Rochade - A Game of Intrigue

Basque System

“Hmmm, half-baked. These wonderful things you Americans do … you have truly perfected the art of making sweet things even sweeter. Nice to see you, cookie. Nice to see you too, Clint.” She ignored the comment about her current appearance, which couldn’t be that good after she had to shower off lots of dirt and dust after having wrecked an ancient cathedral – her hair was still wet and she had been provided clean, black clothing that S.H.I.E.L.D. thought neutral and non-conspicuous. Barton however, looked just like when she met him the last time two years ago, same clothes, same composure, same lines on his face, same twinkle in his eye. Somehow he must have learned how to halt his ageing process, or enjoyed his work so much that it kept him young – which would be somewhat unsettling.

Clint’s smirk slowly vanished from his face. “I heard there were some complications.”

“Do you think so? The way you described it, dead men walking are usual business.” She explained cheerfully while breaking her cookie down into little bits, but when she looked up, she saw the doubtful look on Barton’s face. She had known him long enough not to fool around when he called for serious business. So she cleared her throat and tried again, this time in earnest.

“Your friend – if it really was him, I have the theory that this was just a magic clone – was most certainly animated by magic, necromancy to be specific. Rapid regeneration, low brain functions, strange feel to it. I think this head was a trap – imagine what it could have done in a regular morgue. It would only have stopped moving when utterly destroyed or decapitated. I assume that creature might have even given pause to that secret organization of yours if it had been complete.”

“I know. But how have you been? What happened?” He was genuinely concerned, which she noticed gratefully, but it also meant that he required a full explanation now. In fact, she could not blame him. Before she stopped reporting in, he had only heard of her hospitalization, but had been kind enough not to ask too many questions. It was high time that she explained the whole situation. If she couldn’t confide in him, who else?

“You remember that I was aspiring to earn my medical degree, no? Apparently, I couldn’t handle it. I had to drop out. I wouldn’t have made a good doctor anyway, my tutor said that I played it too close to the heart. Too much empathy for patients. Too compassionate.” Wanda sighed heavily. “ Anyway, that’s how I went from student to mental patient.”

“Sounds like you had a rough time. How did you end up here, then?”

“A really, really bizarre chain of events. First, I was sent to London by Agatha Harkness with a few messages. But the mages who were supposed to take me in were murdered. Then your colleagues swooped down upon me, handed me over to Captain America, who took me to Cologne. He went on a mission, I hid in the cathedral like the well-behaved civilian I am …” Clint snorted at the comment. “ ... and then the magic head zombie-hulked out. Violence ensued, violence solved the problem.” She singsonged the rest of the story. “Then I passed out, breathed a lot of oxygen, got stuffed in one of those little planes …”

“Quinjets.” Barton corrected.

“ … Quinjets. I think I might have been sleeping, because the flight felt like minutes, then I got to this tower - which I am told is your Avengers HQ - showered, dressed and voilá, got a cup of coffee. And ‘tis a marvellous cup of coffee, let me tell you.”

Clint leaned forward and peered into the cup. “Coffee. Black. Classy.”

She pulled the cup closer to herself before he could grab it and take a sip. “Yes, it is. Oh, and speaking of classy: I so do like what they did with that interrogation cell I last had the pleasure of visiting. So much nicer than those tiled rooms they used to interrogate me in.” She kept her joking tone with just the slightest hint of accusation. “The new design is quite elegant.”

Barton couldn’t help but grin and play along. “Well, excuse me, princess. There’s still this tiny little terrorist thing way back that has never been formally resolved.”

“Details.” She huffed.

“Just sayin'.” The smile faded from his face when he leaned back and crossed his arms before his chest. “Hell of a day, huh?”

“You can say that again. It’s strange, though. I feel fine. Walking corpses, fire and interrogation chambers aside, I’m well. In fact, I haven’t felt that good in a long time. Most peculiar.”

