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Protective Custody

Summary:

A vile crime left behind only one witness able to testify against the monsters responsible. The monsters were powerful and ruthless, desperate to silence the witness. Phil and his Avengers weren’t about to let that happen.

Chapter 1: Club Cod

Chapter Text

This is a crossover between The Avengers and Banana Fish

Protective Custody

Chapter 1: Club Cod

 

On a warm spring morning, three months after Phil Coulson had moved into The Avenger’s Tower with the rest of his team, Phil woke early. It was his habit to get up well before the crack of dawn and one he hadn’t broken since accepting Tony Stark’s generous offer of a home in the gargantuan tower he’d named Avenger’s Tower. In his apartment in the tower, Phil yawned and rolled over enough to look out the window at the night cityscape of New York City. The light from the city sadly blocked the view of the stars. After a time of idleness (five minutes, exactly) Phil got up and dressed.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Phil spoke outloud to the seemingly empty room. “What time is it, please?”

“The time is 4:05 a.m., Phil. Good morning.” The disembodied voice of J.A.R.V.I.S., the artificial intelligence created by Tony Stark, was calm and spoke with a sort of primness. As a computer program, J.A.R.V.I.S. had no physical body, but lived as part of the tower itself. He was everywhere, in every machine, every computer. He could operate the lights, the elevators, the coffee machine, and even open and close windows. Aside from J.A.R.V.I.S.’ God-like power within Avenger’s Tower, he was also intelligent, helpful, kind, fiercely loyal, and considerate of others. Truly, J.A.R.V.I.S. was Tony’s masterpiece creation, but he was also an admirable person.

“Good morning, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

Phil was a creature of habit and started his day as he’d always started every day. He dressed very carefully, making sure his tie was correctly knotted and his clothes were all neatly pressed. Then, without further delay, he sat at the desk next to his bed and started his computer. There was work to do. His email inbox was filled. Some of the messages were on the less important side (George in the legal department was having a birthday. Did anyone else want to sign the card?) and more important (“Agent Coulson, if I don’t get some help with him, I swear I’ll strangle my asset!”) Phil made a note to call Agent Brown, a very competent but inexperienced handler with S.H.I.E.L.D. who would be thankful for a little advice. As Phil was the senior handler at S.H.I.E.L.D. and was responsible for the well-being of The Avengers, he was often sought out by younger handlers for advice and he was happy to give it. There was other work to be done - he was a perpetually busy man - and before long he was lost in a world of paperwork.

“Phil,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

“Yes?”

“Everyone has gathered for breakfast if you would care to join them.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone. Sir has emerged from his science stupor and Bruce has been lured out of his apartment by the smell of maple syrup. Natasha and Clint are playing solitaire together.”

“Together? They’re playing solitaire together?”

“Naturally. And Steve is trying to decide how much to eat. I don’t believe he will eat until everyone is present. You know he dislikes thinking anyone will go hungry.”

And that was the truth. Steve Rogers had grown up in the Great Depression and there had never been enough food to go around. As a result, he’d always been conscious about how much food was available and making sure everyone had something. When he’d woken in the modern age from his long, icy sleep, he hadn’t broken the habit. The enhancements that had been done to his body had increased his need for food and he feared that he would eat too much and leave someone hungry. So he simply didn’t eat until he saw that everyone else had enough.

Phil went to common room, a room specifically designed to let everyone gather together in comfort. It was a large, open area that held a kitchen and a family room filled with couches, chairs, a thick carpet, a television, a radio, and anything else anyone could think of to make the space homey. There were several full bookshelves and a shelf filled with board games. Huge windows looked out onto the city. The common room was shared by everyone, but Tony, generous to a fault once he’d found people he could trust, had gone so far as to give everyone an expansive suite of rooms for their personal use. Tony had been so happy to give the rooms away, which was curious as Tony was a man so accustomed to solitude that he could often go for weeks without interacting with humans so long as he had his work. Still, he had happily offered them all a place to live after the fighting was over and done with and they’d had a quiet moment.

“Living at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters can’t be fun,” Tony had said to them when Natasha had suspiciously asked about his motives for offering everyone a home.

“I get a room,” Natasha had pointed out. “My needs are met.”

“Yeah. Well. You don’t have to stay here, if you don’t want to.” Tony had turned away from them all, making a point of putting his focus on his computer. “It was just an idea. I think this is a nice place to live.”

