Now that I can rest assured that Tony won't be surprised to see Murk later in the morning, I head back to my room. I barely make it in the door before sleep comes for me.

Saturday morning goes as expected. Woken up at around 5:30 in the morning by a fitful Murk complaining in front of the mirror about his freshly cut hair for two hours. Next, a half-hour of off-the-wall ramblings. Strange things ranging from how deep-fried pickles are disgusting to whether he could rock a skirt in a ballroom dance competition. Then he complains about being hungry as he tries everything in his power to get me up from a half-sleep. At one point he even gets the hairdryer from the bathroom and sets it to high...right in my face. When that and anything else he concocts, from setting strands of hair on fire to tickling the bottom of my feet with a feather, he comes to realize I could sleep through a bombing and be none the wiser. No, at that point he finally gives in to brute strength to get what he wants. And let's be real here. That man could lift a full bus when he's hungry, okay? So what's to stop him from lifting me over his shoulder as I weakly protest in a haze? Absolutely nothing. The man has his mind set and not even my sleep will get in his way.

Once I'm trapped in the elevator, he kindly sets me on my feet, assured I can't escape. At this point, I realize it'd take too much effort to fight him. So I give up. My fingers ghost over the buttons before finding the one corresponding to the kitchen. By the time we reach the, and I quote, "God blessed food haven" the tower is still mostly dark and eerily silent. You know, save Murk's loud scrambling to shove anything remotely edible into his mouth like a five-year-old who's tasted candy for the first time in their life. While he combs through the cabinets and fridge, I take a seat at the kitchen bar and rest my forehead on the counter.
After a few more minutes of listening to his scavenging, in a surprising turn of events, he actually slides me a bowl of cereal. Tells me to pick my head up and eat something. No doubt because he wants me awake to give him a grand tour of a building I've spent maybe half a day in. Nevertheless, it's the thought that counts right? So I prop myself up with one elbow and shovel one spoonful into my mouth before letting the food fall back into the bowl. "Murk...did you substitute milk for vodka?"

"'m offended you s'pected differently." Damn was he right. Who am I? To think this man-child had the capacity to think like an adult and not get piss-drunk before 10 am? Although in his defense, last we were together this was all we did to dull our senses to the pain and abuse. Up before the sun, dazed before noon. All to drown out our sorrows. I swirl the spoon around the bowl with a distant look. For him to still carry that same habit from years ago, it's an indicator that in our time apart not much has changed for him. That or he's reaching for some normalcy we once shared long ago. "You good, Iris?"

"Are you?" My voice could barely be considered a whisper, so soft it could easily be missed. The change in his posture, the way he becomes more rigid, eyes more guarded, jaw tenser, it's enough for me to know he still catches the words.

"Can't tell if 'm hallucinatin'."

"You're not."

"That's what you always say." I drop the spoon into the bowl and cover my mouth with the back of my hand. I guide my eyes away from his face to the outside world.

"They told you to shoot a kid. If you didn't, they'd do it and gun down another too. One death by your hands, or two by theirs."

"I never told you that."

"You pulled the trigger and clipped the kid's shoulder... but they still proceeded to shoot the second right in front of you anyway. You were shouting, screaming, spitting mad. They put you in isolation for a week because they said you were too weak. Too scared to end a life." I tear my attention away from the fog slowly lifting from the tops of the buildings outside. "When I saw you next, you told me that they'd sent you out for the first time. Your first mission. You didn't want me to know what you'd done, what you couldn't do, what they'd done." Silence befalls us. "But I was there." His eyebrows pull together tightly, his eyes scrunch at the edges, and he leans forward. I pull the collar of my shirt aside to reveal the light discoloration of an old bullet wound which ripples across my shoulder joint. "It was me. They wanted to know if you were cold enough to end a life. Wanted to show me that you were, but their little social experiment failed." The fallout of my revelation is as expected. The quake of his shoulders as they fold inward, how he reaches out and grips the edge of the sink to ground himself, the shudder of his chest as he breathes.

"This is really real, huh?"

