Harry's grin lingered on Fury for a moment longer, but then his emerald green eyes—bright and unflinching—shifted to the towering blond behind him. There was no mistaking the man: broad-shouldered, standing at attention like he was carved out of the deck itself.
The smile on Harry's lips softened into something more genuine, something heavier with respect.
He strode forward, his boots clanging lightly against the Helicarrier's deck as the wind whipped around them.
"Blimey," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough to carry. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Steve Rogers stood straighter, his eyes sharp but wary.
Harry stopped just short, his grin returning in full force as he extended a hand.
"You've got no idea how surreal this is, mate. Harry Potter," he said warmly, his voice carrying that lazy, confident charm of someone utterly sure of who he was.
Steve's grip was firm as they clasped hands — just shy of competitive — but Harry matched it easily.
"Steve Rogers," Steve replied, his brow furrowing just slightly, as though he still wasn't quite sure what to make of him.
Harry's smile turned downright mischievous, his emerald eyes sparkling.
"Oh, I know," he said with a smirk. "I read all the comics."
Steve blinked, his hand still caught in Harry's.
"…Comics?"
Harry let go and waved a hand toward Fury with exaggerated innocence. "Oh, yeah. Nick's got two copies of every issue stashed in his quarters somewhere. One to read, one sealed in mint condition. I may have… borrowed a few back in the day."
Fury groaned, rubbing at his brow.
"Goddamn kid never learnt to respect personal property," he muttered.
Harry shot him a cheeky grin over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Nick — never even dog-eared a page."
That got a chuckle out of Fury, and even Steve cracked a crooked, confused little smile.
"Well… guess you're full of surprises," Steve admitted, and Harry clapped a broad hand on his shoulder.
"You've got no idea," Harry replied with a wink.
Behind Fury, Coulson was watching the whole exchange with quiet glee. He leaned just slightly toward the director and muttered:
"But I'm the one who gets grief for my trading cards?"
Fury shot him a withering glare. Coulson, of course, just smiled faintly — utterly vindicated.
—
Meanwhile, Natasha Romanoff had already moved toward the line of women standing behind Harry in that perfect V-formation — each one as striking and self-assured as the next. Her expression stayed calm, professional, but her green eyes swept over each of them with razor precision, already cataloguing everything.
She stopped first in front of Daphne Greengrass — cool, impossibly poised, with sleek blonde hair and a faint, imperious smile that didn't quite reach her ice-blue eyes.
Natasha's lips quirked faintly. "You don't strike me as the type who needs much introduction," she said evenly.
Daphne tilted her head slightly, her smile sharpening just a fraction. "Neither do you."
Natasha's gaze moved down the line to Susan Bones — warm brown eyes and auburn hair that caught the sun, her posture relaxed yet somehow unyielding.
"Hi," Susan said simply, her voice even and friendly. "Susan Bones. Resident peacekeeper. Sometimes."
Natasha arched a brow and murmured just loud enough for Susan to hear: "You'll need the patience of a saint to keep this group in line."
That earned her a soft laugh from Susan. "So I've been told."
Val — all sharp edges and lethal grace in her furs and leather — held Natasha's gaze with a wolfish grin.
Natasha glanced at the long sword slung across Val's back.
"Nice blade," Natasha noted dryly.
Val's grin widened into something almost dangerous. "You should see what I can do with it."
Natasha gave a little hum of approval before moving on to Allyria Dayne — whose hauntingly pale violet eyes and star-kissed dark hair made Natasha pause a beat longer than usual.
"Allyria Dayne," she said, her voice lilting, soft yet impossible to ignore.
Natasha gave her the faintest, enigmatic smile. "Whatever he did to earn your loyalty… I'd like to read the report."
Allyria only smiled faintly, as if she knew something Natasha didn't.
Then came Dacey Mormont — tall, powerful, her arms folded and her expression pure iron.
"Dacey Mormont," she said bluntly, her voice carrying like steel.
Natasha's mouth curved just slightly. "We're going to get along fine," she murmured.