Clint had put both hands out in front of him, making pacifying gestures. “Now, don’t be hasty. She didn’t refuse, she just wants to know why. What’s the catch?”

Tony blinked and looked completely baffled. “Huh?”

“What’s the rent? S.H.I.E.L.D. pays pretty well, but,” he looked around at the expensive little world Tony had built for himself. “I don’t think I could rent something here.”

Still, Tony kept frowning . He’d looked at Phil. “Rent? What? I didn’t ask for money? Do I look like I need money? I just said you could live here. Don’t have to. I’m not good company. Probably rotten company, really. As soon as I get in my lab, I might forget you’re here.” He hesitated, then added, “But I’ve got a gym you can use and there’s lots of privacy. J.A.R.V.I.S. won’t let anyone in we don’t want here.” He gave a self-conscious little shrug. “Plenty of food and... well... I’ve got extra room. This place is huge.”

Phil, standing at the back of the room and observing the conversation, felt a pain in his heart for Tony. He had the sudden understanding that it had cost Tony to make the offer, no matter how he had tried to make light of it. The tower was his home and his sanctuary from a hard world filled with people who wanted to kill him, hurt him, or use him. To offer to share that sanctuary... it was remarkably brave. How many people had betrayed Tony throughout his life? That he was willing to try, again, was amazing.

Clint and Natasha had shared a look, the bond they shared allowing them to understand each other without a single word. Phil knew many of the handlers at S.H.I.E.L.D. were puzzled by the pair. Very few understood the relationship between Clint and Natasha, but as far as Phil could see it really wasn’t anything all that complicated. The two weren’t in love, but they did love one another. More, they trusted each other. They didn’t have much in common, but they saw something in each other that was enough to create their friendship and make it as strong as spider silk. Considering their backgrounds, it was really no great surprise that once they found another person to trust that they’d latched on so fiercely.

Tony kept quiet while Clint and Natasha silently conferred and Phil felt red flags go up the moment Tony’s shoulders began to slump. He opened his mouth to say anything that might save Tony’s feelings, but Clint said,

“Sure. We’ll stay here. Food at the cafeteria at S.H.I.E.L.D. is awful. And you’re not rotten company.”

Tony looked like someone had just given him a puppy. Like magic, Tony perked right up with a shocked look on his face that quickly turned to a pleased smile. “And Steve? I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but... you know.. you can have a place here, too.” And to add an incentive, “I’ll teach you to work a cell phone.”

Steve, like Clint, looked around Tony’s home and actually seemed a bit nervous. “It’s a very big home, isn’t it? I’m not used to places like this.”

“You could get used to it. You’ll like J.A.R.V.I.S., everyone does. Most people do. Well, I really like him so I’m sure you will, too.”

Finally, after a long moment’s thought, Steve nodded his head. “Thank you. Yes. And if you don’t like me being here, I can find an apartment somewhere else. You just tell me and I’ll leave. I must be able to get money, somehow.”

Clint and Natasha shot Phil a hard look and he nodded, silently telling them he would deal with it. Of course, Steve had a salary from S.H.I.E.L.D., all the Avengers did. It was a respectable sum, considering all the danger they threw themselves into, and the fact that no one had bothered to tell Steve about it didn’t make Phil happy. He would have to talk to Steve and then check out his bank account to make sure the proper amount was being deposited for him.

“I wouldn’t kick you out,” Tony assured Steve. Then he swung his head around and looked at Bruce, standing near the door, his arms wrapped around himself. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes focused on his shoes. “Bruce? What about you?”

Bruce’s reaction had been almost comical. His head shot up and his eyes were very wide. His face turned red with a blush. “Me?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

Bruce looked around at everyone’s face. “But... we might break things.”

Tony waved a hand. “I’m good at fixing things. You want to stay?”

Slowly, as if afraid the offer might be a joke, Bruce nodded. ‘Yes. Please.” Then he paused. “I can leave if I want, can’t I?”

“Eh?” Tony nodded quickly. “Sure. Of course.”

It was a such a warm moment, to see all his assets coming together in a peaceful moment, that Phil didn’t think anything could make him happier. And then he was the one stunned when Tony turned to him and made the same offer. “What about you? Staying?”