“It’s not.” Clint stated as a matter-of-fact. “’You should have been working out there, where you can change something, where it really matters. People like us can’t be sitting in some nuthouse, waiting to be cured. We help ourselves by doing what we do best.”

“People like us?” Now Wanda was a little offended. People? What was that supposed to mean? Professional assassins like him? Freaks like her? His words about the mental hospital however stung, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “I really like you, Clint, but you are sadly mistaken if you think that we are anything alike.” She sounded more dismissive than she had originally intended, yet Barton wasn’t deterred.

“Listen closely, kid: it doesn’t matter what a person pretends to be, it only matters what a person does when under pressure. It’s not everyday life that brings out the best or worst in us, it’s the extremes. You and I live for that, and you know it. You said so yourself, remember?”

He was right. After all what happened today, she couldn’t turn her back, and in that he was right. He must have sensed that she had originally considered to bail out as soon as possible. Now, the thought alone made her cheeks glow in embarrassment. Living the extremes and always remembering that one could die every day was living at its fullest. Once, she had embraced that concept as Barton embraced it now.

“Memento mori, hm?”

“I prefer Memento vitae - remember that you have to live.”

“You shame me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Barton sounded less stern now as he went on. “Look, this whole mess hit us all very sudden. Before Thor and Loki, we dismissed the mere existence of magic as myth or some fancy mutant power. It’s not, it’s real.”

“I noticed.” Wanda nodded said dryly.

“No kidding.” Clint answered equally dry. “I guess that’s why Cap hired you.”

So that’s what it was called nowadays? But when Clint talked about it like this, she had to consider herself an employee now. Was it too soon to ask for the necessary paperwork? Visa? And what about taxes? She opted to address the most important issue. “Just to be clear.” She said in a warning tone. “I will not work for your employer, the shadowy organization, nor will I do harm or help you develop weapons.”

“Duly noted.”

That was surprisingly easy. Wanda was taken aback about how readily her terms were accepted. “That being said, what do you need me to do?”

“We need information on a staff, on the procedure done to ‘Banner’s’ remains and about mind control.” Barton answered earnestly.

“That doesn’t sound too bad. What kind of staff?” Wanda asked, taking a sip of her coffee, only to almost choke on it. She made a mental note to never combine coffee with aspirin again. It tasted like it was heaped with loads of artificial sweetener, minus the sweet, and seasoned with a shot of dish soap.

“That kind that enslaves other people. It belonged to Loki.” From the look on his face it was to be assumed that he had some bad experiences related to that staff. He would talk about it sooner or later, but it was unsettling that Barton, one of the strongest men she knew, showed signs of anger, frustration and even fear. So, instead of some wisecracking comment, Wanda just nodded silently.

“How long is this employment going to be for?” She asked, sipping her coffee and getting used to the taste.

“As long as this crisis lasts.”

“Crisis …” Wanda scoffed half-heartedly, feeling that she had to complain about something if she was about to be pressed into some adventure she didn’t ask for and service in a matter she didn’t consider herself a specialist in. “There is always some crisis. If you find out what happened to your friend, there's still the question of the mage who performed this ritual. One investigation will quickly lead to another. It’s a never-ending story of causality.”

“Precisely.” Clint looked almost happy about it. Of course he was happy. He had nagged her about joining his fellow agents for ten years, and now, in a sense, he got his wish: She was under his wing, more or less, working to help fight the good fight, as he called it. Her gaze drifted off from Clint to the windows. Even here, black clouds darkened the dusky sky, indicating heavy rain. What a dismal sight.