"Realer than what you consider breakfast." I joke to lighten to solemn mood. I even go as far as to take another bite of the cereal. "I'm not going anywhere, you big dumb softie, you're stuck with me-"

"-like Carter superglued to his floor." He finishes before we share a short laugh. He finally seems to work up the courage to look me in the eye again.

"You'll be stuck with me for years to come," I assure him, finding myself walking around the counter to him. "c'mere." I wrap my arms around his torso tightly while his arms fold around my shoulders. I feel his chin rest on the top of my head before he takes a deep breath.

"'m sorry."

"It was years ago, Murk. Besides, they'd never risk losing their chance at unlimited power — I was fitted with Kevlar."

After "breakfast" and our shared revelation, I find myself sitting next to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking NYC. I watch as the city that never sleeps begins a new day. The hustle and bustle of people down the sidewalks, the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the honking of horns — the general sights and sounds of a big city. I'm not sure if I like it or not. Before I can consider it more, Murk takes a seat directly across from me. Our toes touch in the space between us. He draws his knees under his chin while also staring out upon the world. The silence between us is comfortable as time ticks away in the back of our minds.

"There's more," I whisper after a long period. It doesn't seem to rouse Murk's attention as I had hoped. "Two more that I know of, actually. Of us." There. That's all it takes for my partner to bristle up like a furious cat. The darkening of his eyes, the downward turn of his lips that quickly turns to a scowl, the puffed-up chest. I can never quite truly understand what he went through — in Russia or after our separation — I just know he had it worse than I did, and my time was no walk in the park. But Murk? Oh, the poor soul. He had the spirit of fire even before his pyrokinesis, which proved difficult to break. He was the most sturdy of any I could remember — the bravest of us. When they tore him down, they tore away at the very things that made him human until he was nothing but a crippled shell. Rubble burnt in the aftermath of a vicious war. "I know...I know." I interject before the foul beration in his native Russian tongue can ensue. "They volunteered for the project, which I know is hard to wrap your mind around given everything we ever saw."

"Volunteered? Volunteered? No. Nobody volunteers to fistfight Satan." His hazel eyes mimic the fury of fire as they set on my face. The air becomes just as tense as his muscles. I can almost swear I can see him physically shaking. He has a right to get worked up. We both do. Going through the process of becoming enhanced is just about how he describes. You feel your body tearing itself to pieces before being wrapped in what feels like barbed wire on fire or hot coals.

Hoping to bring him back to a leveled perspective, I reach out and place one of my hands softly on his arm. I feel his muscles give way under my fingertips. "They lost their parents to a bombing. They were angry, rioting...emotionally vulnerable. As hard as it can be to admit, they were probably victims of a different sort." Despite my best efforts to try and find a reason for their decision, I can't. And I can't blame Murk for his disbelieving scoff. He turns away from me to look over the city with a glazed look. I retract my hand and allow my eyes to drift to my feet.

"Who? Where are they now?"

"Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, Sokovia. That's not the worst part." Because dropping this huge bombshell wasn't the worst news I could deliver right now. "It's...Strucker. He's also still alive, which takes care of the impending 'how?' I knew would come next," I tilt my head, narrow one eye, and give him a knowing smirk. "he must've escaped the facility prior to the collapse with notes of the formula and a strand of my DNA, I guess." The thought, the actual realization that Strucker actually stole a piece of me to twist for HYDRA benefit...it nearly makes my blood boil. And no, not in a figurative way. I can feel the blood in my vessels physically begin to heat with the incurred anger which suddenly sweeps me up like a riptide.

"Hey." The softest of whispers breaks up the dark thoughts and sparks curiosity within me, causing me to look into his eyes. A rare glimpse at his gentler side which he reserves for very few occasions and even fewer people. "'s not your fault. Yes, Iris, I know your DNA 's being used for unsavory acts, but 's not your fault. Don't blame yourself." As I open my mouth to deny the claim, he lifts a finger, "Before you say you aren't...I know that stupid broody frown." He jokes. I roll my eyes as my lips turn upwards into an involuntary smile while I gently smack his arm. Ever my light in the dark. "But seriously...where is that son of a bitch, Strucker?"