Phil didn’t need to stay at Tony’s tower like the others did. Bruce had nowhere else to go and had spent the majority of his adult life homeless, struggling to find shelter and food. Steve, Clint, and Natasha used S.H.I.E.L.D. as a place to stay, but one could never call it home. The rooms they had were not quite as good as college dorm rooms and they had almost no privacy. Tony’s offer was not just of a place to stay, but an offer of safety. Phil wondered if Tony really understood what he had given the team. No, Phil didn’t need a place to live. He had a perfectly decent apartment in the city. Still, he smiled. “Thank you, Tony. I’d love to.”

And so it was that Tony turned his home into Avenger’s Tower, a home for Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Phil.

The kitchen was as impressive as everything else in Tony’s tower. He did not believe in doing things by halves. There were restaurant quality stoves and ovens. All the appliances were stainless steel. The counter-tops were imported stone and the floors were marble. It was all a bit excessive considering that Tony spent so little time in his kitchen. When Phil walked in, Bruce was already there, nibbling at a bowl of plain oatmeal with a large glass of orange juice sitting in front of him.

“Any plans today?” Phil asked. They had all been trying to get Bruce to get out a little more, even if it was only to sit in the sun for a few minutes, but he was so worried about something happening that would let Hulk come out, so terrified that General Ross would find him, that he rarely ever left the tower. “You could go up to the roof and watch the sunrise.”

Bruce smiled, but looked a bit worried. “Actually...I thought... Steve suggested a trip to the library. It’s only a couple of blocks away. He said we can walk and keep to the back alleys for most of the way. He said he’d go with me.” Bruce glanced at Phil out of the corner of his eye as if waiting for Phil’s opinion. “It’ll be safe and probably no one will see us.”

“I think that’s a great idea. Have fun.”

Bruce looked back down at his oatmeal. “You can come, if you like. Steve won’t mind.”

“Thanks, but I have a mountain of paperwork to get through.”

Bruce tensed. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. This is normal; I always have a lot of paperwork.” Phil tried to keep his tone light. Hulk did have a tendency to run up bills when he got upset, but nothing much had happened, lately. And, even if it had, Phil wouldn’t blame Bruce or Hulk. He knew very well that Hulk only ever tried to protect Bruce and, honestly, if people would just leave Bruce in peace then Hulk wouldn’t get upset.

Breakfast went very quietly. Tony grumbled about a business meeting while Clint meant to go for some time in the gym. Natasha planned to spend her day reading. Just as Bruce and Steve were about ready to leave for the library J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke up.

“Forgive me for interrupting everyone’s morning.” J.A.R.V.I.S. was always polite. He could even be polite while insulting a person, he was just that clever. “There is a news report which I think may be of interest to everyone, though I expect no one will like it. There are dead children.”

Bruce shifted uneasily on his chair and Tony, always a little protective of his smaller friend, shifted his chair a bit closer to Bruce for some moral support for whatever it was they would see. Clint didn’t look any happier than Bruce and leaned over enough to nudge his shoulder against Natasha’s. Steve sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly bracing himself.

“I think we’re ready,” Phil said. Considering that all The Avenger’s had suffered unfortunate childhood’s, anytime children were in danger or mistreated had the potential to set someone off in a bad way. Bruce and Natasha, with the nightmarish abuse they’d survived, were probably the worst off. Tony, despite growing up with unimaginable wealth, had been neglected and ignored by his parents. Clint didn’t talk about his childhood. Oddly, Steve, who’d grown up in the abject poverty of the Great Depression, was far better off than the others in that respect - he’d had people who’d cared for and protected him. Phil often wondered if Thor harbored any similar traumas, but it was impossible for Phil to investigate until Thor returned to them.

“As you wish,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. “Please, direct your attention to the television.” The television in the common room was almost ridiculously big, nearly six feet across, and it could easily be seen from where they sat at the table. J.A.R.V.I.S. turned on the television and they started to watch the local news.

A young man holding a microphone stood in front of the camera and spoke gravely. “What you are about to see is a live report from downtown and we want to warn anyone with young children in the room that this story is graphic and violent and is not intended for children. If you wish to have the children leave the room, we’ll pause a moment.”

The reporter went quiet for a few moments.

Behind the reporter, Phil could see bright yellow police tape marking off an entire building along with the street outside. There were four ambulances, no less than a dozen police cars, and a police transport wagon for carrying away prisoners. There were flashing lights and sirens. Two police officers in SWAT gear could be seen talking together and behind all of that were dozens of curious citizens watching from the sidewalk.

