Seven hums, fingers flicking at the edge of his cards, but before he can reply there’s a shout from somewhere down the street, distant but loud enough to be easily discernable. A moment and another shout, and then another, urgent voices carrying in the still air.
“Wait,” Shield says, tense, and Steve looks up at him, squinting in the light. SJ shifts against his back and Steve reaches up and holds onto SJ’s skinny forearms where they’re resting over his collarbones. Shield steps up to the edge of the roof, scanning the street, and Seven clambers to his feet and stands next to him, shoulder to shoulder.
“What is it?” Steve asks. No-one answers him; they just stand there watching and waiting, and the shouting has stopped. It feels as if everything has stopped, a moment of stillness and tension as if the world has taken a deep breath in and is holding it. Steve holds his own breath in his chest, hyper aware of his thudding pulse and SJ’s arms tight around his neck.
The moment draws out and out and a horrible sense of foreboding curls tight in his gut-
“DIRECTOR AND COMPANY ON TWENTY FOUR!”
The bellow comes from street level and the moment shatters. Brooklyn scrambles to his feet and Shield curses violently and Seven dashes for the stairs.
“Seven, wait!” Shield shouts, and then turns to Steve. “Get out of here. Take SJ and go, downstairs and out, back towards the river-”
“What? No,” Steve begins. He makes to stand up but SJ won’t let go, his arms have locked around Steve’s neck in fright. Steve reaches around and grabs him, pulling him round and hefting him up, standing up with SJ on his hip, still clinging tightly to him. His eyes are huge and petrified and Steve feels a horrible twist in his chest, because who is this man who has managed to make everyone react so violently-?
“Shield, come on,” Seven shouts urgently, impatiently. “Where’s Eight, have you seen him this morning?”
“Brooklyn, go with Steve and SJ,” Shield commands, and Brooklyn nods curtly and heads for the stairs. Shield reaches out for Steve, making to push him towards the stairs.
“What is going on?” Steve demands. “Someone-”
“Go!” Shield shouts over him. “He’s probably here for you, you need to-”
“SHIELD!” a voice from the stairwell yells, echoing. Moments later and Violet appears at the door, jaw set and expression grim. “Shield, the Director’s on twenty-four,” he says. “Six-One-Eight is with him.”
“Damn it to hell,” Shield snarls. “Steve, trust me. Take SJ and go.”
“Steve,” SJ whispers, voice trembling, and Steve tightens his hold on him fractionally.
More shouts come from street level and Steve forces his feet to move. He swiftly follows Brooklyn to the stairwell, one arm hooked under SJ’s legs to keep him up. Seven grabs his shoulder and hustles him through the doorway, but then the sound of a gunshot tears through the air, too loud and too close, and Steve stills instinctively, ducking down and twisting around towards the direction the sound came from. There’s a distant crash and more yelling, dull scrapes and thuds and the sound of a shattering window-
“Change of plan,” Seven says tersely. “Stay here.”
He pushes past Steve and he and Violet both storm back down the stairs. Oh, god, Steve feels so totally out of his depth and lost and he should be the one organising everyone and acting, not standing useless and incompetent and completely vulnerable. Shit, if there’s a fight happening – and the noises he can hear sound like the worst kind of fight – and he gets hurt, could he die? Is his life tied to his presence here or back home-?
“Get back,” Shield says, and pulls Steve back away from the stairwell. He runs over to the edge of the building and swears again.
“Steve,” SJ whispers again and Steve reaches up instinctively, holding SJ’s head to him, tucking him safely under his chin.
“I’ve got you,” he says. “You’re okay.”
Another shot rings out and there’s a cry of pain, and now it sounds like the fight is happening in the apartment beneath their feet. Shield turns from the edge of the building and strides over to Steve, pulling him away from the stairwell.
“Get down,” he instructs, but Steve is not going to sit through a fight cowering on the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, and the noise on the stairwell is louder; shouting and dull thuds and scuffles. It’s getting closer and closer, and Steve braces himself as he hears footsteps pounding on the stairs, but it’s Seven who appears again, breathing heavily.
“He’s in,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know how he got the jump on us, no-one saw him coming…” he breaks off, takes a breath. “There’s four of them, and Six-One-Eight is on the way, I’m gonna-”
“No you’re not,” Shield says tersely. “Where the hell is-”
“Like hell I'm not,” Seven snaps, eyes flashing with anger. “I’m not gonna let him-”
“This is not about Six-One-Eight,” Shield says emphatically. “If he starts anything, end it, but do not go looking for him."