“... I like it, my girlfriend likes it, my AI likes it. Everyone likes it but you, Cap. Bottom line: you’re being a spoilsport.” One of the people entering the room said. The first person to enter was Steve Rogers, whom she had already had the pleasure of meeting. The second person was a man of average height and built, with short, dark hair and a well-groomed beard. Wanda had seen enough TV to know who this was. The media liked to depict him taller and she had always assumed that lighting and make-up were doing him favors, but he really looked young for someone well in his forties, although ageing he was. He appeared with his teeth clenched, his skin tightening around his jaw and followed by an attractive, strawberry-blonde woman about in her late thirties. Like Wanda, she was tall and statuesque, with long legs and delicate fingers. She was the one who took a seat next to Wanda, offering a smile and whispering “Hi. Pepper.”, which the sorceress answered with an equally quick and whispered “Wanda. My pleasure.” There was something genuinely friendly and patient about this Pepper that made her instantly likeable. Steve Rogers took a seat next to Clint, while Tony Stark placed himself at the head of the table without sitting down.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare this war council open, because I don't care what you say; when anybody hurts one of us, it means war.” Stark spoke fast, thought fast and was evidently very upset about the events. “Somebody got a question? I do. What happened to Banner? It's been four days and we aren't any closer to the answer.” Frustration bled through every single of his words.

It was Pepper who interjected in a patient and understanding manner. “We've checked every camera in the city that we could get our hands on. But Banner's trail just gets cold after Greenwich.”

“Which leaves us with nothing.” Tony Stark growled. “Second question, who's that?” He pointed at Wanda, who had to gather all her discipline not to wince.

“She's a specialist.” The Captain said in unison with Clint's “She's with me.”, both trying not to look slightly nervous. It was clear that Tony Stark, who was a known individual with genius intellect, a scientist and inventor, would never accept the word “witch”. So, before any of the two could come up with a lie, Wanda decided to mask the truth and tell it to Stark how it was and how he could accept it.

“How do you do, I'm Wanda Maximoff.” She said in the most polite, amiable tone possible. “I specialize in bioelectric emissions and energy signatures. I sincerely believe that your friend is still alive and I will continue to operate under this assumption.” She paused, emphasizing the last sentence. “I'm here to help, if you will have me.”

The funny thing was, it was all true. As a witch, she was an expert compared to scientists who couldn't fathom what they were dealing with. As a medicine drop-out, she also knew about biochemistry and had even put the focus of her studies on it in the biochemical area. There was of course the drop-out problem, which Stark would learn sooner or later. In that case she could still stand by her initial statement, and most importantly: She really wanted to help. This was not what Agatha had asked of her, but it was just as well and brought her together with the people she had to deliver her messages to.

“And she can help?” It wasn’t a question for her, his eyes wandered to the Captain and Clint, who both nodded in unison. This seemed to satisfy him. “On my payroll then.”

Steve Rogers rose from his chair, a mild smile on his face. “I’ll keep her in this building or close to it for the time being, since she’s a fugitive from S.H.I.E.L.D. …”

“A fugitive?” Tony Stark’s dark mood seemed to brighten, even if he moved now from cynical into smartass territory when he turned to Wanda once more. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I have a soft spot for fugitives from Fury.” He sniffed, looking out of the window. “Warms my heart to harbour them. But if these two are okay with you, I guess you can have one of the twenty-one guest beds. I wanted to have forty-two, but I’ll settle for half the truth if it gets me what I want.” Sly. He had instantly figured out she wasn’t telling him the whole thing, hinting that he didn’t really accept being in the dark, although he was focused on more important things for the time being.

“Okay. What happened to Banner in Cologne?” Stark looked straight at Rogers, who leaned on the backrest of his chair with his elbows and nodded in Wanda’s direction.

She cleared her throat. “It seems that some kind of accelerated regeneration process was triggered. It looked like someone summoned a half-decaying corpse from the grave. It is my belief that the head itself was artificially created.” Again, this was true as well; although it was phrased as a scientific process, the magic behind it worked the same way. But it also meant that Banner was alive somewhere, as such doppelgangers normally needed a link to the life force of the original.

“Makes sense. I’ve seen something like this before.” Stark interjected. “I mean, the whole point of Extremis was stimulating and regenerating cells and Dr. Erskine’s serum basically had a mightily drunk party with the whole concept. An altered version like Banner tried to reproduce could do the speed-regeneration, even with a dead body or something cloned.” He stroked his chin and continued to walk around the table, passing Wanda, who for the briefest moment could smell the faint scent of disinfectant and bandages under his aftershave. Normally, she wouldn't have noticed it, but right now, she was alert and wary concerning Tony Stark. Also, the fact that she was freshly showered and was very familiar with these kind of products helped the case greatly. Apparently, he was recovering from an injury.