Clint gave a nervous, uncomfortable laugh. “This... this doesn’t look good. What the Hell happened?”

The news reporter started speaking, again. “We’re here at the Club Cod restaurant, in the middle of Manhattan, with a truly horrific story. On a tip from an award-winning journalist the NYPD has conducted a raid on the Club Cod seafood restaurant on the suspicion of human trafficking. We’ve been informed by Captain Jenkins of the NYPD that the police arrived at 8 a.m. and took into custody every person inside the building. There were no patrons as it was so early in the day, but there were four adults taken for questioning. They also found twenty-seven children between the ages of eight and fourteen dead. We aren’t clear on exactly what happened, but we do know that police suspect Club Cod was being used as a headquarters for both a child prostitution ring and child pornography, keeping children as sex slaves.” The reporter paused and turned when several gurneys were rolled out of Club Cod, all of them had white shrouds covering very small bodies. The reporter turned back to the camera and looked as if he were ready to cry. “We, of course, have to wait until we have more information, but... oh! There’s Captain Jenkins, now. Captain!” He started over to the police captain with his camera man following.

Captain Jenkins was a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a respectable gut. He was neither tall nor short, but had a weary look on his face that spoke only too clearly of the toll the morning had taken on him.

The reporter asked Captain Jenkins, “Sir, do you have anything to say about this? Do you know who’s responsible for the death’s of the children?”

Captain Jenkins said nothing for a long while. He stared at the reporter and then at the camera. “Twenty-seven children...” He paused, took a deep breath, then said, “The tragedy of what happened today is unspeakable. Nothing I can say will change that. The NYPD was given a reliable tip along with evidence of severe child abuse happening in the Club Cod restaurant. This appears to have been an organized operation that included a method of gathering victims, keeping them controlled, and then selling or renting them out to other assailants. The NYPD responded as quickly as possible, but when we arrived we found the children all dead. Records found at the scene will be thoroughly analyzed. Autopsies will be performed on the victims to determine more about what happened to them before they died as well as to help identify them.” Captain Jenkins took a deep breath and straightened his back before he looked directly into the camera. “If anyone watching has any information, we ask that you contact the NYPD immediately, even if it’s only to leave an anonymous message. If anyone is missing a child, whether they’re missing due to suspected kidnapping or they’re a runaway, please call your local police station so we can help identify these children and return them to their families. That’s all I have for now.” He turned and walked swiftly away, but before he got far Phil noticed the man stagger a bit. His shoulders shook for a moment, before he got control of himself and continued to walk.

The reporter looked back at the camera. “And that’s all from Captain Jenkins. Keep tuned in to this station to keep updated on this terrible story.” The reporter, even more so than when he’d begun, looked close to tears. His face was pale. He turned just when more gurneys began to be rolled out of the building, each one with a white shroud, each one being loaded solemnly into waiting ambulances. The crowd surrounding the area was eerily silent. The reporter choked and wiped his eyes. He muttered, probably forgetting that his microphone was still on, “What kind of monsters did this?”

J.A.R.V.I.S. turned off the television and the silence that filled the room was oppressive. Bruce was visibly shaken. Natasha had gone very ‘blank’, expressionless, as she did when she was upset. Clint didn’t look much better. Tony stood up and walked over to one of the huge windows that gave a grand view of the city and looked down.

“Tony?” Phil walked over to stand next to Tony. They could see the flashing lights from the police cars and ambulances.

“It’s right there,” Tony said, faintly. “Club Cod is two blocks away. I never knew. How can something like that happen right under my nose and I didn’t know? It’s practically in my backyard.”

Phil saw the dangerous path Tony seemed to be heading down, so he spoke very firmly when he said, “This is NOT your fault. It happened nearby, but it is not your responsibility. The police have everything well-in-hand.”

But Tony didn’t seem to have heard. “I have created the most advanced robotic technology on the planet. I have created artificial life. I have fought alien invaders. I’ve stood up against gods. How could I not know that kids were being tortured less than a ten minute walk from my home?”

With a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder, Bruce took control. He softly said, “Tony, let’s go to the lab. You said you have a new laser guidance system you wanted to show me.” He waited a moment and when Tony didn’t respond, he gave Tony’s arm a gentle tug. “Tony? Come on. I’d really like to see your new system.”