And then… the final three.
Even Natasha Romanoff stilled for half a second.
Shaak Ti stepped forward first — her red-and-white skin striking against the gray of the deck, her quiet, serene presence impossible to miss. She inclined her head gracefully, her eyes calm.
Aayla Secura was next — blue skin and a lithe, coiled energy about her, her smirk faint but knowing as her bright eyes locked on Natasha's.
And finally, Riyo Chuchi — delicate, almost ethereal, her tiny frame belying the undeniable strength in her gaze.
Natasha's eyes swept over the three of them before she straightened, slipping her hands casually into her jacket pockets.
"Ladies," she said evenly, her voice carrying just enough warmth to take the edge off. "Welcome to the party."
Harry, glancing over his shoulder at the tableau, grinned wide — that devil-may-care smile lighting up his face.
"Careful, Ms. Romanoff," he called with a chuckle. "You're already outnumbered."
Natasha's eyes stayed on the women, her smirk growing ever so faintly as she replied without missing a beat:
"We'll see about that."
And there they stood:
The wind howling across the Helicarrier deck.
A soldier out of time, shaking hands with a wizard out of worlds.
A line of queens standing behind their king — like they'd never stand anywhere else.
Even Bruce Banner, standing quietly behind Steve, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and muttered under his breath:
"Well. This should be… interesting."
Steve just shook his head slightly, a bemused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Fury, standing dead center between it all, his coat whipping in the wind, finally muttered:
"God help me. I hate it when he's early."
And Harry?
He just winked.
—
The group moved off the deck and into the steel-and-glass belly of the Helicarrier. The steady hum of turbines thrummed through the floor, the open air of the sky deck giving way to a controlled, clinical atmosphere.
Harry trailed near the back, emerald green eyes alive as they roved over every piece of tech, every bustling agent. He walked with his hands in his pockets, broad shoulders loose, grin faint but amused — like he'd already memorized the place the second he stepped aboard. Behind him, his wives fanned out in quiet formation. Daphne's icy poise, Fleur's feline grace, Dacey's quiet steel, Val's predatory alertness, Allyria's shadowy calm, and the alien trio's otherworldly presence turned heads as they passed, even though no one dared say anything aloud.
Up front, Nick Fury finally threw a glance over his shoulder at the quiet man in a rumpled shirt and jeans who'd been keeping his head down.
"Doctor Banner," Fury said, his gravel-deep voice cutting through the low murmur of boots and comms chatter. "Thanks for coming in."
Bruce looked up like a kid caught daydreaming. He managed a faint, sheepish smile, adjusting his glasses and giving a little shrug. "Thanks for… asking nicely," he replied. Then he hesitated a beat before adding, "Uh… any idea how long I'm staying this time?"
Fury kept walking, his one good eye forward, his mouth pulling into a wry half-smile. "Soon as we get our hands on the Tesseract, Doc, you're free to go. Scouts' honor."
Bruce huffed out a dry little chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "Right. So… where are we on that?"
Fury didn't answer right away. Instead, he snapped his fingers at Coulson, who'd been keeping pace just off his right shoulder.
"Coulson."
Coulson's tablet was already in his hands before his name finished leaving Fury's lips. The senior agent fell back a step, glancing briefly at Harry — who caught his eye and grinned like they were old pals — then addressed the group.
"We're sweeping every wirelessly accessible camera on the planet," Coulson explained in his calm, precise way. "Cell phones, laptops. If it's connected to a satellite, it's an extra pair of eyes and ears for us."
Natasha, already ahead of the group, had peeled off to one of the workstations at the bridge's edge. She crouched fluidly, her hair gleaming under the cool lights as her fingers danced across the screen. An image of Clint Barton filled the display — bow on his back, his jaw set in a grim line. With a quick swipe, data and stats scrolled up next to his image.
She turned her head just enough, voice dry and sharp. "That's still not gonna find them in time."