"Maria said he's being held by NATO. Yes, Maria. Story for another time." I interrupt myself to answer the sudden question I see alight behind his eyes. "Now I'm sure the Avengers plan on performing their own little interrogation...which we can probably high-jack, don't worry." I wink. Oh, how the two of us have been dying to look into the eyes of our creators and spit. To show them how we've reinvented ourselves. And, gosh, how we've admittedly wanted to inflict just a fraction of the pain forced upon us. Nevertheless, dark thoughts aside, Murk seems satisfied with my answer. I'm sure there are plenty more questions, plenty more catching up the two of us desire, but the ringing of my phone breaks the brief peace. I look at my second half skeptically as he pulls the device from the pocket of his sweat pants. "Do I even want to know why you have my phone? Or when you changed into decent clothes?" I ask sarcastically when he leans forward to place it in my hand. "Hello?" I answer the unknown number.

"Sparky, mind heading up to the lab?"

"Tony? How...did you even get this number?"

"I got your number the minute you stepped into the tower."

"That's...not creepy at all...I'll be up in a moment." I end the call before any more demands or quips can be made. "We're being summoned by the great and mighty Tony Stark." I roll my eyes while standing to my feet. I note the sudden flicker of excitement as Murk hurriedly follows my actions. He links his arm with mine as we take the elevator up to Tony's entertainment-slash-lab space. "For the love of all that's good and holy, please act like a normal human being okay?" I warn him as we near Tony's space. Muffled laughter can be heard from the lab. Once we round the corner, the laughter grows louder. On all of the screens is CCTV footage of my run-in with the Jersey crackheads. More specifically a clip of me getting nailed with the shopping cart.

"I don't think I'm the one who has to pretend to be a normal person." Murk mocks around a roaring laugh. Of course, everybody would get a hoot out of watching my distress and embarrassing situation. My curly-haired friend leans over and presses a friendly reassuring peck to my temple before abandoning my side. I scowl at the back of his head.

"Morning, Sparky." Tony greets without turning to face the two of us.

"Good morning, Stark." I return the greeting with ice. Looks like the whole team has now viewed my most recent shame — getting beat by some drug users. I offer hushed good mornings to everybody, embarrassment reddening my cheeks, while Murk insists on shaking everybody's hand with a charming grin. I'm almost willing to bet money that Natasha will break his fingers, but nothing comes of it. However, once he reaches none other than Tony, Murk seems to lose all confidence. He's reduced to stutters and a brick-red face. I find myself chuckling. Ah, the starstruck fanboy. "As you probably all know now, this is Murk. The only person I know of to survive the actual Russian incident. He's the one who kept me alive and my one and only ride-or-die. Dude's got a thicker accent than me and a rivaling sarcastic personality." Once all eyes have turned to my partner in crime, he's forced to stop drooling all over Stark. That usually cocky attitude and smirk seem to return once all eyes are on him. Or more accurately, once his eyes are no longer on the tech billionaire. He finds his way to the nearest workbench to lean his hip against while crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm Murk." Well, so much for acting natural. I subtly facepalm and let out a silent sigh. Who can really blame him though? Being presented to a group of superhero-celebrities that are as attractive as hell? Totally flustered a pansexual like Murk.
Before he can dig himself into a deeper grave, I speak up. "He's pyrokinetic. Can control and bend fire and flames to his will so long as the flames are within his eye line. We're not exactly sure of the limits of his abilities considering he didn't get a chance to really refine them." Of the two of us, he often suppressed his abilities. Whether the reason was due to safety or command, he didn't get an equal chance to express and explore all of his capabilities like I was. The raw power of the flames he manipulated was powerful enough to melt down to the bone in a single strike. And that was before he even refined his skills. They were afraid of what he'd do given the chance to hone his abilities. Afraid of what else he'd be able to do. He was always considered the more dangerous out of us. Because of both his power and unyielding spirit. It leaves a lot of him a mystery that is easy to lure one in. "No, Stark." I sharply interject the moment I see his mouth open. "You will not be performing testing on him." The rigidness of my tone and the sharpness of my glare must convey that unwavering fact as Tony closes his mouth quickly. There's too much baggage to be unpacked in that area of Murk's past right now.