Slowly, Tony blinked at Bruce, then at Phil. He gave himself a little shake and attempted a smile for Bruce. “Lab. Lasers. Right. Sure, let’s go.”

As they walked off together, Bruce shot Phil a look over his shoulder that clearly said, ‘I’ll look after him. Don’t worry.’

Phil did worry. He worried constantly about his team. Their welfare was his life. So with Tony and Bruce taken care of, he looked back at the table. Clint watched Natasha while chewing on his lip. Natasha showed all the emotion of a stone statue until she abruptly stood and faced Phil. Clint, more slowly, stood up with her.

“I feel the need to expend energy.” Natasha stated it calmly, but considering how she’d been raised, Phil had no doubt that there was a riot going on in her mind.

“Alright.” Phil couldn’t see anything but good coming from letting out her emotions with physical activity. “Are you going down to the gym?”

“Yes. I want to hit something.”

“Use the punching bag, please. When you feel up to it, and if you want to, come talk to me. I’ll listen. Try not to hurt yourself.”

She gave a sharp nod and strode off, her back stiff and head held high.

Clint wordlessly followed Natasha, her faithful shadow, with nothing but a nod to Phil. He would stay with Natasha until she calmed down, no matter how long that took. As a sniper, Clint had magnificent patience and if it took hours or even days, he wouldn’t leave her alone in her current state.

That left only Steve. Steve Rogers, who had been small and weak in his youth, had been made into a tall and broad young man by way of a mysterious chemical serum. It wasn’t his physical ability that made Steve special, though. Anyone who met him would agree to that. Steve had the warmest of hearts. He was a genuinely good person, with an old-fashioned sense of honor and dignity. It was understandable - he was from an old-fashioned time, after all. Steve had fought in World War II and been frozen in ice until he’d been rescued many years later and he at times had difficulty adjusting to modern life. He sat at his place at the table and stared down at his half-eaten breakfast. So, after a minute, he picked up his fork and continued to eat, though he didn’t seem to enjoy it. Steve didn’t waste food.

“Steve?” Phil asked. “Are you alright?”

Steve paused then set his fork back down. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand.”

Steve waved his hand at the television. “All... that. Everyone’s upset and there are a lot of kids that got killed. I understand that, but what’s ‘human trafficking’?”

And so began one of the more difficult discussions in Phil’s career. Steve did know what human trafficking was, he simply wasn’t familiar with the phrase. When Phil finished his explanation, Steve folded his hands on his lap and thought for a minute. “So... someone was stealing kids and making them...ah...” He looked sick. “Have sex? And when the police learned about it, those people killed all the kids?” He slowly shook his head. “I STILL don’t understand. That’s just... sick. I know that sort of person is out there - my Bucky always made sure I kept away from certain people in the neighborhood and when I got old enough he told me why they were dangerous - but this sounds different. This wasn’t just some twisted person. This was a business. They had employees. Did they get paychecks every week? Other low-lifes knew where their place of business was. Did people call up and make appointments to rent out kids, like going to the dentist? It sounds so organized. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He paused. “I want to help.”

“I’m sure we can find some way, but the police will catch them, I’m sure.” He desperately hoped fate wouldn’t make a liar out of him. All too often a criminal was granted a stroke of good luck and was able to slip away.

“Phil,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “You have an incoming call from S.H.I.E.L.D. I believe it is Mister Fury.”

“Thank you.” Phil excused himself from Steve and went back to his apartment to answer his phone. He wasn’t greeted by anything as simple as a ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’. Nick Fury was not a ‘good morning’ sort of person.

“This is a damned way to start the day.” Fury sighed heavily, as he’d taken to doing since he’d been made head of S.H.I.E.L.D. and had the weight of the world set on his shoulders. “Did you see the news about Club Cod?”

Phil sat at his desk. “Yes. The team is pretty upset about it. Doesn’t seem like it’s world shaking enough to involve you, though. What didn’t the news report?”

“Everything, Phil. Everything. Yeah, there’s suspicion of child abuse and human trafficking and there are a pile of dead kids, but this is a lot bigger than what the civilians are being told. Some journalist managed to get a hold of information that set this whole thing in motion. I’ve heard that he has hard evidence that’s going to put a lot of people in prison for a very long time and I’m not talking about the handful of criminals the cops arrested today. This thing is big. Really big. That journalist is keeping things close for now, but rumor has it that he has evidence to prove who paid for those kids - names, personal information, photographs, and video recordings. Most damning of all is that he has an eyewitness.”

