A/N: I'm kind of shook that I predicted Avengers: Endgame's title, years before it was announced, in the previous chapter!

Take a Moment.

It's not that I expect everyone to put their fists together, shout, "GO TEAM!" and then yank their fists back out after Steve proclaims that we'll all die together. But I guess I do sort of expect that. Which is why I'm a little surprised and disappointed when everyone just sort of…walks away.

What, we're not even going to get an "Avengers assemble!"?

Do you like that? I've just thought of that in my head. I feel like it's pretty clever.

Ha ha. Gosh, I love alliteration.

But no, we don't get any type of go team rah rah chant. Nothing inspiring at all. In fact, things are looking pretty grim. Everyone looks incredibly tired, upset, and surly as they amble out of the room, vanishing into their respective corners of Avengers Tower, leaving just Steve and I standing in the middle of all of the wreckage.

I look down at one of the heads of an Ultron-bot (I know they're called the Iron Legion but Ultron-bot just sounds catchier, no?) and kick it. "So, what now?"

The second I say that, the doors open and a gaggle of people dressed in all-black silently file into the room. I tense for a moment, rocking back on my feet and clenching my fists, but then I notice that they're armed with…mops. And brooms.

Amazing. Whatever you think about Tony Stark, you have to admit: the man is nothing if not efficient. It's been, what, ten minutes since Ultron vanished? And Tony's already called in a cleaning crew to set the room to rights.

My head is throbbing with pain and I stand there for a few moments, dazedly watching the cleaning crew get to work, silently and quickly setting the room back into place, scattered Ultron-bot remains getting swept into black garbage bags. When I finally jerk out of my daze, I realize that Steve has vanished. I turn, looking for him, and see that he's climbed the clear glass steps to the little second-floor area, the same place he hugged me after the Avengers finally returned from chasing down Loki's scepter. He's sitting on the ground, his back pressed against the glass railing, staring out the tall glass walls at the darkened city rising around us.

I climb the stairs, pushing my pains to the back of my mind—it's something I'm used to doing by now; physical pains don't bother me half as much as the mental ones do. When I sit down next to Steve, he doesn't speak to me or even look at me. He just keeps staring tiredly out the glass wall opposite us, the corners of his mouth tugging down.

"Come on," I say. "What's bothering you?"

He frowns. "Nothing."

"Yes, the scowl on your face is very convincing," I say dryly.

He sighs. "It's just…Tony!" Tony's name bursts out of his mouth in an angry rush, as if he's tripping over own tongue. "Sometimes I really just—sometimes I just hate him so much."

I have to choose my words carefully here. No one likes to be told that they're wrong or being biased or over-emotional—not even someone as nice as Steve Rogers. The man can have quite a temper, contrary to what his angelic reputation says. One time, when he was fourteen, he got so mad at a drawing he was doing that he lit it on fire.

"If you hate Tony, then why did you fight alongside him last time?"

"I had no choice," he immediately says. "Fury basically—I mean, there was this guy Phil Coulson, who—" He breaks off, a pained expression on his face. "We had to all come together. There was no time left to waste. But I wouldn't have chosen Tony for my team."

"But he was still on the team."

"Well…yeah."

"And he still did help save the world."

"Yeah…he did," Steve admits, his tone grudging. "Not that he ever shuts up about it," he adds under his breath.

I ignore that last bit and calmly ask, "And you did trust him enough to take his private plane here, right? And you trusted him enough for us to live here, and for Bucky and I to meet him?"

Steve gives me a slanted-eyed look. "Make your point, Victoria."

"I think you already see my point," I say simply. "You don't hate Tony. Sure, you don't exactly get along with him, I guess—and that's fine. No one said you two had to be best friends. But whether you like it or not, you show trust in him. I mean, I don't see you living in anyone else's house, do I? Or trusting anyone else to test my abilities or work on fixing Bucky's arm. Which, by the way, did he ever get to finish?"

"Yeah. He finished pretty much the day that you left to go meet Beckerton. The solution was easy for him." He rolls his eyes. "Of course he has to be a genius, on top of being annoying."

Well, that's good, at least. Bucky doesn't have a functioning heart, apparently, but at least he can have two functioning arms!

Okay. That was kiiiiind of mean.

But can you blame a girl for being hurt?

Anyway.

"But what about Ultron, huh?" Steve demands. "Is this not because of Tony's arrogance? The man just can't stop meddling in shit that he shouldn't meddle in!"

"But didn't you hear what Tony said?" I argue back. "Ultron was just a concept he was working on! He has no idea how it went from idea to…this freak robot thing."

