“This project has officially gone to hell.“

Natasha Romanoff didn't comment on the voice in her earpiece while she stared on the computer screen before her. Download was at twenty percent and all she had to do was wait. Her colleagues would have to clean the lower level; she had now time on her hands to be adequately annoyed that her cover had been blown after just two days of infiltration.

With a resigned sigh, she moved aside the unconscious body of the CEO of the company to gain better access to his computer. The old man didn't even stir. All his brilliance, his ruthless streak and head for business were something that Natasha might have respected, if he hadn't been been dangerous and engaged in illegal activities to the point where S.H.I.E.L.D considered him a threat. But she wasn't going to work with him now, although part of her had been looking forward to it. Instead of subtle espionage, this project had turned into butchery. This wasn't how it was done. An infiltration job was long-term work which paid off best if no one noticed that something was gone, that blueprints, prototypes and drafts were copied right under their noses and that the secretary or cleaning personnel were suddenly gunning for a new job. This kind of work wasn't glamorous, but if done right, it was effective and tended to leave few dead bodies, not to mention the lack of post-processing and cover-up Fury had to do now that he had let his people charge in.

Download at twenty-eight percent. That was slow.

It was the most frustrating thing: she and nobody else was the reason for this failure of a mission. It should have been routine, but someone had recognized her as a participant in the Battle of Manhattan as a “heroine”. What a curious word. That was the downside of doing work openly – sooner or later, one was recognized for better or worse. In her case, it effectively killed the role she was trained for all her life, the one thing she excelled in: Being a spy and infiltrator.

Her work was about being notorious, not recognizable, about being efficient and not a famous idol. She was no heroine. She would never be one. And yet, being a heroine had ruined her day, not to mention her current work.

“Got something for you, Natasha.” Whatever her teammate's cheery demeanor suggested, it couldn't be good. But to her mild surprise, music cut into her ear. Initially, she wanted to follow her first instinct and chastise her colleague about unprofessional behavior, but then she listened more closely. That was opera, no less. Smooth, serene, excellent soprano … it was exquisite, to be completely honest. Carol Danvers seemed to sense her fascination even over the radio and couldn't leave it uncommented.

“Believe it or not, it's Berlioz. You didn't see that coming, huh?”

Natasha allowed herself just the hint of an amused smile. “Opera isn't everyone's cup of tea.”

“Yeah, but it might be yours. Aria's called Nuit paisbibblething or something, in case you want to research that later. Thought you could use a little cheering up. By the way, did you know that Sharon started to joke about our little trio? Fury's Angels, she said. More like Amazon Brigade...”

“Carol?”

“Yes?”

“I'd like to listen to some opera.” Even though Natasha kept her voice in a dry and flat, but her mood had improved a little, which she didn't mask. She could almost hear her colleague smile, which was to be expected given her carefree and sporting nature. The download would take a while, the director of this company was still lying unconscious with his head on the table while her fellow agents made sure she was undisturbed. Natasha spared the man on the desk a last, scrutinizing glance, only to notice him stirring slowly. Sloppy. One quick, precise Chuto Strike against the carotid artery and he fell unconscious, this time for good.

When she concluded that he was indeed not waking up anytime soon, then turned towards the window. So strange. She had visited Lyon before, but in all this time, she had never took the time to enjoy the vista. But now, now she could relax, listen to some good music and savor the view; and Lyon at dusk was a spectacular sight indeed, one that even she could appreciate on an aesthetic level. The setting sun basked the buildings in golden radiance, mirrored in the Saône. Autumn was arriving with heavy steps, yet a gentle, warm breeze and bright skies with few clouds remained. In Europe, they didn't build their structures as high up as in the US, so she could even make out the shapes of the pedestrians. All of them had their own history, their own path. Most of them were probably returning home from work right now.

Just return home – that's not for me. She breathed deeply. Her job for the day was done, but it wasn't done well. It wasn't satisfactory at all to settle for so little when she thought she could attain more. There was nothing that could be done about it right now. For now, she settled for a nice view.

