellish glow, heat rolling off him in waves.
Stalking towards the Ugandan minister, Erik softened his voice, but that just made it sound all the more dangerous.
"And yet… here I stand… and I offer you salvation! I offer you the protection of Wakanda, and you throw it back in my face! For what purpose, I ask you?" Erik growled lowly, letting his eyes roam across every foreign diplomat present, enrapturing them with his speech.
"What do you gain, by shunning the wonders of Wakanda? What will you do, should the sky split open above your heads? What can you possibly accomplish, when aliens start raiding your cities? Wakanda shall be safe. Or shields are strong, our military mighty: Wakanda will have nothing to fear from invaders from the stars. But what do you have!?" Erik said, whirling around in front of the throne's steps, a wave of heat pushing back the closest advisors, ministers and diplomats.
"New York had the largest military might on the planet to aid them, yet still its people died in droves! What do you have?! New York had the Avengers to defend itself, yet still it's without power or water! What do you have?! New York has a Titan, Hyperion himself, to come to its rescue, and yet still the Capital of the West lies in ruins! What do you have?!"
As his voice echoed throughout the absolutely silent chamber, Erik allowed his voice to die down again, slowly walking amongst the diplomats as they all looked up at him in question, fear, and a few even in wonder.
"I will tell you, what you have. Only the one thing…"
Allowing a smirk to come to his face, eyes burning like a demon, Erik glanced across his hall, his palace, his people.
"… ME."
Seven days after the Invasion
"Yes Mrs. Hoag. Yes, I understand that pooling Damage Control and Stark Industries was the best cause of action. Yes, I agree. No. No, I don't think that we should've continued fighting Hogarth. Why? You mean, other than her breaking us in half like a toothpick or…? Madam, I assure you, I am as respectful as I can possibly be-"
"Give that to me. Hello, Mrs. Hoag? Yes, I apologize for Mr. Stark's remarks, I quite agree. Then again, I suppose we are all somewhat stressed these days. How is your niece doing, I understand she was visiting New York during the One Day War? Oh, that's wonderful news, congratulations…"
Tony watched as Pepper stalked off to another room of Stark Tower (soon to be named Avengers Tower), her red hair fluttering in the wind coming through some of the massive holes that lined the tall structure (it was only due to the superb engineering that had gone into its construction that had kept it one of the few highrises still standing tall in this block, where the fighting had been heaviest), the hole right next to Tony having made when Thor smashed a Leviathan's head into his building.
Seeing the woman he loved stride confidently through the rubble of their home, not a hitch in her step as a gaggle of assistants tried their best to keep up with the woman who was coordinating the largest relief effort on American soil since the Civil War, made Tony feel warm inside his metal chest.
God knew he couldn't do what she did.
Well, he could, but it would involve unhealthy amounts of caffeine, numerous sleepless nights and the creation of an army of gadgets and robotics.
Which is exactly what he had done.
It had taken him almost two days to recover from the War for New York, the various scrapes and bruises making themselves known with a vengeance once the battle had been completed, especially since some of the plating had been severy damaged, torn edges cutting him deeply on several places all over his body (thankfully nothing lethal or crippling, though the sliver of metal that had been steadily digging into his calf had been absolute agony, and he was still limping because of it). On top of that, the disassembly line of Stark Tower was non-functional, so he had been stuck in that banged up suit for hours until JARVIS had managed to fly in the required tools to make a spare one on the spot, which certainly hadn't done his aching body any favors either.
Still, that wasn't to say he had done nothing during those two days (well, to be honest, he, along with the other Avengers, had mostly just hit the sack and slept for a day or so, at least those of them that hadn't required immediate medical attention), though thankfully by that point Pepper had flown in and started directing Stark Industries resources to fly in emergency rations, tents and a whole army of porta potties, as well as coordinating with the government, the army, firemen, the police, Unicef, the UN, hell even Titan Solutions.
In comparison to that, all Tony had done is make JARVIS flick on the Arc Reactor again, and ask him to route the power to the surrounding blocks. JARVIS had been a godsend during those days. The AI had taken Tony's sleepily mumbled orders, and had started working on them even as Tony was lying in bed (thankfully the bedroom was still mostly intact), completely dead to the world.