Bruce stepped closer, brow furrowed, and gave the screen a thoughtful frown. He muttered to himself, then spoke up. "We… need to narrow the field." He glanced around. "How many spectrometers do you guys have access to?"
Fury shot him a flat look over his shoulder. "How many you need access to?"
Bruce managed a crooked, self-effacing little smile. "Call every lab you know," he said. "Have them put the spectrometers on the roof and calibrate them for gamma rays. I'll rough out a tracking algorithm based on cluster recognition. At least we can rule out a few places."
Fury didn't even flinch as he reached for his comm, already barking into it. "You heard the man." Then, to Natasha: "Romanoff. Show the doctor to his lab."
Natasha stood fluidly from her crouch, giving the screen one last swipe before turning back. Her eyes cut briefly to Harry and his wives — her mouth quirking ever so slightly at their sight — before she addressed Bruce with a faint, dry smile.
"You're gonna love it, Doc," she said, falling into step beside him as she headed down the hall. "We've got all the toys."
Bruce followed, hands in his pockets, his lopsided smile faint but present. "You got a Commodore 64?"
Natasha tilted her head, deadpan, and without missing a beat called out to a passing agent: "Hey, do we still have a Commodore 64 in—"
Bruce cut her off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're… very young," he said dryly as they walked off.
Natasha's smirk widened a fraction. "You keep telling yourself that, Doc."
The two disappeared around a corner.
Behind them, Steve — who'd been keeping quiet, arms crossed as he scanned the bridge with soldier's eyes — finally spoke, his baritone voice breaking through the quiet.
"That man's calm," he muttered, mostly to himself, but loud enough that Harry — still leaning back slightly with his hands in his pockets — caught it.
Harry chuckled low in his chest and shot Steve a look of quiet amusement. "You'd be surprised what he's capable of when he's not calm, mate."
Steve met Harry's green eyes for a beat, then nodded faintly — a soldier's respect there already.
At the rear of the group, Daphne exchanged a look with Fleur, who smirked faintly. Val muttered something about "shiny new toys" under her breath.
Shaak Ti and Aayla, serene as ever, glided along as though nothing could surprise them. And Riyo, walking light on her feet at the very back, caught the curious glances of passing agents with an almost mischievous smile.
At the front, Fury barked a few more orders into his comm before glancing sidelong at Coulson, who still wore a faint smirk.
"You got somethin' you wanna say, Coulson?"
Coulson arched an eyebrow, tablet still in hand. "Not a word, sir."
But the way his mouth twitched into a smile said plenty.
—
Fury finished barking into his comm and slid it back into his coat pocket as the group neared the bridge doors. They opened with a hiss, revealing the sprawling nerve center of the Helicarrier — glowing screens, agents hunched over terminals, and the quiet roar of turbines beneath them.
He stopped dead in his tracks, boots planted wide, and pivoted on his heel to face Harry and his entourage.
Harry had been trailing toward the back of the group, his emerald eyes sweeping lazily across the bustling operations room as if committing it all to memory. His wives flanked him naturally — each one striking in her own way, each radiating a distinct air of lethal grace.
Fury's one good eye narrowed slightly, and his voice cut through the chatter like a blade.
"Boy," he said evenly, the weight of the word dropping hard. "Tell me you and your… highly distinguished company can help me find Loki and the Tesseract."
The room quieted perceptibly. A few agents even paused what they were doing to glance up.
Harry tilted his head, his lopsided grin curling at the edges. "Ah," he drawled, that easy British charm curling through the tension. "There it is. The ask."
From his right, Daphne — icy and composed in a form-fitting jacket, her blonde hair perfectly tucked back — arched a brow and murmured just loud enough for him to hear:
"Took him long enough."
On his left, Susan crossed her arms, her copper hair gleaming under the lights, and gave Fury a faint, wry smile. "At least he asked instead of ordered," she quipped. "That's progress."
Fleur let out a soft, musical laugh and toyed with a loose strand of platinum hair, her French accent curling around her words like silk. "We 'ave been… how you say… itching to be useful, non?"