She was so deep in thought, she almost didn't notice the sunlight reflection of the sniper's scope's lens.

Well-honed reflexes kicked in and she rolled quickly to to cover, away from the large window and just in time before the glass shattered into thousands of pieces. Natasha didn't hear the shot, but the flying shards of glass and the gust of wind from the broken window spoke loud enough of the snipers action. She didn't concern herself with something so pesky as fear, instead, her mind worked flawlessly. There was just a small time window before the sniper could reload, so took a quick look out of the window, giving up her cover temporarily to verify the position of the assassin. But when she looked out of the window, checking the last location where she saw the reflection of the scope.

Then, the second shot fell.

Oddly enough, it wasn't aimed on her. Instead, she saw the shape of a man falling down from the building where she first had spotted the approaching danger. Her instincts told her to get into cover quickly, but her mind processed the data given much faster. The assassin fell from the roof of the other building, meaning the shot that killed him must have come from behind. Guessing the angle used for both shots was a simple work of math and led to a quick conclusion: The second sniper was way out of sight for her.

She could see that down below, there was a commotion building where the person that had meant to kill her had fallen. But he was most certainly dead now, shot by another person who must have shadowed him, given the angle and timing of the shot.

That man down below had wanted to kill her. Another sniper shot him down. Normally, she would assume that one of her colleagues had done his job in watching her, but she was in charge of this operation and knew for a fact that nobody was. The CEO of the company hadn't been the target, as a quick glance told her immediately. He was alive, well and asleep, and if he had been the target, he would have been dead for sure.

Conclusion: She had been the target.

There were a lot of people who wanted to kill her and precious few who actually protected her. Who was the second sniper? Who sent him? It was no agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., that much was certain. For the first time in her life, she didn't know who thought her life precious enough to protect. How odd … just now she noticed that the opera music from earlier was still playing.

What game was played here? And more importantly: What were the rules?

---

Either this mirror was somehow less flattering than a mirror should be, or Wanda really didn't look so good. The dark circles under her eyes were only highlighted through her ghastly pale complexion. Her hair wasn't in the mood to fall into place either and the scratched eyebrow wasn't helping the first impression. She looked into that mirror and saw an exhausted woman with dishevelled black hair. To add insult to injury, her roots were showing.

Well, there was nothing that could be done about it now. With a resigned sigh, Wanda tied her hair back and started to treat her tiny injury. Through the mirror she could see the young brunette with dark eyes that had been grilling her with questions for the last few minutes. The woman, supposedly an Agent, looked starry-eyed and very enthusiastic, which Wanda thought exhausting, but also somewhat adorable.

“Okay.” Dark Eyes said, still giddy like a child and entirely oblivious of the fact that she was standing in the medical compartment turned morgue of a huge plane and therefore kind of disturbing any research. “Now that we have established that magic is real and I can dish out a lot of 'told you so's to a lot of people … what can you do with it?”

Wanda started washing her hands, a process that would take several minutes since she intended to work on body parts. She looked to Captain Rogers pleadingly, but he just stood in the back of the room, his arms crossed before his chest and shrugged, the hint of an impish smile basically saying ‘You’re own your own’. Fair Lady was in the room as well, but she was apparently busy with the microscope, her back turned to the room.

So she sighed and answered dutifully. “I change probability and am schooled in a few basic rituals.”

Dark Eyes' expression froze, likely from disappointment. “Rituals? Like pentacles, cauldrons and stuff like that?”

“No.” Wanda answered patiently while she continued to wash her hands. “I'm not a Wiccan. I can do wards, divination and a few protective circles. I was schooled by a classic english sorceress, so I use a mixture of celtic, kabbalistic and christian elements in my magic rituals. But that's really not my forte, to be completely honest.”

“Yeah, you change probability.” Dark Eyes looked like her bad case of fangirling was crushed right in this moment. “That means you can hex people with bad luck.” She paused a moment. “That sounds kind of weak. Aren't you supposed to be, like, super powerful?”

“Oh?” Wanda looked up, slightly amused. “Why do you think so?”