Phil heard little alarm bells going off in his head. “A witness? Someone on the inside turned informant?”

“We don’t know. That journalist isn’t talking to us.”

“That’s not optimal, but the fact that he has hard evidence and is using it to take down such an organization is surely a good thing. The cops can get the guilty parties off the streets and...”

“Listen, it isn’t that simple. Would I call you for something so easy? The journalist has a list of names that include the wealthy and elite of New York, politicians in Washington, and military leaders. But it’s not just America’s problem. He has the names of foreign politicians, dignitaries, nobility, and business tycoons. World leaders are involved in this, but the list also names people involved with the Mafia, the Corsican Syndicate, the Chinese Tong, and a whole bucket full of other criminal organizations.”

As Fury had been speaking, Phil felt himself go quite cold. “The witness...”

“Yeah. Evidence is good, but an eyewitness willing to testify under oath is better. Whoever the witness is, they’re almost certainly as good as dead. If this person’s name gets leaked, they won’t have a chance. World Leaders with armies at their command will have no trouble putting out a hit on one person. Not to mention that if it comes out that one leader of a country is found guilty of patronizing Club Cod and molesting children, it could spark a fire. Imagine if that one person has made an enemy of a rising politician in their country; civil war might break out if that person decides to use the scandal to take control of the government for themselves. And, if they’ve made an enemy of another nation’s leader, it could also lead to war.”

“That seems a bit extreme.”

“I have seen wars fought and good soldiers killed for less reason.”

“True.”

“This situation needs to be carefully controlled if we’re going to avoid World War III. I hate to think what some of the people on that list will do to protect their reputation. Killing one witness wouldn’t even make some people break a sweat. This whole thing is dynamite.”

“I certainly hope you’re not suggesting that we hush this up.” Because Phil would be exceedingly unhappy if that were to happen. It was a very dangerous situation, but the victims deserved justice and the people who abused them needed to be stopped from repeating the crime as soon as they felt safe.

“Of course not, but precautions must be taken. The witness must testify. I would have assets stationed strategically near high risk suspects to minimize damage they might cause if they spook, but I don’t know who the suspects are. I’m not asking you to involve your assets, but I would appreciate your input about a plan of action. A safe-house must be found at once.”

“I agree and it’s location will either have to be top secret or completely impenetrable. Preferably both. Give me some time to plan and I’ll get back to you.”

“Make it quick. I have a team standing by to pay a visit to the journalist to insist on the name of his informant and the names of the suspects. In the interest of world security, the informant must be protected and I have a hard time believing that a newspaper reporter has the resources to guard against the enemies I expect. Whether they like it or not, they need our help.”

“Don’t send a force against the journalist, he hasn’t done anything wrong and is trying to do something good so the last thing we want is to make him think we’re the enemy. We can send a covert operation to guard the witness, if necessary, but let me try to talk to him, first. Even if the journalist doesn’t want to trust us, if we can get the name of the witness we can speak to them directly and make them see reason. I’ll set up a meeting. The journalist seems to have his heart in the right place, but I think he can’t know what he’s got his hands on or he would be happily accepting protection for his witness and himself. He’s sure to be a target, as well.”

Fury hung up and less than five minutes later emailed to Phil an address, a phone number, an email address, and a photograph of the journalist, Mister Max Lobo. It looked like a professional photo, like what an author might have put on the dust jacket of a book they’d written. For a long moment, Phil stared at the photo. Mister Lobo had light brown hair and blue eyes. His jaw, his shoulders, everything about him looked square and solid. He wore a cheap suit and a smile in the photo.

Phil frowned. “I know him.” The memory came slowly - it had been a few years - and he remembered the smell of cigarette smoke. A deep voice singing ‘Oh, My Darling Clementine’. Bombs exploded all around, dust in the air, screaming... screaming...

The memory came roaring back with awful clarity.

***

In a military hospital, Private Phil walked down a long, white hall. He still felt rather numb, after what had happened. Phil came to a stop outside a room and, without bothering to knock, walked in. The room held a single bed and, in it, lay a man who stared blankly up at the ceiling. Sitting in a chair by his side was another soldier. His eyes were fixed on his comrade in the bed. He was pale and looked utterly exhausted. Phil walked over and sat in a chair next to the bed.

