"You've planted the seeds of doubt Iris, don't worry. You might not have my charm, but if anybody can change someone's mind, it's you."

"The news is loving you guys."

I hunch over in my seat, fingers harshly pinching the bridge of my nose in an attempt to distract from the jolting throbs erupting from the back of my head. I've got as much cotton as possible crammed in my ears to minimize the amount of noise I register. I feel like I've walked through a wildfire and barely lived to tell the tale. Between the concussion and infective power Ultron managed to warp through my skin, let's just say I truly regret getting wrapped up in all of this. Not to mention I managed to get separated from the team who took the two of us in, I failed to watch their backs. I spare a squinted look to Murk, one arm resting across my back while he tilts his head back, eyes closed peacefully. Despite the calm outward visage, I can feel the tension in his muscles. I can feel that stifled anger, that disappointment of being caught unaware.

There's no way around it. We both failed.

Without even the faintest chance of being able to restrain the Hulk, we took shelter in the jet and waited for the rest of the group to get back. Minus Tony, who had to handle the job of minimizing the green rage which terrorized the local city. When the rest of the Avengers managed to struggle back to the plane, they looked like they'd gotten swept up into a nightmare — and that wasn't too far off from the truth. Everyone but Clint had their minds tampered with after I'd been left in the middle of the muddy banks. When they initially arrived, I tried my best to help get everyone situated. I managed to look everyone over for external wounds, Steve being the only one with any sort of real physical trauma from where Pietro got a good punch in. I got him a small bag of ice to hold over his face before I could barely keep myself from giving in to vertigo. At that point, Murk took up the mantle of ensuring everybody had needed supplies — water, anti-nausea meds, shock blankets. Then he joined me sullenly while we waited for Tony and Bruce to return. Since then, we've been roving the skies in wait of a safe destination to land and lay low while Maria smooths things over. Speaking of Maria, every time she breaks the silence I feel my stomach flip as my head pounds to the beat of my erratic heart.

"Nobody else is. There's been no official call for Banner's arrest, but it's in the air." I solemnly lift my head and look to where Bruce is leaning against a raised platform in the center of the Quinjet. He's got a blanket wrapped tightly around himself despite sweating. Our eyes meet for a split second before the view contorts and everything starts shifting to the left in ripples. My stomach clenches as I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. Out of all of us, Banner looks the worst off. Then again, I'd probably look like hell chewed me up and spat me out if I killed numerous people while contorted into a raging rejected Green Giant veggie man. Oh, and let's not mention the economic damage done to the little outskirting city.

When I feel settled again, I open my eyes and pick at the edge of the jacket gifted to me by Stark. The caked layer of dried mud makes me grimace in disgust. I straighten my back, causing Murk's arm to slide away while I slowly shrug it off, muscles protesting angrily at me while doing so. I drop the article to the floor at my feet. Pietro's horrified expression when I told him all those lost lives were on he and Wanda keeps flashing to the forefront of my mind. I understand he holds a grudge against Stark but is that all this is? What is it about Ultron that's keeping them by his side in all this? Are they truly that lost? Truly that vengeful that everything falls to the wayside? No. There was a true shock, true alarm in the depths of his eyes when I was talking to him. He must have some sympathy tucked away somewhere, right?

Murk's hand finds one of my own. I sit back in my seat and lean into his side, my face pressed against his shoulder. "You did what you could."

"So did you. She's got a different kind of mind control, something we've not encountered. There wasn't anything you could've done to stop her from getting to Banner." I whisper low enough for only him to hear. The brunette grunts in discouragement and looks away, jaw tense. His eyes are still distant, despite the bravado act he's trying desperately to cling to. "You saw something too, didn't you?" I ask after a pause. When he makes no move to acknowledge the question, I know I'm right. "Where did you go?" I almost flinch when he turns his eyes on me, hazel rimmed with the burn of high-reaching flames.

"Somewhere I couldn't follow you." So solemn are his words that my fingers wrap around his.

"Well, good thing you're right here with me." He strangely doesn't have anything snappy to say, so we fall into silence. My eyes slowly begin to find focus again, even as my mind struggles to catch up. The throbbing slowly dies down the longer we're airborne. But it's all white noise to the thoughts flying through my mind. There's no place on this earth that Murk wouldn't, or couldn't, follow me. Unless it's not a place here on earth, but rather more of a concept the two of us have brushed aside for as long as we can remember.