Barton was quick to provide an explanation. “Extremis was a virus … serum, upgrade, I don’t know the details. Basically, they tried to create another super soldier serum and kinda succeeded. Thing is, soldiers were really Super Soldiers, breathed fire, grew back limbs and were nearly invulnerable, but they tended to explode randomly. Ugly business.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “Exploded …? Heavens and destiny, those guys were totally crackers. Why would anybody use such a dangerous thing?” She heard Pepper’s mumbling voice beside her, saying something that sounded suspiciously like “It was ugly, true.”

Clint grimaced. “Because it’s powerful. It gets better: Some organization named Centipede has recovered the formula and is experimenting with it again. I got the memo a few months ago.

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes looking snappish again.”And you didn’t tell me.”

“Wasn’t supposed to. I just defied orders.”

There was a moment of complete silence when both men just looked each other in the eyes, then both of them tried not to smile and content themselves with a twitching in the corner of the mouth. They might have high-fived if it weren’t for the company in general and especially Rogers’ scrutinizing glance.

“It’s worse. There’s more to it.” The Captain said finally in a wary voice. “In Cologne, I was supposed to help with the extraction of a scientist. He never showed up. It turned out that the whole mission was a fake. The scientist never existed.”

Clint frowned. “Who gave you the mission.”

“Blake.”

“Odd. He’s one stuck-up S.O.B., but he’s honest.” He paused a moment, chewing it through. “There’s another fishy thing. Natasha says that she’s being shadowed and protected, and she doesn’t know by whom. We know enough of the game that you have to know all the players to win. I don’t like it.” He leaned back in his seat. “I’ll team up with her. Give me the intel and I’ll see what we can dig up together. If we act, Natasha’s pursuer has to come out sooner or later.”

Although Wanda didn’t want to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D. in her lifetime again, she needed to share another thought. “The cloned head was dormant until we reached Cologne where you had your assignment, correct?” She asked Rogers, who nodded curtly. “What if it was triggered by the same person who knew that you would be in the vicinity of the zombie? Perhaps it was an attack on you.”

“It might have been a trap.” The Captain mused. “But the only people who knew were Blake, the bus personnel and Hand. Blake gave me the assignment, bus personnel gave you into my custody and Victoria Hand and her people were at the murder scene.”

Wanda groaned. “Oh dear. Victoria Hand?” That was bad. Back when she had been a good little terrorist for her father, Hand was one of the agents that had tracked her down and were severely injured in the process. After her recovery, she had overseen Wanda’s ‘parole’, making her life a living hell. Victoria Hand was a no-nonsense rules-lawyer and did not abide any transgression. Good grief, even jaywalking was a descent into crime in her eyes. “She and I go way back. She might hold a grudge.” Wanda finally disclosed with gritted teeth.

Much to her surprise, nobody pressed the issue. She could only see pensive faces while Rogers nodded. “Okay. There’s another thing that bothers me. Who put the head on the Helicarrier?”

Mr. Stark scoffed again. “You mean, aside from the fact that their cloaking device is in a bad need of a hot, steamy date with a trash can? Beats me. Anyone with sufficient equipment could have done it.”

“Yes, but you have the monopoly on the technology necessary to bypass the cloaking device, but it had to be used by someone skilled in espionage and infiltration, given the security measures. Either it was someone from inside S.H.I.E.L.D., or it was someone with greater resources, possibly extraterrestial.” Rogers said, but he was interrupted.

“Loki.” Clint uttered when he hadn’t even finished the sentence.

“Loki.” Stark agreed in a deadpan tone.

“Loki.” Even Captain Rogers concurred without a second thought.