"He will be attending the party, won't he?" Stark inquires, tone hinting that he will accept nothing less.

"Party? Iris, you didn't say anything about a party." Ah, yes. There's literal fire and then metaphorical fire. In this case, it seems a metaphorical fire has been lit under Murk, sparking within the depths of his captivating hazel eyes. "Of course I'll be attending. Any reason to run into you again." The pyrokinetic adopts a sultry tone while shooting Tony a wink.

"Stark, my friend, you have no idea what kind of mess you've willingly invited into your home." I laugh as I'm forcefully dragged from the lab by one very excited Russian. After all, this is not only a party, which Murk lives for anyways, but this is going to be a Stark party. Obviously, that means there will be a variety of alcohol available. And for a pair like Murk and me? All the reason to attend. So, the rest of our afternoon is spent raiding the closet for a decent outfit. However, the process of actually finding clothes worthy of such a high-class party includes us throwing our very own fashion show. Scarves, hats, sunglasses, heels and flats, dresses, skirts, suits, jackets...everything. We've both nearly pulled everything from all the hangers and out from all the drawers in our quest to put together the most cringe-worthy design in the name of 'fashion.' The hallway outside our room is our runway that we strut down dramatically. Poor Steve is unwillingly dragged into our escapade by Murk when he makes the mistake of showing his face. Then there's Thor who most willingly attends our impromptu 'Paris Fashion Show.' He gets so into it he even offers suggestions to colors and styles for the actual party. At one point the demigod even joins in on the fun himself. All the while, my brunette partner has an arm thrown around Steve's shoulders to keep the war vet from retreating to the farthest corner of the tower he could possibly get.

"Hmmm...Thor..." I place my fingers under my chin as I look him up and down. "You know, I think that red velvet captain's jacket would look great on you." Having made up my mind I go trudging through the array of clothing scattered across my temporary room for the article of fabric. Once found, I shake it out before offering it to the demigod. The Norse Prince happily dons the coat before checking himself out in the mirror.

"Yes Thor, slay it!" Murk calls from his position on the couch we've moved into the hall for the occasion.

"I think it looks nice," Steve adds.

"I like it." Thor nods his head slowly, checking out the coat from all angles. "As much fun as this has been, I must finish getting ready." The Asgardian goes on to thank us for a good time before rescuing Steve from the clutches of a love-sick Murk. Once they've left, the two of us go about finding actual clothes to wear before getting ready. By the time the party is in full swing upstairs Murk and I are finally set to make an appearance. We link arms and ride the elevator up together. As the doors open, all eyes turn towards us.

Murk has opted for a "classic American bad boy look" of black jeans and a fitted tee in the same color paired with a black leather jacket. I, on the other hand, decided on something a bit bolder; a short spaghetti strapped red sequin dress with matching heels that reveals my past scars. Quiet murmurs erupt in the space around us. I can feel my partner's gaze drift across the crowd until he spots Stark near the bar with Thor, Maria, and another man I've yet to meet. Before my partner can pull away, I draw him closer and whisper for him to behave with a playful smile. He offers a 'no promises' before he begins to mingle. As he quickly immerses himself into the throes of the party, I find the nearest caterer carrying flutes of champagne and grab a glass. From her position at the bar, Maria subtly lifts her glass in greeting before making her way towards me.

"Too much testosterone," She jokes while taking a sip of her own drink. I peer over her shoulder to Murk, Tony, and Thor with a smile.

"I don't doubt it."

"Cute dress. Although, I am surprised you aren't wearing sunglasses. Or contacts."

"Thank you, thank you, and I figured this is a superhero party, huh? And golden eyes? Either people will think I'm wearing colored contacts or I'm a friendly from off-world like Thor. Guess I figured it was time to stop hiding who I am." I say with confidence before taking a sip of my drink.