The young woman looked like this was self-evident. “With you being Magneto's daughter and everyone being worked up about you, you ought to pack some punch, don't you think?”

Wanda turned and looked the other woman right into the eyes, her gaze intense, her voice grave. “What are the chances of you getting a heart attack right now? I imagine the chance leans towards zero, but it's never completely zero. Imagine someone can't control his own powers and tips the balance … what happens then? It would be an accident, a case of bad luck of epic proportions.”

To her credit, Dark Eyes wasn't as creeped out as Wanda expected her to be. She stood silently, frowning and processing what she had just been told. It had not been a threat, but a matter of fact, as Wanda had experienced in a bitter, bitter fashion. When she was young, she wasn't able to control much of her powers and often accidentally fired them off. Suffice to say that she had caused a lot of damage, if involuntarily.

It was Captain Rogers who finally broke the silence with a quiet question. “Who's Magneto?”

Dark eyes was quick to answer, even a little eager, as if one of her favourite topics had been addressed. “He and his goons are about the only people with supernatural powers the media could ever get their hands on. Terrorist, persona non grata in about every state, Assassin, murdered at least two presidents and practices a mean game of freakin' car fu.” She paused dramatically. “With his mind.”

Captain Rogers furrowed his brow, and Wanda couldn't tell if it was disapproval or lacking comprehension. Also, she was a little ashamed, now that her father was exposed and somehow wanted to make him sound a bit less evil, if that was even possible. So she opted for a dead neutral tone. “Magnetokinesis. He manipulates magnetic fields, which is just another kind of energy projection. We talked about this during the interrogation.”

The young woman beamed at her. “That sounds fancy.”

Wanda allowed herself a wry smile. “It does, doesn't it? I like car fu, though.”

“Sorry to interrupt …” Rogers said supressing a smile as if infected by the positive mood whiplash. “But you used to be part of his organization, right? What happened?”

The smile on Wanda's face died, and she shook off the bad memories that came with this question. “Hawkeye.” She responded, honest, sincere and again deadly serious. “If you don't mind, I would like to avoid this subject.”
Captain Rogers didn't hesitate a second, but inclined his head in a gesture of respect that left Wanda nonplussed. He then turned his head to Dark Eyes, who seemed a bit bubbly like a child at Christmas. He told her in a friendly voice “They are about to perform an autopsy.”“Right.” She said, while stepping closer to him, and out of nowhere, touched his chest. Her hand rested there while she looked like a diehard artist that was allowed to touch the Mona Lisa. She quickly pulled her hand away, her smile adorable. “Sorry. Had to make sure this was all real.” She touched him again, this time briefly. “Wow, it's like a Michelangelo.” She blushed fiercely. “I will … uhm, stop talking. And run to my room and crawl under a carpet. Excuse me, guys.” And with these words, she fled the medical cabin, leaving an astonished Rogers, a thoroughly amused Wanda and a silent Fair Lady who pretended hard that she didn't hear a thing.“So …” Wanda stretched the word to gain a little more time for phrasing her next words more carefully. But Captain Rogers struck her as a straightforward guy, so she opted for a more direct approach. “Who are you, exactly?”

“What do you mean?”

Wanda chose her words carefully and wasn't shy to seek eye contact with him. “You said that my presence would be kept secret to the higher levels of S.H.I.E.L.D. to avoid any trouble, yet you were able to offer to hire me anyway. Either you are very high-level yourself or you are someone independent.” She eyed him carefully, patiently waiting for his answer.

Now he looked a little embarrassed, as he rubbed his neck in a helpless gesture. “I'm … uh, Captain America.” He looked like he was aware there was no chance whatsoever not to make that line sound corny. Wanda froze immediately, though. That fellow there was the famous hero of World War II? He made quite the commotion in the news and in the world of medical science when he was finally sawed out of that glacier. She didn’t believe even half the myths surrounding him, but somehow, she still found herself stiffening and hoping that she didn't make a fool out of herself. She had heard however of the ideal he represented, but seriously doubted that anyone could live up to that.