"So it just happened magically?" Steve asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "After everything you've seen, is that so hard to believe? I mean, Thor exists. Is magic so hard to believe in? But since you ask, no, I don't really think it happened by magic. I have no idea what happened. But I do think it was connected to Loki's scepter and something…" I pause. What's the word I'm looking for? Supernatural? No, that doesn't seem right. It's not like Ultron is a poltergeist. "Something alien."

Steve hmphs but doesn't say anything, which is how I know that he knows I'm onto something—but he just doesn't want to admit it. Man, he's really bent on hating Tony. I understand that the two of them have completely opposing personalities but they saved the world together once. You'd think that would create some goodwill or something.

We both sit in silence for a while after that, not talking or even looking at each other. Both lost in our own thoughts. I have no idea what Steve is thinking about but for my part…well, my thoughts are chaos.

A Few Things on My Mind:

1. My head frickin' hurts. I'm used to injuries but head injuries are the worst. I really don't have extra brain cells that I can afford to lose.

2. Where in the world is Bucky Barnes and why does he hate me so much?

3. Can I simultaneously be an Avenger and a model? I'm kind of tempted to give California Berkeley a ring.

4. Man, I really need some sort of day job.

5. I'm hungry. How can I be hungry? Wasn't I just shoving hors d'oeuvre in my mouth, like, five minutes ago? My stomach is like a black hole. It's never satisfied.

6. I really want to see Hamilton again. Maybe I should ask JARVIS if—

7. Oh. JARVIS.

I wish I could do something for JARVIS. I wish there was a body we could bury. I wish there were pictures we could frame in memory of him. It seems so wrong that he's just…vanished. I've gotten so used to hearing his soothing, calm, mildly British voice this whole past summer that my eyes actually burn when I think about the fact that I'm never going to hear it again.

It's because of you, a sick voice inside my head whispers to me. You destroy everything and everyone you come into contact with, remember? Is it any coincidence that JARVIS… The voice trails off suggestively.

My stomach twists and I press my face into my hands, taking deep breaths. No. I can't go down this path. I have to remember what Steve lectured me on earlier this evening. I've got to stop being so hateful with myself. It's so easy to sink into the poison, into the darkness of my own mind, but I have to find a way to resist. There is no logical reason to connect JARVIS's death with my connection to him.

I need to remember this.

When I lift my face from my hands, I'm surprised to see that my fingers come away smeared with red. I stand up and walk over to the glass wall, peering at my reflection. All the pretty glow from earlier is gone. Now my eyes simply look steely and I can see that the corner of my forehead that hit the coffee table is bleeding slightly. Nothing major but still, I'm really surprised that Steve didn't seem to notice it. That shows just how distracted he is by this new mess.

I sigh and turn around to look at Steve and—

Hold up. Is Steve seriously ASLEEP?

Are you kidding me?

Who falls asleep ten minutes after engaging in battle?

I mean, I always took a nice long nap—if I could find a safe spot to sleep—after getting into one of my many street fights. But still. It usually took at least, like, an hour for my adrenaline to slow down before I could even consider sleeping. What, is Steve just able to turn his adrenaline on and off at will?

Actually though, imagine how cool that would be. Like, you get home after a long day of work: BAM, adrenaline off, go to sleep immediately. You see an ice cream truck pass you by: BAM, adrenaline on, chase the truck as fast and hard as you can. Totally handy!

I crouch next to Steve and poke him.

He lets out a snore.

I poke him harder.

"NO TUNA!" he suddenly yells, leaping to his feet with a crazed expression on his face, yanking his shield off his back and holding it in a defensive position, as if someone is about to…force-feed him tuna, I guess?

He scowls when he sees me rolling around on the ground, shaking with silent mirth. "It's not funny, Victoria. I was having a nightmare."

"About…tuna?" I can barely get the words out, that's how hard I'm laughing.

"I've had a few bad sushi experiences," he says stiffly. "Should you really be laughing? Unless I'm actually getting Alzheimer's, I seem to remember an incident with you and anchovy paste—do you remember that night when—"

I immediately stop laughing and sit upright and glare at him. "Shhh," I say, flapping my arms to hush him. "Be quiet."

There are some things a best friend is just never supposed to talk about, okay? Somethings are just way too embarrassing.

He smiles smugly. "That's what I thought."

Our ridiculous conversation is suddenly interrupted by Agent Hill (or is she Commander Hill? Honestly I can't remember at this point and I'm too afraid to ask. Maybe I should call her Maria) who strides back into the room and calls, "Parcel! Steve! Get down here. We've got a lead on Ultron."

The mood changes fast. We both exchange serious looks and then get to our feet, straightening ourselves out. Steve clips the shield to his back and then we head down the stairs towards Maria.

"What's the lead?" Steve asks, his voice sounding deeper and far different than the smirking tone he had mere seconds ago.