For a moment, the room was dead silent.

“Well?” Max Glenreed asked.

“They’re sending him back to the states in a couple of days. He’ll be admitted to a mental hospital for treatment.”

“Good. That’s good.” Max was very young, only twenty-two, and looked ten years older. He had tears in his eyes when he looked up at Phil. “I can’t believe all this. He killed them. I don’t... I don’t...” Max shook his head slowly and put his face in his hands. “I don’t know what happened to Griff.”

Griffin Callenreese. Phil had served with him and Max for more than six months. They were all due to go home in less than three days, but Griffin had snapped out of the blue. Phil had been there, watched it all happen. Griffin had walked into camp and, without a word, picked up a gun and killed four of their people. Phil looked, again, at Griffin, but Griffin did nothing more than stare up at the ceiling. His mouth was partly open and there was an awful look in his eyes, as if he were seeing the most horrifying vision. “Griff? Can you hear me?”

Griffin didn’t answer. The doctors had told Phil he wouldn’t.

“He hasn’t spoken since we got here,” Max said, finally looking up. “I shot him in the legs. The doctors said he’ll probably never walk, again.” Max sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes. “I had to shoot him. I didn’t... oh, God.”

Griffin had been well-liked and friendly. He’d never given any reason to believe he would snap in such a horrific way. There had been no tension within the group. Private Callenreese had been an affable young man, prone to laughter and talking about his beloved little brother. He’d been the type to sit with a struggling comrade and listen while he spoke longingly about the girl he’d left behind, the type to give a depressed friend his dessert at mealtime, the type to volunteer for the most undesirable duties just so no one else would have to do it. His superiors had thought highly of him, though they’d noted he didn’t have the ambition to make officer. It seemed he had simply snapped.

“Maybe it was the drugs,” Max suggested, weakly. “We both knew he was taking something, even if we only caught him at it that once.” Max ran a hand through his hair. “He couldn’t take it. We both know he was having a hard time. Seeing that stuff all the time. Civilians getting killed. Bombs. Friends dying all around you. Christ, it’s hard. Griff... I don’t think he was ever meant for war. He’s too gentle. You know, he told me once he’d only joined up so he could get the money to send his little brother to school. He just wasn’t meant for all this.”

Phil put a sympathetic hand on Max’s shoulder. “War’s hard for everyone. Do you know what he was taking?”

“He never told me. He didn’t start until a few weeks ago. You remember that ambush? He had to kill two people. That night, I heard him crying. I think he started using after that.” He met Phil’s eyes, defensively. “I don’t know why he picked up that gun, but that wasn’t him. Whatever drug he’d been taking, it always made him foggy and tired, never violent.” Max’s eyes went as hard as granite. “Someone gave him a different drug and it made him go crazy. When Griff stopped shooting, he said, “Banana Fish” and then didn’t speak again for hours. When he did speak, he repeated, “Banana Fish”. It’s all he’s said ever since. I spoke to the doctors and the nurses and Griff only repeats those words, never anything else. I don’t know what it means, but it means something.”

PTSD, Phil had thought at the time. Griffin must have had PTSD and that, coupled with the unknown drug, had caused a severe psychotic break. It was tragic, but it wasn’t the first time Phil had heard of soldiers trying to medicate away their pain, even if that meant illegal means. So he had pulled the blanket up a little further on Griffin to make sure he was warm, then said to Max, “There won’t be a trial, there can’t be. Not with him in this state. I’m sure he’ll get to a good hospital back in the states.”

Max’s eyes went to Griffin. “Yeah. Sure.”

***

That had been the end of it. At least it had until Phil sat at his desk and held a photograph of Private Maxwell Glenreed, who called himself Max Lobo, and had declared that he had information that could potentially bring chaos to the world. Phil sat in his room and thought for a long time. Eventually, he set the photo down on his desk and leaned back a little to look up at the ceiling.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., please call a meeting with everyone.”

“Sir is in his workshop, Phil.”

“Well... let him know.” Getting Tony out of the workshop wasn’t an easy or fast job. Still, he felt Tony would want to know, given his earlier reaction. “Tell him it’s about Club Cod.”