"I'm so proud of you," Maria says genuinely before being pulled off into another crowd by a face familiar to her. Afterward, I find myself sifting amongst the other party-goers, offering greetings and engaging in small talk. I stop to listen in on a 'War Machine' story by the man I'd not yet met yet, James Rhodes. It's a cute little story which earns laughter from the listeners. When I note a familiar face at the pool table I excuse myself.

"Well, well, well, they let just anybody in here now don't they?" I joke while leaning my hip against the pool table.

"Iris!" None other than Sam Wilson greets in his typical energetic way. He draws me into a firm embrace which I return. "Look at you. What are you doing here? What's up with your eyes?"

"You two know each other?" Steve asks from the opposite side of the table. For the second time, he's stunned by the fact I know someone he's also familiar with. I shrug my shoulders before Sam throws an arm around them. We both grin.

"Oh yeah. Sam here was a rock when I was suffering through my trauma and PTSD. Helped me learn to cope and come to terms with what I'd gone through," I wink at him knowingly. Steve looks between us with skepticism, "my own counselor...although at the time he thought it had to do with war flashbacks." I turn my head sideways. "Sorry 'bout that Sam." Now Wilson gets to look at me skeptically. Steve nods his head in the direction of the ramp leading up to the windows overlooking the city and both men abandon their game of pool.

"So what do you mean 'thought it had to do with war flashbacks'?" Sam asks once we've retreated from the center of the nightly activities. I look at Steve, looking for permission to include Wilson in the gritty details, looking for affirmation that he's in the know about HYDRA business. Rogers nods.

"They were actually flashbacks, trauma, and PTSD...just relating to my time under HYDRA experimentation and control. Sorry for the half-truths." I tell him quietly so prying ears cannot hear. I wait for a sharp, betrayed reaction but get none. If anything, he looks calm and understanding.

"I always thought you were holding back on me. That why you always wore sunglasses to our sessions?" I grin to myself. His acceptance is refreshing.

"Yeah...yeah. It would've been a dead giveaway that my situation was..a bit different..."

"Hey, Iris, not everybody tells me everything. People compartmentalize and often hide certain parts of themselves. I'm not judging."

"Thank you, Sam. I really appreciate everything you've done for me and helped me through."

"Anytime," We share another long smile before he grows more serious. "so...you wouldn't happen to be the one who gave Steve a lead for a certain missing person, would you?"

"That would be me. Didn't know you'd been wrangled into this manhunt too." I poke fun and give him a small shove with my shoulder.

"You plan on staying around, Iris?" Steve asks hopefully. After all, I'd be another set of eyes out looking for a particular someone.

"Oh...I don't know. For the last few years, all I've thought about, all I've worked towards was looking for my partner. Now that I've found him," I pause and cast a look to where Murk is still flirting with Tony, "I haven't thought about what I want next."

"Well, I'm sure Steve would love to keep you around." Sam laughs. "Another set of eyes wouldn't hurt." He gives Steve a pointed look. "And what about you? Find a place in Brooklyn yet?"

"I don't think I can afford a place in Brooklyn." Steve sighs.

"Well, home is home, you know?" Sam offers lightly. The three of us stand overlooking the swinging party in a semi-sad silence for a while after that.

"Where do you call home, Iris?" Steve poses the question, causing our eyes to turn towards him.

"Home..." I whisper quietly to myself with a troubled smile. "I've not had a home since coming to America." Honesty is often bitter, often cold, and even the truth of it tends not to warm you. "I've just always drifted where the mission took me." Murk's beckoning wave attracts my attention. "Boys, it was lovely catching up. I hope I get to see you again before you leave, Sam."

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Hey hey hey, sorry for the radio silence loves
I recently got super caught up in hardcore studying for my board exam, which I passed!
Hopefully now my update schedule will get a bit more 'normal'
Can't guarantee an exact update day since I work graveyard shifts and my sleeping habits are all over the place right now, but I'll do my best :)