“That’s what happens when you lock mass murderers up. They just keep breaking out and rampage some more. But shouldn’t Thor be on our doorstep if Trollface broke out of prison?” Stark asked in a flippant voice.

It was Pepper who finally raised her voice in a quiet tone. “Too bad Loki’s dead.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, before Mr. Stark, in a manner that indicated a certain level of intimacy enquired. “How do you know that?”

“Jane Foster called me this morning. She and Thor are on Tahiti; they heard it’s a magical place. She just wanted to check in and entrusted me that he’s deep in mourning about his mother and his brother.”

“Damn.” Tony Stark said after another brief silence, rubbing his neck. “That poor guy can’t take a break. I’m glad that our least favourite horned God finally bit the dust, but Thor must be crushed. No pun intended. Really.”

Wanda knew better. She knew that Loki was alive, if not all that well after the two of them had faced off in a magic duel. She was still miffed that he had outwitted her in her own magic ritual, and rather easily as it would seem. It had been a mistake to attack him in the first place. Instead, she should have talked to him, stalling for the real hero to arrive, and then taken him down together. But instead, her temper had got the better of her … which was odd, because Wanda never got angry. She got melancholic, but angry? That was a state almost unknown to her. What had infuriated her enough to abandon basic survival instinct faced with a clearly superior opponent? The answer was easy: The gall. The gall to attack her people, hurt them tremendously and then come back apparently sightseeing without any remorse, while she had done little else than feeling remorse and try to better herself after her own mistakes.

In retrospect, she could say that the duel ended with a draw, no clear winner while both of them had to deal with their losses. In this case, Wanda couldn’t tell the others that Loki might very well be behind Bruce’s disappearance and subsequent zombification. Since Loki was a sorcerer, it wasn’t past him, and he certainly had the experience and knowledge to deal with necromancy, one of the most vile arts around. But she bit her tongue, feeling the slightest hint of magic like tiny little teeth tugging at her skull. The geis compelled her to keep his continued existence hidden - he had to have known that this would be to her disadvantage. But the letter of the spell was important. She could give hints, but had to do everything to keep his existence secret.

“Is it proven that he’s dead?” She asked, gingerly probing the limits of the spell. But mere implications didn’t belong to the letter of the spell, but to the spirit, and thus, she went through this careful comment unharmed.

It was friendly Pepper, of all people, who tore the implication to shreds. “Jane was with them when Loki died, and she isn’t a fool. She wouldn’t be deceived.” Darn it. This Jane-woman was evidently way too perceptive for her own good.

Since nobody openly questioned Loki’s death, Pepper’s social graces and the aforementioned Jane’s skills be damned, Wanda sighed and changed the subject, turning to Barton. “That makes Agatha’s message to you, Thor and the Doctor rather difficult.”

Mr. Stark apparently couldn’t stop himself from joking, putting on a fake english accent. “Excuse me, the Doctor? If anybody builds a TARDIS, it shall be me!”

“Dr. Stephen Strange.”, Wanda explained after a brief snicker. “He’s a neurosurgeon and an acquaintance of mine. He actually lives a few blocks from here.” At least, he had been a neurosurgeon before he became the most powerful wizard alive. The Merlin was a concept the wizard community still practiced, but it was too well-known and too local. The Merlin was the most powerful mage or sorceress of Britain, but the most powerful wizard worldwide was the Sorcerer Supreme, which happened to be Dr. Stephen Strange. He nowadays hired himself out as an occult investigator; which meant that out of ten poltergeist-cases, one usually was actually legitimate and piqued his interest.

“You won’t get your message to him anytime soon.” Barton said, frowning. “He went missing about two weeks ago. S.H.I.E.L.D. has tried to locate him, but found nothing. I was actually hoping you would know something. He has on occasion worked with us.”

“That’s not surprising.” Wanda answered, unmoved. “He sometimes goes off the grid to rest and meditate … usually a faraway, small buddhist monastery.” Which was a straight lie. He went to one of the hidden wizard villages, but Wanda wasn’t ready to share that information when secrecy about the magical world and creatures was still paramount. She shrugged. “He will appear again eventually.”