Death.

How close we'd danced along that line so many times without a second thought — never really believing such a thing could grasp us with icy tendrils. Yet just one short afternoon with the Avengers has allowed the murky concept to bubble up around our ankles like a cackling threat. How short life can be when side-by-side the Avengers. Always putting their lives on the line for the ideals of good, always on the defense of evil. So different from the offensive maneuvers and death we dealt out on a daily basis not long ago, so different from the self-preservation which has gripped us, and so very different from always desiring to be on the 'winning' side to avoid being made targets. How quickly our lives have become upside-down. What a strange feeling this brings me.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I look up. Thor is to the right side of the jet, arms almost crossed as paces a few short steps back and forth. Whatever he saw in his nightmare really hit him hard. I didn't think an Asgardian could get this shaken up, least of all Thor. Meanwhile, Natasha sits on one of the chairs close to Bruce, on the left side of the raised platform. Her head is cast downwards blankly. She doesn't seem to be taking her hellscape well either. Then, of course, there was Steve. He sits in a chair against the wall of the jet close to the cockpit, gaze turned toward the floor also. He seems to be deep in thought. I wonder what he saw.

"We're still a few hours out." Clint's quiet voice draws my attention from where he's piloting.

"Still a few hours out from what?" Stark asks.

"A safe house." Clint replies, but he sounds a bit unsure. My eyebrows scrunch as I ponder.

Where on this Earth would there be a safe house for the Avengers?

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

The world is dark and inky, broken only by short flashes of memories long buried in a puddle of red. Things long-suppressed now bubbling up from the cracks formed by facing things of my past here in the present. Glimpses of the life left to the shadows, of the flaking blood on my hands I'd thought was washed out long ago, the corpses piled high at my feet, the smell of garlic...

The smell of garlic?!

I jostle awake, nose scrunched up in disgust. Hazel eyes enriched in a mischievous playfulness glance back my way. A gag leaves me as I shove myself away from Murk, holding my nose as if to accentuate just how badly his breath smells. However, I can't stop my own eyes from shining in relief. Seeing my oldest friend back to his old ways, his old self, warms every fiber of my being. "Ugh, Murk, I can't believe your face is so ugly that it smells-" The discarded muddy jacket finds itself gripped in Murk's hands before it's thrown at me. I can't stop the laughter that bubbles up my throat.

"You take that back! My face is God's greatest creation and this age's greatest money-maker." There's no way I can maintain eye contact with him through the broad smile which causes my eyes to squint shut. My chest rumbles like roaring thunder as he grips my upper arms. The soiled article of clothing is the only thing separating us as he leans in and forces me to look him dead in the eye, but eventually succumbs to the infectious laughter. When the giggling dies down, I stare into the brown eyes sprinkled with small flecks of gold and green, eclipsed only by the shadows of the darkened jet. I lean my head forward, forehead meeting his as I shut my eyes.

"I'm glad you're feeling a little better."

"You too." We break away as the landing gear of the jet deploys, followed by the brief jostle of the aircraft settling on the earth. Both our eyes find the lowering ramp as sunlight filters in. Curiosity rolls off us like waves on a calm beach. We both stand but hesitate to move any further. Clint and Natasha brush past us, the first to leave the jet and lead the way. My eyes narrow in on the way Barton continues to support Natasha.

Adventure has never truly been my cup of tea. I've always preferred the cold silence of familiarity. Murk, on the other hand, lives for excitement and new experiences. A heartbeat barely passes between us before he's linked our arms and pulls me along after the violet avenger. Our feet carry us down a path well-worn into the earth, winding between a gathering of trees, before leading to the steps of a farmhouse. My eyes search the immediate vicinity for any sort of danger, but nothing stands out. Nothing but miles of fields, tall grasses, and wooded areas. In the corner of my eye, the flash of Stark, then Thor, Steve, and finally Bruce following along registers. They too seem interested in our current location, but there's a lag to their movements. Whether it has to do with the mind invasion or exhaustion, I can't say for certain. Before we start up the old steps to the front door, I shove Murk to the side. The rest of the Avengers pass us by without a second glance. I can feel anticipation buzzing off Murk. "I can't just waltz in there...I'm coated in dirt." I grimace down at the state of my clothing.