Tony's suits from Malibu flew over to New York in a matter of hours, helping with the clearing of rubble and aliens, and even building generators and the like on the spot, made from more raw material that was flown in on Tony's planes, which JARVIS steered using their autopilot function.
Between Pepper and JARVIS, and the massive resources available to them, they had been able to clear Manhattan to the point that relief workers managed to comb the epicenter of the battle after only a day of clean-up.
And then Tony had arisen from his bed on the third day, drank the strongest coffee he could, rolled up his sleeves, and started to get to work.
He had seen Titan Solution's legion of drones both during and after the battle, and their inhuman levels of coordination immediately tipped him off to what he figured was Hyperion's biggest secret: the man had an AI of his own. While Tony was very interested in the how's and the when's and the why's (though perhaps in the last case, that should be a 'why not?') saving the people of New York and aiding in the relief efforts was a priority.
Tony was, above all else, a hero at (his metal) heart.
So, he used the tech he had incorporated into his suit that allowed it to home in on his wristbands and form around him and repurposed it to work individually with smaller components. After only hours, a design was sent to JARVIS, who immediately brought the closest SI production facilities online and began pumping out evac/med/relief suits, as well as a legion of small homing beacons.
The small beacons were capable of getting into even the smallest spaces looking for survivors, and coordinated the larger pieces of machinery for a variety of purposes, from extraction to simple heating.
Then he had recalled every single bit of material and machinery that originally was destined to be shipped out towards the atrocious road network of the States, and instead diverted it towards New York in order to start repairs.
Sure, the contractors would be pissed, but they could hardly deny Tony Stark when he was trying to provide aid in what some news stations called a humanitarian crisis.
And so it went for another three days, simply spent using every tool that was at his disposal (and making those that weren't) in trying to save and shelter as many people as he could, to clean up the city as fast as possible, and to initiate repairs wherever he was able to.
After that building frenzy (which came to an end when Pepper physically dragged him to bed on account of him having slept maybe six hours during that entire time), had come the political side of things.
Endless interviews and talk-shows, board meetings, calls with investors, the city, the government, the army, the army again (they certainly sounded pissed the second time the had called, though Tony supposed he could understand the sentiment: after they had begun their speech with "Clearly Stark, you can see that keeping that suit of yours so selfishly for yourself instead of sharing it with us-", he had hung up on them without even saying a word).
But now, after a week, things were finally calming down.
"Stark! Where do you want this… lumpy… metal… thing?" a booming voice came from behind him.
'Spoke too soon, did I?'
Turning around, Stark looked at the Norse God of Thunder with tired eyes, weary of what the well-meaning, monstrously strong alien had done this time in his attempts to 'help' renovate Avengers Tower (the fact that out of all of them, Thor was the only one not still recovering and was thus running around with minimal supervision certainly didn't help matters).
Directly after the battle, Miss Jones and Mr. McCole still embraced in a passionate kiss high above them, the Avengers had huddled together on Times Square, where Rogers and Carter had managed to erect a barricade for their troops during the battle, but where now a gore-smeared Hulk seemed to be playing fetch with the firebreathing dinosaur with a piece of Leviathan skull.
Tired beyond belief and hurting in more than a few places (Roger's injuries especially were rather gruesome), the Avengers had quickly decided that their primary objectives should be:
1. Locate and secure Loki.
2. Locate and secure the Tesseract.
3. Locate Selvig and ask whether there's any danger of the portal reopening for whatever reason.
As they trudged through mounds of alien corpses away from the tired, but star-struck soldiers, the Avengers shared a collective look of incredulity when the Hulk, after a slight whine and a massive pout, lifted one muscled, green arm and waved at the glowing T-Rex with an alien head in her jaws.
"Bye bye, kitty!"
If they hadn't been dead on their feet, they would've reacted with some more shock other than widening their eyes and shaking their heads, but in the state they were in, they simply shrugged their shoulders and moved on.
They could be properly be surprised by stuff again later, after they made sure the villain wasn't going anywhere, the McGuffin was secured, and the alien bastards weren't going to make a surprise return.
Unfortunately, while they did find Loki (still in the crater where Hulk left him, with an almost laconic expression of utter defeat on his pallid face) and Selvig (awake but rambling and seemingly not entirely there), they didn't find the thing that had started this entire mess.
The Tesseract was missing.