Phil left his rooms and headed for the place where they had been holding regular meetings ever since they had all begun to live together - the kitchen. At the kitchen table, Bruce had already set out bottles of water for everyone. Natasha and Clint stood in a corner, very close together. Phil noticed Clint pat Natasha’s arm, comfortingly and whisper something to her. Just after Phil had arrived, Tony, dressed in grease-stained overalls, walked in. He said nothing, but went straight to the window in the living area and looked down to where he and Phil had watched the action at Club Cod only an hour earlier.

“Where’s Steve?” Bruce asked, his voice as soft as always.

J.A.R.V.I.S. answered, “Steve was disturbed by the news. He wants to help.”

Of course he did. It was so very Steve. He would want to do something, even if there was nothing that could be done. The situation didn’t really call for a team of super heroes so much as it begged for dedicated police officers. There was no invading army or power hungry dictator to fight. There were dead children and unknown perverts. Still, Steve would want to do something, anything. Even if it broke his heart to see what had been done, he would want to do something. He would suffer the pain, Phil knew. He would suffer it without complaint if it meant he could help someone. That pain was the price he paid for having a tender heart.

Steve walked in, then. Tall and muscular and fair, the bright image of the world renowned Captain America... carrying a teddy bear.

Everyone stared.

Steve blushed and held the teddy bear a little tighter. “I thought... if there was a chance that a child had survived... maybe something soft might help.” He looked suddenly doubtful. “Is that alright?”

“It’s more than alright.” Tony didn’t look away from the window. “It’s a great thought.”

“But,” Bruce, always the realist, quietly said, “But there weren’t any survivors. Steve, you heard the news.”

“There might have been one. They might have made a mistake. ”

Clint sat at the table with Bruce and Natasha sat next to him, inching her chair close enough that her shoulder touched Clint’s. Clint said, “Sure, they might have. Mistakes happen. And if there aren’t any survivors, we’ll take it along with us the next time we go on a mission. If there’s a hurt or scared kid, they can have it. Right?”

Steve didn’t look happy, but he smiled at Clint. “Right. That’s a swell idea. Thanks.”

“It IS a swell idea,” Phil agreed. “Now, I wanted to talk to everyone about a development about the Club Cod case.” Tony instantly left the window and sat next to Bruce while Steve, still holding the teddy bear, stood at attention just behind his team mates, watching Phil. Once he was assured of everyone’s attention, Phil started. “I received a call from Fury just after the news broadcast about Club Cod. He heard about it and he’s worried. Apparently, the reporter who broke this news to the NYPD has an eyewitness who can identify the guilty parties and is willing to testify in court. That means the reporter and his witness are in danger. The suspicion is that many very rich and powerful people will be better off if the reporter and his witness are dead. If they aren’t killed and the witness testifies, then it could start off riots or even wars. Fury has people posted in key locations to keep things civilized, but he’s asked me to ensure the witness stays alive.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. A faint glow emanated through his shirt. “You know the witness was probably involved in all this and only turned traitor to save their own skin, don’t you? Who else would know anything? I don’t like that we’re supposed to help someone who let that stuff happen to kids. He should be thrown in prison with the rest of them.”

“He’s right,” Clint said. “We can’t trust someone who’d hurt kids.”

“I’m not planning to trust anyone,” Phil assured them. “But if this person can put so many others behind bars, then I need to keep them alive. I knew you wouldn’t like this, so I wanted to let you all know that I’m not planning to involve you. I just wanted to tell everyone that I’ll handle this on my own. It means I’ll be gone for a while. I’m going to find a safe house to keep the witness and the reporter in and I’ll stand guard myself. I’m sorry if this causes any trouble for anyone, but I’ll have Fury assign another handler to take care of paperwork for you and...”

Natasha, still stiff and cool as always when she was uncomfortable, said, “I do not believe anyone said we will not help.”

“Right.” Tony grinned. “I might want to throw the witness out the window, but I get what you mean about putting so many other people in prison. The witness is useful so they’ll be kept alive and we’re the best people to ensure that.”

Bruce wrapped his hands around his water bottle, staring down at it rather than at Phil. “And we don’t want you to be alone with someone who might be dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Clint lightly tapped his water bottle against Bruce’s. “That’s right. You’re our handler. You belong to us so we have to take care of you.”

Steve nodded his agreement. “It would be real low to let a team mate go into danger alone.”

Phil had never been quite so happy in his life.

 

To be continued...