Clint Barton chuckled. “There are still people who do that meditation-thing? Fair enough. What was your message from the old girl?” He always called her that when she wasn’t in the room. Little did he know that she was most likely dead. It still felt unreal, unspoken as it was, and Wanda refused to believe it real. She glanced around the table: Both the Captain and Mr. Stark were listening with interest, as well as Pepper, who had her hands folded on the table in a pensive gesture. Was it right to relay her message with strangers listening? On the other hand, Tony Stark was a certified hero, Captain Rogers was undoubtedly a knight in shining armour who had saved her and Pepper seemed like a friendly, honest person. What harm could it do?

“She said that you have to retrace the steps of the Jotun and that we have to find the Spymaster before he strikes.” Saying it out loud, she realized how vague the message really was. Judging from his expression, Barton took it seriously nonetheless. Sometimes, she wondered what kind of history he had with Agatha Harkness, but he wouldn’t tell her. Secrets, secrets, so many secrets.

“Jotun?”

“Jotun. Jötunn. YoeTUHNN. Old norse word taken from ancient alien invaders who called themselves thus. Translates roughly into Frost Giants. My guess is that she meant Loki.”

For a moment, Barton was taken aback, so Tony Stark, grinning, asked the question of questions. “Loki was a Frost GIANT?”

Having lived in a town with at least one notable Frost Giant woman, Wanda knew a thing or two about them. “They can absorb ice like a sponge absorbs water, which increases their size. Usually, they have blue skin and shave their heads, but can grow hair. If cosmetically supported, they can pass as humans. My guess is that Loki simply made the effort.” On the second thought, it was odd that he would. Why would he wear the face of his enemy, when he could easily inspire more fear when appearing like the alien he was?

“It makes sense that this Agatha wants that investigated if she cares as much for you two as I think she does.” The Captain finally said, a pensive expression on his face. “I’ve wondered since New York where these Chitauri came from, Thor just said that they came ‘from a place beyond’. Also, the cold calculus of war tells me that the invasion wasn’t ever going to succeed. They poured forces into that wormhole, which at one point had to collapse …” Stark nodded affirmatively. “... they managed to hurt us, but in the end, they ‘only’ wrecked a few blocks in one of the most densely populated places in the world. Seriously, either they didn’t know that there were seven billion people on this planet or this wasn’t an invasion at all.” He paused. “My experience says that something is wrong.”

“And Agatha wants ME to investigate?” Barton asked, exasperated.

“Perhaps you are already investigating. She had a lot of sources, perhaps she knew that you could uncover something … you, Thor and the Doctor.” Wanda answered, keeping her voice carefully neutral, lest that melancholic feeling that had overcome her would seep into her words. Agatha was most likely dead and there was no way for her to be certain.

“Blake and Hand.” Clint Barton crossed his arms over his chest. “To work then. Ladies, could you give us some space? This is really secret stuff ... ”

“I’ll know within a day anyway.” Pepper winked but then tugged at Wanda’s sleeve to lead her out of the room. “See you, guys.”

When the door fell closed behind the two, they walked the hallway together until Pepper addressed Wanda, again patient and sympathetic. “I heard that you arrived here just with the clothes on your back …”

Wanda let out a dry laugh. “Even those aren’t mine.”, only to have Pepper pat her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get it sorted out. You’ll be safe here. Anyways, you and I have roughly the same size; so even if you can’t leave the tower we’ve got you covered.”

These were simple words, but they warmed the heart. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“Pepper.”

“Pepper. It’s strange … there’s danger afoot and secrets everywhere, but the things that occupy my mind are shopping and that I haven’t done my taxes.”

“That’s not strange at all. When Tony was under attack in New York, all I could think of was his safety, all those poor people in danger, and that if he died, I would have to do his tax report. Taxes, end of the world, all the same. And that’s a Pepperism.”

Notes