Tony immediately had a suspect in mind, even if the man himself has been at the other end of the universe when the Tesseract had been stolen, as everyone who had watched the man's highlight reel could attest to. Tony had seen the footage of what had awaited Earth on the other side multiple times, though he somewhat regretted rewatching it so often in great detail since those living mountains now featured quite prominently in his nightmares (those nightmares now also frequently featured him inside his suit, but instead of feeling like a second skin like it always had, it now felt like a coffin as he was forced to watch his ammo count sit at zero, his systems steadily losing power, clawed hands and mutated bodies slowly burying him in a wave of chitin-).
Besides getting nightmares from what had awaited Earth from whatever region of space McCole sent that nuke to (and resolving to invent an ammunition/fuel delivery system to work with his suit in the field), he had also managed to figure out roughly where the Titan had ended up in the universe based on that horrifying footage. The answer? Well, there had been something bright off to one side in one of the frames which could have been a quasar. If it was, the emission spectra matched those of the core of the NGC 1417 galaxy, which would place the Chitauri fleet more than 50 megaparsecs from Earth.
In lsimple terms, McCole ended up a long fucking way from home.
Kind of hard to steal something when you're at the other side of the universe.
Still, the man was known to have enhanced his employees (which made Tony guiltily rethink the policy of not giving his own employees any armor. He already had the designs for a suit for Pepper and Happy in the works though, and Rhodey would need a tune up to the War Machine as well), so there was every chance that some of Hyperion's men snucked in during the chaos and made off with the Jewel of Odin's Court.
Still, it hadn't been the time to confront his rival and show division amongst Earth's greatest heroes, so Tony had decided to set it out of his mind until later, when there weren't massive refugee camps in what had been a bustling metropolis only days ago.
Instead, after securing Loki (which involved the Hulk wrapping the exhausted looking god in rebar) and Selvig (which involved Thor gently trying to put the confused scientist to bed in one of the few undisturbed rooms of the Tower), Tony offered that once they had been patched up a bit, he'd buy them all some take-out (there was this Shawarma place he had been wanting try for some time now) and told them they all had a room available if they needed it.
If Barton and Romanov noticed that the offer was extended somewhat frostily when it came to them, then they didn't show it. Tony was fairly sure that they were on the side of the good guys (they did fight the good fight right beside him after all, but once he had a good look through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files he'd know for certain) but with the actions of the WSC coming to light, who were technically their bosses (though likely not for much longer), nobody felt really charitable to the two superspies at the moment.
Even then, it hadn't mattered much, as both declined, Barton saying that there were people that he desperately needed to see and Romanov explaining that… come to think of it, she never actually said where she was going, she simply disappeared somewhere during the day.
Huh.
The other Avengers had all gladly accepted though. Bruce was easy to convince, of course, since he had already been living with Betty Ross in the Tower for about a month now. Now that the gamma-mutated scientist wasn't (actively) hunted by the military anymore, there wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to leave his girlfriend's side.
Surprisingly, Rogers and Carter agreed as well, though Captain America of course, being the living legend that he was, declined sleeping in the tower while the clean-up was still going on, instead preferring a simple bunk in one of the army tents set up within the city after his shift was done.
Carter was far too busy running around trying to do damage control and keep Fury in power in the fallout of the WSC's publicized stupidity (the reveal of their call to give Abomination a medal of honor and to be included in the Avengers had caused Harlem to pick up arms again, the destruction wrought there by Blonsky now in everybody's mind as they glanced at the decimation visited upon Manhattan by the Chitauri) to spend any long stretches of time at the Tower, but JARVIS had caught her returning to Steve's tent every night.
Thor had opted to stay at the Tower simply because he had nowhere else to go. The Viking God had tried his best to explain the intricacies of his arrival on Earth, and as Tony understood it, it was a sort of fuel problem.
Thor's father, the mighty Odin, had used a mysterious and taxing force to send his eldest son across the stars to Midgard, to the point that he couldn't muster enough force to retrieve said son as well. The original plan had been to use whatever little force remained to send a device instead, which in turn would harness the power of the Tesseract in order to send Thor and Loki back to Asgard.
Without the Tesseract, that plan was in shambles, and so until the powerful object had been found, or until Odin had grown strong enough over time, Thor was stuck on Earth. While the Norse God had admitted that he was immensely fond of the planet and its people, and thus didn't exactly mind the idea of spending more time amongst humanity, he still had a duty as Crown Prince of Asgard, which included peace-keeping amongst the Nine Realms, which required the Bifrost.