“Oh dear.” She said, and now it was her turn to rub her neck nervously. She glanced at her wet fingers, suddenly remembering that she had them scrubbed in preparation for an autopsy, and now had to start all over again. She inwardly cursed her carelessness and started to wash her hands again. But while she did, she realized that right now, the situation made even less sense. “I'm very sorry for your loss.” She said sincerely. “I understand that the subject in question is one of your teammates. But why on earth would you have me, of all people, examine him?”

To her surprise, Steve Rogers didn't hesitate. “I'm out of options. Medical examiners, Biochemists, Physicists and Investigators of any kind have worked on this case and nobody has turned up anything I can work with. You represent the only legitimate source on the occult I can find. Perhaps you can offer another point of view.” He grimaced. “It sounded less desperate in my head.” The whole man straightened, his whole demeanor a picture of sincerity. “Also, Barton trusts you with his life and he doesn't give his trust lightly. You must have done something to deserve it. Good enough for me.”

For a moment, Wanda was stunned, her heart warmed by the trust he put in Clint's judgement, and to an extent, in her. She blinked a few times “You don't think I'm insane? Because, that wouldn't be far off, as you know.”

“I think you believe in magic. In my experience, belief is nothing insane. Belief is strength.” He said honestly, a slight smile on his face. “There are weird and fantastic things out there. I think you and I are part of them. The only difference I can see is that I was injected with a serum and you were born with it.”Wanda was speechless. Her whole life, she had been someone different, someone strange – she had either been one of a pair of twins, or a freak of nature, someone who went on raids with her father to free fellow gifted on Weekends and trying to return to school on Mondays, the woman under surveillance, the witch from the outside world ... and this man just told her that she was a new kind of normal, just like that. Agatha had said something similar once, as she now remembered vividly. This time, she felt tears in the corner of her eyes and had to blink them away.

Fortunately, Rogers either hadn't seen her reaction or graciously pretended not to notice, while he continued. “I don't want you to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I want you to work for Tony Stark. Frankly, we need independent personnel to solve this murder and you are as independent as one can get.”

Wanda had managed to regained her composure as she turned to him and nodded, appearing as professional and detached as she could. “We shall see.” She checked the band-aid one last time, then put on surgical gloves. She had already donned a lab coat, so there was no excuse to delay any longer. The irony; she hated nothing more than autopsies and there she was. She hadn't even glanced in the general direction of the corpse and she already felt a little nauseous, how embarrassing. Not wanting to show any more of her discomfort, she squared her shoulders and walked straight to the table on which the subject lay, concealed by a white shroud. She could hear the footsteps of Captain Rogers behind her, which wasn't surprising. He was a hard-boiled soldier and wanted answers, so that he peered over her shoulder was logical.

“Don't you need any surgical instruments?” He asked warily. Wanda had to restrain herself not to bitterly smile at his question.

“I will not open him up again if it is not necessary. I'm not here for that, you have more able coroners at hand. I am here to answer questions like 'Why isn't he radiating Gamma emissions?'. Considering his predicament, he should radiate a lot of it.” Without further ado, she pulled the shroud from the subject.

The subject was, indeed, just a head. But what a monstrous head, inhumanly large and discoloured. She had seen the pictures in the record beforehand, but that was then. Now, it seemed much more real, and much more strange at the same time. But more than the head before her, she noticed the subtle signs that she had to look out for. It wasn't really visible, but she was positive that this head was practically oozing with magic, magic that made her really uncomfortable and increased the feeling of nausea. She stood there for a minute, unmoving, just staring at the silent head that told her so much. It was hard to convince her body to move again and cover the head again with the shroud, but the feeling it had caused didn't recede just because it was out of sight. It was still there, as poisonous as it would ever be.

After three deep breaths, she finally managed to comment on that. “By the winds of … did you see that? Never mind, you didn't. But did you smell that?” But the Captain just looked at her quizzically.

“Smelled what?”

“Cinnamon.” She exclaimed with a little more enthusiasm than she had originally intended. All in all, she had thought herself to be shaken by this spectacular display of magic by one head alone, but she felt more agitated. She would contemplate about the oddity of this another time. For now, she threw off her gloves and rushed to the console searching through the files.