“Who is Six-One-Eight?” Steve demands. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on, dammit!”
“Looks like you, covered in blood, complete maniac,” Shield says. “Don’t worry about him, worry about-”
His cuts off as heavy bootfalls sound on the stairs. They all whip around, and then a new version of him appears in the doorway.
The stranger is wearing black SHIELD gear from head to toe. There’s no star on this uniform though, and it’s conspicuous in its absence. The only clue is a small SHIELD insignia on his left breast, with five small silver stars underneath it. The straps of a double weapons holster are easily and obviously visible looping over his shoulders and under his arms, and Steve’s stomach drops as he spots a gun in each, tucked in securely against the stranger’s sides. There’s another holster around his thigh as well, as Steve spots a twin pair of knives stashed away, ready to be pulled out in the blink of an eye. Despite the gear giving off a palpable and unmistakable threat of violence, it’s the stranger’s expression and stance that is setting Steve on edge. He looks calm, but there’s a slight and disconcerting hint of cruelty in the set of his mouth, the lines of his shoulders. His eyes are bright and dangerous and he’s looking straight at Steve.
“You,” he says, and his tone of voice is commanding with an edge that Steve has never heard from himself or any of the others before. “You’re the one that’s alive.”
Seven and Shield both step forwards in front of Steve. He can still hear raised voices on the stairwell, the argument ongoing and moving closer.
“Yeah,” Steve says warily, not seeing that he can gain anything from denying it. “Problem?”
The other Steve smiles at that, easy and open and trustworthy to anyone who wouldn’t know better. “No. I’m just interested. Thought we could have a chat.”
“I guess you’re the Director,” Steve says, and the smile gets fractionally wider.
“You guessed right,” he says, and then turns away from them as another new Steve appears in the doorway, panting and holding onto his side. This must be Six-One-Eight; he’s wearing an identical suit to Steve’s and is the most battered and bloody version Steve has seen yet. It’s not the blood that’s bothering Steve this time though, it’s the absolutely foul look on his face, ugly and bitter. In front of Steve, Seven makes a move towards the newcomer, hands balling into fists and fury stealing over his features.
“Seven, don’t!” Shield barks, and grabs hold of him and hauls him back. Steve moves without thinking, grabbing his other arm with his free hand, inadvertently jolting SJ as he does.
The Director halts Six-One-Eight Steve with a hand on his shoulder, though it’s the warning glance he sends his way that keeps him in place, not the touch. “Don’t,” he instructs. “We’re not here for that.”
Steve feels his feet skitter across the gravel as Seven tries to wrench free from their restraining grip. SJ cries out and he hears Shield grunt with exertion but they succeed in keeping Seven from launching himself at the other Steve. Shield gets a better grip on him and hauls him back violently, and Steve lets him go to hold onto SJ more securely.
“Take your attack dog and get him out of here,” Seven says, and Six-One-Eight laughs, the sound twisted and bitter.
“Attack dog? Look at yourself,” he says, and there’s something not right in the way he speaks, something loose and bent out of shape. His eyes dart over Steve and then back to Seven, and Steve is still shocked at the sheer contempt in the gaze.
“We’re not here for you two to fight,” the Director says, sounding impatient, and then turns towards Steve again, interested and contemplative. “I’m here for him. What are we calling you?”
“I’m still Steve Rogers,” Steve says, and he wants to step up in-between Seven and Shield, but he can’t, not with SJ in his arms. “Don’t need a nickname.”
The Directors mouth twists, still almost smiling. “Of course,” he says easily. “You’re special, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I reckon I am,” Steve replies.
“Word is that Tony Stark killed you,” Six-One-Eight calls out. His eyes lock on Steve’s and there’s something manic there, unsettling. Seven makes another violent move, wrestling against Shield’s hands. Six-One-Eight notices and starts to laugh.
“Still hurts, doesn’t it? Hearing about your husband and killing in the same sentence?”
“Fuck you,” Seven snaps back, the profanity raw and jarring.
“How many universes has he killed people in?” Six-One-Eight demands, taking a step forwards. “Hundreds?”