Harry didn't take his eyes off Fury. His grin sharpened just a little, though his tone stayed light. "You're asking," he observed, the faintest edge of steel in his voice. "Not ordering. Smart man."
Fury's mouth ticked up into a tiny smirk. "I know what you're worth. So I'll say it again. Can you help me find them?"
Harry's smile settled into something more dangerous, more confident. He straightened, his hands sliding free of his pockets.
"You need magic and the Force working together," he replied matter-of-factly. "Tracking spells layered with precognition and field sensitivity. Clever play."
He flicked his gaze to Shaak Ti and Aayla standing quietly behind the others. Shaak's lekku shifted faintly as she inclined her head gracefully.
"I can sense the echo of his mind," she said, her voice low and serene, with a faint undercurrent of menace. "Faint. But not gone."
Aayla's piercing blue gaze swept over Fury next. "If you can give us even a vague location," she added smoothly, "we can amplify it. Narrow the field."
Harry turned slightly, his gaze sliding to Daphne.
She met his eyes coolly, then gave the faintest of nods. "We'll need a map grid," she said crisply. "I can lay a proximity charm keyed to the Tesseract's magical frequency."
Susan rolled her shoulders, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I can bind the spell into your surveillance network. Piggyback on whatever feeds you've already tapped."
Fleur tilted her head, her smile sly and a little wicked. "And I," she said, a delicate shrug rippling through her tailored coat, "will make sure it does not… explode, oui?"
Coulson, standing just behind Fury, made a valiant effort to keep his expression neutral — but the faint upward quirk of his lips betrayed him.
Fury folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight slightly, his good eye glinting. "That's what I like to hear," he said evenly.
Harry stepped forward, his grin now edged with something darker. He stopped just shy of Fury, standing tall enough to force the older man to tilt his head slightly to meet his gaze.
"All you had to do," Harry murmured, his voice low but carrying, "was ask. Politely."
Fury didn't flinch. He held Harry's emerald stare for one long beat… then gave the faintest of nods.
"Please," he said flatly.
Harry's smile broadened just enough to show teeth. "Better," he replied.
He straightened fully, his long coat shifting around him as he glanced back over his shoulder at his wives, his voice cutting through the quiet with quiet authority.
"Ladies?"
Daphne adjusted her gloves, her eyes glinting ice. "Ready."
Susan cracked her knuckles, then let her arms fall to her sides with a faint smirk. "Ready."
Fleur let out a soft, wicked laugh. "Toujours prête."
Shaak Ti inclined her head once more, her voice calm and commanding. "We are prepared."
Aayla stepped forward slightly, her eyes flashing faintly with Force energy. "Ready."
Harry turned back to Fury, his grin now full and confident — part predator, part showman.
"Then let's go hunting," he said.
Fury's smirk deepened, his gravelly voice rolling out like distant thunder. "That's the spirit."
Behind him, Coulson leaned slightly toward Maria Hill and murmured dryly, "Best recruitment I never did."
Hill, arms crossed and her expression unimpressed but faintly amused, didn't even look at him when she deadpanned:
"You're still not getting a raise, Coulson."
And for once, he didn't argue — just let the smallest smirk tug at his mouth as Harry Potter and his nine wives strode onto the Helicarrier's bridge, emerald and gold light already gathering faintly at their fingertips.
—
The bridge felt quieter now.
Harry and his wives had swept out like a summer storm breaking, the air still charged in their wake. Natasha and Bruce had already disappeared down to the labs. Coulson ducked into a side corridor, no doubt to coordinate whatever Coulson coordinated. Steve lingered by one of the tactical tables, arms folded, jaw tight in thought before finally striding off with that grim determination only Rogers seemed to carry.
And then there were two.
Fury leaned against the console in silence, one hand resting on the edge as his good eye swept the bridge. Finally, he pushed upright with deliberate calm, his trench coat shifting like a shadow.