Rogers let out a small, nervous laugh. “Hold on, I don't follow. What are you searching for and what's with the cinnamon?”

Wanda stopped in her work and looked at him apologetically. “I'm sorry, it's hard to explain.”

“Try me. I might surprise you.”

She took a moment to collect herself. “Someone has pumped a large amount of magic in this head with brute force. This causes slight side-effects that are perceivable, but highly individualistic. For me, it's linked to a memory I connect with cinnamon, therefore it smells like cinnamon for me. Whoever did this wasn't really subtle, otherwise it wouldn't have been so obvious to me. Anyway, the real question is: Was your friend killed with magic or is that head just a magic construct? I can discern this, as such a thing would lead to certain chemicals or bioeletrical impulses being created.” She turned the display to Captain Rogers, who was looking intently, but most likely couldn't do much with the information in the toxicological report, while Wanda continued to explain. “I don't know exactly what I'm searching for, I only know that I will know it when I see it. It would have been something that your coroner must have found slightly off, but not that strange given the circumstances.”

Captain Rogers was obviously letting all she said sink in. “Let me see if I get this straight: Someone has either killed Banner with magic or made a copy of his head and delivered it to us? Why?”

“I’d like to hear your theory on this.”

Rogers responded with a small smile, while she continued searching through the records. “If I was a wizard with the power to kill the Hulk at my fingertips ...” He mused. “Why kill the Hulk? He's tough and dangerous, but killing him would demoralize the enemy. I deliver his head to them and watch them panic because I just told them “Hey, I can kill the strongest of you”. Sound strategy, but why don't I kill the rest of them? Perhaps the Hulk was something special and my magic could hit only him and no one else.”

She hadn't considered that. It was not the first time in this cabin that he had surprised her.

“Next scenario: I let my enemy know that I've killed the Hulk but in reality I haven't. That would make much more sense. Perhaps Banner was sedated. I bet the Hulk is much easier to sedate than kill.”

“I wouldn't get my hopes too high concerning Dr. Banner, but as for the head being a fake: That's exactly what I thought. “ Wanda didn't take her gaze off the screen. She just hoped that he didn't expect too much or let his wish for Dr. Banner being alive become an expectation. Rogers continued in a tone that suggested professional expertise.

“Here's the thing with demoralization: you only do it to people to let them make mistakes 'cause you need their mistakes. It seems like we're dangerous to whoever that guy in the shadows is.” She had finished the report anyway and his thesis piqued her interest. He seemed in a brighter mood now.

“So … that makes you feel better?” She asked.

“That means that the other guy fears us. That also means that we have a chance to win this in the end. That's more than I had a minute ago.” He smiled benignly. “Unless that guy's just completely batshit and messing with our heads. Then we're screwed.”

“I hadn't considered the tactics of it. I just saw a heinous act.” Wanda contemplated, sparing a small smile to his theory about the madness of the potential enemy. Even after all what happened today, he made a fair point. There was still hope as long as there was room to maneuver, as it proved that simple invasion wouldn't do it. Perhaps that's what Agatha thought as well and perhaps she was doing just that: maneuvering. As long as there was the need from either side to maneuver, nothing was lost. “I hadn't thought about it that way.” She murmured more to herself than to him.

“Magic's nothing you can explain, right? Then you of all people should know that there's more to the world than just crisis and catastrophe. Once in a while, there's a miracle as well.”

“I imagine.” Wanda chuckled. “I mean, look at you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Although your medical files are locked up tight, there are a few facts about you. You were injected with a serum that amplified your physical characteristics, made you athletic and more durable. That would only be accomplished by hyperstimulating the metabolism, which should be a large strain on the body. Also, going on these extreme levels of physical extortion means that your muscles …” She patted his forearm playfully with the back of her hand. “ … should have been liquified. I have theorized this in my Bachelor Thesis: Your body should have been burned out a long time ago, and yet here you are. And I'm not even talking about your stay in the ice ...”