"Follow me," Maria says, gesturing. She leads us out of the room and down a floor to a security room filled with computers. Tony normally has human security monitoring the entire Tower so that JARVIS isn't spread too thin but I think he gave most people the night off in honor of the party, thinking that JARVIS would be enough security for just one night.

How very wrong he was.

The whole gang—Natasha, Sam, Barton, Tony, Thor, and Dr. Banner—is inside. I feel a sense of shame wash over me as I realize that while Steve and I have been resting and talking about nonsense, the rest of the team has been getting to work. I exchange a glance with Steve and know that he feels just as guilty as me, if not more. Yikes. If I'm going to finally be a proper Avenger I really need to get with the picture.

"So what do we have so far?" Steve asks, immediately taking charge.

I wonder if this ever annoys any of the other Avengers.

"Thor had some sense of where Ultron was headed, thanks to Loki's scepter," Maria explains, "but the further Ultron got, the weaker the connection between the scepter and Thor got—until it broke. Luckily, we had the general hemisphere where Ultron was and FRIDAY began scanning every single database and news outlet—"

"Sorry," I interrupt. "But…Friday? Who's Friday?"

"FRIDAY is my new AI," Tony says, his arms crossed and eyes downcast. He looks incredibly exhausted.

"You already have a new one?" I ask. I don't know why, but I feel shocked. It's like finding a new best friend in three minutes after your old one dies. It feels like a…betrayal.

"I have a lot of AIs, Dizzy. I don't use most of them—they were always intended as experimentals or backups—but…I guess I have no choice now."

"Gee, thanks, boss," an Irish woman suddenly says out of nowhere, her tone somewhat flippant. Luckily, I've become so used to JARVIS that I don't jump like a startled moron when I hear FRIDAY—but my stomach definitely does a weird flip. It just feels so surreal and wrong to hear a female voice with a totally different accent talking from where JARVIS normally would.

"Don't take it personally, FRI," Tony says.

"Don't call me 'Fry,' boss," FRIDAY says.

Okay then. So she's a lot sassier than JARVIS as well.

"Anyway," Maria cuts in, rolling her eyes, "FRIDAY managed to strike gold. There isn't much news on it yet because it basically just happened—just one police report which was submitted only minutes ago—but von Strucker is dead."

"What?" Steve asks sharply. "Are you sure?"

"Dead sure," Maria says. "And Ultron killed him."

"It's a diversion tactic," Natasha says calmly. "He's trying to draw us out. Tell Steve the real lead, Maria. Steve and Fizzo," she amends, giving me an apologetic look. I get it, I get it—I'm barely a member of the Avengers. I haven't even gone on one mission with them yet. It's easy to forget me. But I still give Natasha my coldest, meanest stare that I can, just to mess with her.

And do you want to know what she does? She winks at me. Un-freaking-believable. When they say that nothing gets past the Widow, they really mean it. I need to work on my mean mugging.

"Seriously, what the hell is her real name? I don't get it," Barton mumbles to Natasha. Natasha elbows him in the gut in response.

"FRIDAY's been continuously scanning for pretty much any suspicious activity around the world ever since Ultron took off," Tony says, gesturing to the computer screens, which all have endless code written in glowing white scrolling and scrolling quickly by. "As you can guess, that's a lot of information. The world's a pretty messed up place. But she picked up on one Ulysses Klaue receiving communication from an unknown person for a last-minute meeting. This was notable for three reasons: this unknown person is virtually untraceable. There is no phone number or IP address or technological footprint at all that we can attach to them. Now, there are people out there can achieve this kind of invisibility…but it's very rare. What adds more significance is that Klaue immediately agreed to the meeting. I can't even imagine how. Maybe our pal Ultron called him up and threatened him? But Klaue isn't the kind of man who randomly just meets with people at the last minute, so whoever he's meeting with has to be of significance to him."

"What's the third reason?" Steve asks.

"Ulysses Klaue is the number-one vibranium arms dealer in the world," Natasha says quietly. "No one really knows where he got his stash from, since vibranium is incredibly rare—but that's what makes Klaue so legendary in the underworld. He's sitting on a stash of the most dangerous and versatile metal on Earth."

"So naturally Ultron wants it," Steve says grimly. "Because if he has Klaue's entire loot of vibranium at his disposal…"

"There's no telling what he can do," Dr. Banner finishes grimly. "Vibranium's properties are still relatively unexplored, given how rare it is, but the research we do have makes it clear that it can be a highly dangerous weapon in the wrong hands."

"I've got my eye on you, Wrong Hands," I whisper, elbowing Steve. He rolls his eyes.