Which, again, required the power of the Tesseract.
So for the foreseeable future, the Asgardian warrior prince was staying at Tony's place, and while the god had a heart of gold, the discrepancy between his alien strength and Earth stuff durability caused for some… growing pains.
"Thor. That thing, is a generator, capable of providing enough energy to power a small home for a year. Why did you carry it all the way up here?"
The blonde tower of chiseled muscle frowned slightly as he held the immensely heavy generator a little away from himself with an ease as if it were a giant beachball, instead of the heap of metal and machinery that it actually was, studying it with a penetrating gaze.
"Truly? I thought this might be, you know, one of those art things you humans are so fond of. Does it still work?"
Looking from the sparking, dented, leaking hunk of scrap metal, to the Norse god, and back again, Tony allowed a small sigh to escape him.
"No. No Thor, it doesn't work."
"Oh well then."
And with that, Thor nonchalantly tossed the beat up generator over his shoulder, letting the tons of metal crash into the floorboards with a thunderous noise, before he clapped his greasy hands together, completely oblivious to Tony's wince as he looked at his now ruined floor.
Thor stalked past him, clasping a meaty hand on Tony's shoulder with enough force to nearly send him to his knees in a gesture of fondness, offering the inventor a huge smile.
"Well them, I'm off to get something to eat. I'm starving!"
And with that, the God of Thunder happily stomped out of the room… in the complete opposite direction of where the kitchens were.
Looking from the doorway through which Thor had left to the thoroughly ruined generator now embedded into his floor, Tony allowed himself a small moment of weakness as he leaned against the table, rubbing his forehead with an exhausted sigh.
"That was the only piece on this level that hadn't been damaged…."
Mentally reviewing Thor's actions during the week he had been living with Tony caused the inventor to let out a pained groan.
"It's like living with a superpowered Dummy!"
Nine days after the Invasion
The sun was hot overhead as Shuri, daughter of Ramonda and T'Chaka, Rightful Princess of Wakanda, tasted dirt. Not of her own volition of course, but because of her current teacher beating her six ways from Sunday.
He called it training.
She called it torture.
He had merely shrugged and said torture could be training too.
Then he had beaten her into the ground again.
"Ged up pickney. We god more training to be done." A heavily accented voice called out behind her, causing her to work herself to trembling arms, looking at the towering man standing in the dirt field with her with a murderous glare.
Training with Klaue had been brutal, but she had advanced quickly (part of her noble Golden Tribe heritage no doubt, she had concluded), to the point that she could hold her own against him and whatever criminal enforcers he sent her against.
She was willing to admit it: her success against far larger opponents had made her overconfident.
The first time she had gone up against the new teacher Klaue had managed to find (briefly she wondered what kind of deal had been struck, then she quickly decided that as long as she got to kill him she honestly couldn't care), she had of course expected a tough fight, but secretly she had also expected to fight him to a draw, or at least to impress him with her skills.
She had lasted two seconds.
That was two months ago.
This time, she had lasted eight.
She worked herself to her feet, suppressing gasps of pain as best she could, trying to force herself back in a combat stance, though she could tell it was sloppy and wobbly just by the dismissive glare in those ice-blue eyes of her teacher.
Instead of attacking her as he usually would, the tall man sized her up and down, before his lips briefly pulled back as he sucked his teeth.
"Why'dja come ta mi, gyal?" he suddenly asked, taking Shuri off guard.
The girl knew better than to let her guard drop though, wary for any distractions that he was trying to blind her with.
"Klaue told you, before he left. We want to kill Michael McCole." She said with conviction as best she could, annoyed at the lisp that came through in her speech, courtesy of a split lip.
Again a frown and a sucking of the teeth, flints of ice staring unwaveringly at her trembling form.
"Ya want ta kill da Titan. He done ya wrong, ya gat badmind wit 'im, yah? So why come ta Jamrock, why ask da Jardies for me ta train ya? Wat do ya 'ave tat would get mi respeck?"
Gritting her teeth as her teacher basically asked her why on Earth he should train her (after beating her to a pulp after two whole months) she squared her shoulder, staring the man straight in his unnervingly light eyes.