“Wait a sec.” Rogers interrupted with a disbelieving look on his face. “You wrote your Bachelor Thesis about me?” Oh dear. That was embarrassing. Very embarrassing, she could feel herself blushing like a maiden. She needed to talk her way out of this, fast.

“No! Not really, no. Not … precisely. It was about, uh … you know, muscly things. You were an example, of sorts.” She stuttered, making only a bigger fool out of herself. That conversation had just changed from insightful and even pleasant to the point where she could feel her cheeks burn, something that hadn't happened for a very long time. Would telling him that she wasn't a mad scientist, stalker, fan or whatever really cut it? Doubtful. There was only one way to get out of this: change of topic, now!

“Say, do you play chess? You must be good at it.” She asked him abruptly, following the next best impulse she could muster. There was an uncomfortable pause after her sudden question, but thankfully, Rogers seemed more amused than creeped out and generously let her drop the subject.

“Not really, no. Should I?”

“Definitely. You have a tactical mind, no? That's a very good start.” She still felt a little flustered. Also, this was as good an opportunity as any to get on with her assignment. For a while, she went through the files, which was no small task indeed. Before, she had only had access to the toxicological report, now there where analyses from various Hulk-samples to examine. At one point, she felt the warm hand of Captain Rogers on her shoulder while he muttered a quick “I'll be right back” and left the room. Someone else entered, but Wanda was too caught up in her work.

At last, she found the clue she had been looking for, but when she turned around, she only saw Fair Lady in the laboratory. “Um ...” Wanda asked. “Did you just stash the Hulk in a box?”

“Oh yes.” She beamed, being her usual enthusiastic self. “For transportation, of course.”

“I think it's morbid, too.” The sound of Captain Rogers' voice came from the door, so Wanda turned, only to see him in full Captain America-outfit, which looked a lot less cheesy in natura than on the TV-screen. In fact, this stately man looked like he was born in this uniform, wore it with ease and confidence. This confidence wavered when he noticed that Wanda stared at him and despite his discomfort, waited patiently until he had her attention. “Found something?”

“Indeed. There's a variance in the cellular mesh of the white matter in the Medulla spinalis … “ She stopped herself, phrasing it in layman's terms. “There's something off in the spinal marrow. I think there's a spell active, but I've never seen anything like this. I'd like to seek a second opinion on this matter.” It took a deep breath before she was sure that the information she was about to present wasn't something overly sensitive concerning the magic communities. “There's an occult investigator in New York. He's legitimate, I've worked with him before on the defence against soul mirrors. Anyway, I think he could help. I can ward the head until then.”

Captain Rogers nodded slowly. “That actually fits with our plans. Say, do you believe in destiny?”

What an odd question, but the answer was so simple. “More than anything else.”

He nodded again, but this time, there was this slightly impish smile again. “There's another reason I wanted you to investigate this matter. You see, I have a mission in a few minutes ...” He shouldered a bag with the Hulk-box, and now Wanda noticed that he was wearing some sort of backpack and his shield. “Follow me.” It was a request, not a command, but Wanda followed him anyway through the plane, followed by Fair Lady into the cargo area of the plane. Much to her surprise, there were no less than two cars parked there, which both she and the Captain passed. Agent Coulson stood there, unimpressed by the open cargo doors and the violent winds then came with them. Outside were no clouds, just the clear night sky. Coulson wore his eternal smile, as he offered the Captain his hand and shouted. “ETA 15 seconds. It has been a pleasure, sir, as always.”

“Likewise!” Rogers shouted back with a grin, squeezed the offered hand and then turned to Wanda, who was busy keeping her blowing hair out of her sight. “I think it's destiny when my next mission is in a city my friend’s friend knows well.”

It couldn't be … there were only two cities in this whole world that she knew with her heart. One was New Salem, the other one was the city she grew up in. “Köln ...” Her whisper was deafened by the howling winds. It was in this moment when the Captain grabbed her and she yelped the second time on this day. But this time it was because she was dragged out of a plane by a man into a free fall high over the city of Cologne.

Notes