"You're right." Murk says solemnly with a nod of his head. We glance into each other's eyes. "Well-" He means to step around me, but my hand on his chest stops him dead in his tracks. I give him a false cold glare. "Alright, alright, go stand over there." He wiggles his finger in the general direction of the front lawn. I take a few steps in that direction. "Give me a light." I roll my eyes and snap my fingers together, the combination of the friction and actively drawing energy particles to my fingertips creates a small flame hovering over my fingers. The raw delight that illuminates Murk's eyes is bordering on concerning. I don't get much time to think on it before he twists his wrist, fingers pointed towards the sky, and the flame is sucked from my grasp. The flames reach for the clouds above, violently spiraling into a fiery cyclone bent to Murk's whim. All I can do it gape up at it before it's gone in a blink. "There." In my shocked daze, I seem to have completely missed the intention of Murk's actions. The wind swept up into creating such a terror had enough force to pull the loose dirt from my skin and clothing. There's no evidence of the flames left behind, just a small trail of dirt leading away from my position. "Right, now then," He once again links my arm with his. My eyes still can't seem to be parted from the spot the flames disappeared until my vision is obstructed by the inside of the farmhouse. Ah, what was I expecting though? This is Murk, after all. Dramatic flare has always been his forte.

It's not until a young boy and girl come trodding down the stairs leading to the second story of the farmhouse and whip past us that my attention refocuses on the current setting. I can't help the surprise that washes over me upon seeing the children dashing to the living space, past the rest of the Avengers, right into the arms of their...father?

Clint?

I always knew that amongst the group, Barton had the most parental spirit. Now it all makes so much more sense. "These are...smaller agents." I hear Tony trying to explain the situation to Thor, but even the billionaire seems lost.

"Did you bring Auntie Nat?" The young girl asks Clint.

"Why don't you hug her and find out?" I hear Natasha say as she takes a step forward. My partner and I both subtlely flinch as we get a peek into the softer side of Natasha's person. I turn my head to the brunette hanging onto my arm. My shock is mirrored in his hazel eyes.

"Is this...a fever dream?" I whisper to him.

"Wouldn't be the first time we've shared a fever dream." He mumbles back, eyes hooded in suspicion. Our eyes are drawn to the movement of a pregnant woman who takes up residence at Clint's side.

"Sorry for barging in on you." Steve apologies, ever gentlemanly.

"Yeah, we would have called ahead," Tony continues. "but we were busy having no idea that you existed." I can't stop the roll of my eyes. Murk quietly stifles a chuckle.

Real smooth.

"Yeah, well, Fury helped me set this up when I joined." Clint comes to the defense of whom I presume is his wife. "He kept it off SHIELD's files. I'd like to keep it that way. I figure it's a good place to lay low." As his son drags him from the room, I offer them a timid smile.

"How's little Natasha?" Natasha asks the woman as I evaluate the home I feel we've invaded. What a shock this must all be.

"She's...Nathaniel." Her face contorts into a half-grimace, half-pitying smile. A fleeting look of shock crosses the fiery-haired assassin's face before she leans down to whisper 'traitor.' A soft laugh escapes me, but dies in my throat as Thor brushes past me with a discontent look. Everyone watches him leave, and Steve is quick to follow. Murk must be able to sniff out drama, as he abandons me in favor of getting a front row seat to Thor's anguish.

"Hey..." I flinch, muscles bunched as adrenaline floods my veins. I sharply turn to face the woman in front of me. She lightly laughs, eyes scrunched at the corners as she cradles her stomach. "Sorry. You'd think I'd learn not to sneak up on Avengers by now."

"Oh, I'm- I'm not an Avenger-" I feel my face flushing in embarrassment.

"Laura."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Laura. Clint's wife."

"Oh, uh, Iris." I offer her a hand, unsure what else to do. Her eyes are alight with amusement as she smiles, but still kindly takes my outstretched hand to shake.

"Your accent...it's...?"

"Russian." One side of my lips curl upward into a smile while I duck my head. "It's got an American tinge though."

"Unique."

"Thanks...um, I hate to bother, but would it be inconvenient to ask to take a shower?"