"Because I am going to kill Hyperion. Our training here does not change that. Either I complete your training and kill him, or you send me away and I'll find another. And if he doesn't want me, I'll find another, and another and another. I'll never stop, not for you not for anyone! Magic, science, training, I'll take it all! And when McCole thinks he's safe, once he thinks he has found peace in this world, I'll burn down everything he has ever held dear, I'll murder everyone he has ever loved, I'll make his accomplishments turn to ash in his mouth. And when he is at the deepest pit of despair, when he'll know a glimmer of the pain I feel, then I'll open up his throat, just like he did to my mom! So either shut up and train me, or get the fuck out of my way!"
Panting after her emotional outburst, Shuri first thought that she had made a grave mistake, not just in dropping her guard (which she hastily brought up again, despite how little pause it would give the man across from her), but also in talking so disrespectfully against her stern teacher, especially when he rubbed his chin slowly, his head lowered slightly so she couldn't see his eyes.
Still, she stood by what she said, even if it got her the beating of a lifetime. She had seen the footage of the battle that McCole had captured, same as about everybody else on the planet, she reckoned. She remembered those massive writhing mountains, that tsunami of chitin and cybernetics, ready to drown her planet with their horrid bodies.
She remembered the struggle that McCole had when dealing with those massive aliens and the screaming energy bolts that slammed into him, over and over and over again.
To her it had been a clear message.
McCole was more powerful than ever… and he could be killed.
But if she wanted to be the cause of the Titan's death, then she would need to become more powerful, more dangerous, a bigger threat than an entire army of aliens, a goal seemingly so impossible, any sacrifice was worth it if she got to complete it nonetheless.
So yes, terrified as she was of her teacher's reaction, she wouldn't take back her words, instead swallowing down the lump in her throat and squaring her shoulders.
And then he looked up at her, pinning her with that icy glare, his lips peeling back in a way that sent a shudder down her spine.
Cracking his neck and popping his knuckles, the man let out a deep chuckle as he slowly approached her, Shuri matching him step for step as she tried to keep some distance between them.
"Aight den gyal, ya gat mi wid tat. Now ya'r reddy, let's get started on some real training… Bushmastah style…"
One day after the Invasion
In a nice sub-urban home, in a warmly decorated living room, sat a woman on a couch, staring intently at the TV. It showed something that only yesterday had been thought completely impossible by everyone but the craziest of conspiracy theorists. It showed aliens emerging through a tear in the sky, raining down carnage on New York City below.
And it showed the city's defenders as well.
Metal Men, ancient Gods, ragemonsters, even a T-Rex!
And a woman…
Black hair, long trenchcoat, flying around through the sky on her own power, crushing the invaders with blows far beyond what humans ever thought they'd be capable of, the result of her power still glaringly visible, speared to the Chrysler Building.
Jessica Jones, they called her, consort to the Titan Hyperion of Othrys, the man who saved the world from aliens and New York from nuclear fire.
As such, people where calling her Theia, Titaness of the shining light of the clear blue sky, due to the glimmering Chrysler spear she was so often depicted with, and of course because in the original myths, Hyperion and Theia had been married.
There hadn't been any news from Othrys about what Jessica Jones' code-name would be (though they had revealed their Gatekeeper Soter), but the name was thrown around so much on social media and news stations, it hardly mattered at this point.
Picking up the remote control as footsteps came towards her from the kitchen, she rewinded the recording of the news segment, watching again as the flying woman took down the Chitauri with heavy blows that spoke of the power of gods.
As the steps came to a halt, a warm voice spoke up.
"Are you still watching that? This makes, what, the hundredth time or so?"
The woman didn't even take her eyes of the screen, barely even blinking as she drank in the scenes of violence.
"Of course I am. A mother is always proud of her daughter's achievements, isn't she?" Alisa Jones said, a wide grin stretching across her face, her eyes shining with a disturbing sheen to them.
Fun Fact: X-Men's Professor X was modeled after Martin Luther King jr. and Magneto was modeled after Malcolm X.
As awlays, major shout out to my amazing Patrons, AndrewDC_MAC2, Miu, justlovereadin, Carn Krauss, ReapeScythe, Thordur hrafn, Daniel Dorfman and Samuel Carson! Thanks for your support! I cannot thank you guys enough for willing to support me as you do, so thanks again!