"Where is Klaue?" Barton asks, folding his arms. "Let's go grab the bastard and bring him in. Let Ultron go through us to get to him."

"It may be too late for that," FRIDAY says, sounding oddly somber. "The last known location of Ulysses Klaue that I was able to pin-point—which was an hour ago—shows that he is in Johannesburg, South Africa."

"I don't see the problem," Barton says. "We've got the Avengers quinjet at our disposal."

"Yes, but Ultron has an hour's head start on you," FRIDAY replies. "I've been running diagnostic checks on what occurred in the laboratory whilst you all were away. It's difficult to say exactly how Ultron built his body—but his body is definitely a part of the Iron Legion. The Iron Legion was modeled after the Mark 40."

"It's my fastest hypervelocity armor," Tony sighs. "Built for high-speed flights."

"Basically, I have calculated that there is a 98.3 percent chance that Ultron has already arrived in Johannesburg," FRIDAY announces. "The best chance you have now is to reach him before he leaves. I can relocate Ulysses Klaue but when Ultron leaves Klaue's presence, he will be virtually untraceable until he does something else which gets captured within my search filters."

"Fine," Steve says decisively. "We're going now. Any objections?" He gazes around the group with an expression that clearly says There had better be no objections. When no one objects (fancy that), he says, "Alright. Wheels up in ten."

Everyone scatters left and right to go suit up properly. I stand and watch everyone leave before it suddenly hits me that I should be doing the same thing. I head back to my room, throw open my closet, and pull the suit on. I pull the fingerless gloves on and zip up the shoes Tony provided, silvery-looking sneakers that mold to my feet, don't have laces, and have excellent traction. I tie my hair up into the tightest pony I can and then take a deep breath.

My eyes are flinty, steely. My face is pale and set. The suit shimmers softly under my bedroom lights, shifting colors like the sea. It's not that I'm afraid. I've faced terrible things before—and I've faced a lot of them alone. But…this is it. After everything I've been through, it has all led here. There has been a higher plan all along; I can feel this in my bones now. Every hurt I went through, every struggle…it was all so that I could be here now, finding a home with a group of people as strange as I am. I am an Avenger.

A buoyant feeling suddenly fills me, as if I am a balloon filled with helium. It's the adrenaline, kicking in—but also a feeling of…forgiveness. I'm forgiving myself. What Steve said at the party, it truly shook me. I don't think anyone's ever been that frank with me. He laid me bare, cutting me open, exposing my insides, in a way that no one has ever been able to do before. But I'm glad he did it. It needed to be done. In doing so, he exposed the rot that was in my soul. I finally, for the first time in god knows how long, feel like I can face the sunlight. I'm going to burn out every bit of darkness from my soul. I'm going to be a better friend, a happier person. I know it's not going to be a piece of cake…but I also know I can do it. Silver linings exist. It's hard for me to admit that, but it's not something I can deny anymore, not when it's been proven time and time again.

I take a deep breath and head out. The quinjet is powering up on the landing pad on the floor above me. I can see the underside of its wings through the glass walls. I sprint up the stairs to the next floor and head out onto the landing pad.

"Took you long enough," Sam says. "What were you doing? Putting on your makeup?"

"Well, we can't all be naturally gorgeous like you," I tell him.

He gives me a toothy grin.

"Everyone ready?" Natasha asks, coming up behind me. I look around and see that everyone is nodding. I feel a sudden surge of warmth and love for all of these people. I haven't fought alongside all of them, but I love them all the same. It takes a lot to take what makes you different and continuously put yourself in danger to protect the world.

Natasha leads us aboard the quinjet. I'm the last person to walk on, and I turn and give Avengers Tower one last glance. It softly glows against the dark night sky and my heart swells with something that could maybe be called love.

"We'll be back," Steve says quietly.

I look at him for a long moment, and then I nod. "Yes. We will." Optimism is a hard thing to grasp—it slips through my fingers like sand—but I'm trying. I have to believe in the Avengers.

And then the ramp is raising up, Avengers Tower vanishing from sight. The inside of the quinjet is plunged into darkness for a moment before soft lights flare up on the floor, ceiling, walls—everywhere. Everyone begins buckling themselves into the seats which line either side of the quinjet.

"Before we leave, I have to ask you something," Barton says, turning around in the co-pilot seat to look at me.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is your real name?"

Everyone starts laughing—a wonderful reprieve from the quiet tension we've all been locked in since Ultron attacked. I smile at Barton. I've had a lot of names in my simultaneously-long-and-short life. Some of them bad. A lot of them great. I've gotten used to it: living in different skins, responding to whatever people want to call me. Becoming whoever I need to be to survive and fit in. But there's only one answer that feels true now.

"My name is Victoria."