Across the room, Hill was already working, cool and composed as ever. Her fingers moved over a holographic display, scrolling through feeds with mechanical precision.
Fury's eye fixed on her. "You tell the World Security Council Barton's been compromised?"
Hill didn't flinch, didn't even glance up, but her hands hesitated just a fraction.
"That was procedure," she replied smoothly, her tone polite enough to hide the faint steel behind it.
"Mm," Fury grunted, watching her longer than was strictly necessary. Then he stepped off, boots clicking against metal as he turned toward the tall panoramic window at the far end of the bridge.
Hill kept her eyes on her display, though her voice followed him across the quiet.
"Did you," she asked, calm and cutting all at once, "tell them who exactly you've put on the response team?"
Fury stopped just short of the window. His shoulders stiffened faintly.
Then, very slowly, he looked back at her.
The stare alone said more than words could've. His gaze narrowed, his brow creased just enough to be dangerous, and his lips curved into something that almost — almost — resembled a smirk.
"I ain't gotta tell them everything," he said finally, his tone dry and heavy with disdain.
Hill didn't flinch, though her blue-gray eyes darted up at that.
"You briefed them on the operation," she pressed, "but not on who you're fielding?"
Fury made a sound low in his throat — something between a chuckle and a growl — before turning fully back to the window. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back now, trench coat settling around his legs as he stared out at the endless white clouds and bright blue sky beyond.
After a moment, he said it, soft but sharp enough to carry.
"Doesn't appear that I have to."
Hill straightened slightly behind him, her frown deepening just enough to betray her thoughts.
Fury let the silence hang there for a beat. Then he added, still watching the clouds:
"'Course… they don't know about my trump cards, do they?"
Hill's fingers froze over her console.
Fury's smirk widened — faint but unmistakable — as he continued, almost to himself now.
"They don't know about him. Or them."
Hill's head lifted fully now. She turned, watching his back as he stood, unmoving, at the glass.
She didn't speak. Didn't ask.
But her eyes narrowed as if already weighing the implications.
Fury just stood there, a silent sentinel over his bridge, the faintest gleam of satisfaction glinting in his lone eye as the turbines hummed and the Helicarrier sliced through the clouds.
—
The underground lab hummed with a strange kind of energy — literal and otherwise. Banks of servers glowed blue and white, cables snaked across the floor like vines, and in the center stood the CMS device, pulsing faintly as Selvig and a swarm of scientists hovered over it.
Erik Selvig waved a harried hand at one of the techs hauling a crate. "Put it over there!" he barked, already turning back to his notes. Then he caught sight of Clint Barton striding in, iPad tucked under one arm, a faint smirk on his lips.
Selvig raised his brows and gestured vaguely at the room around them. "Where did you even find all these people?"
Clint didn't break stride, just glanced up with that dry, unamused look of his. "SHIELD's got no shortage of enemies, Doctor," he said. He stopped next to Selvig and held up the iPad, flipping it around to display a series of diagrams. "This the stuff you need?"
Selvig leaned forward, squinting. His face brightened like a kid at Christmas. "Yes—yes! Iridium!" He laughed, shaking his head in wonder. "It's found in meteorites. It forms anti-protons. Very hard to get hold of."
Clint arched a brow, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. "Especially if SHIELD knows you need it."
That earned him a distracted wave from Selvig. "Well, I didn't know!"
He stopped suddenly as Loki entered the room. The god of mischief moved like a shadow through the fluorescent lights, his long coat trailing behind him, his smile infuriatingly serene.
Selvig's eyes lit up. He pointed a trembling finger. "Ah! This is wonderful. The Tesseract—it's shown me so much. More than knowledge." He lowered his voice as though confessing a sacred truth. "It's… it's truth."
Loki's smile deepened, but his words were quiet and sharp as he stopped beside the doctor. "I know. It touches everyone differently."
Clint, meanwhile, had drifted to the back of the room, muttering something to one of the black-clad agents posted by the door.
Loki's gaze found him anyway. "And what did it show you, Agent Barton?"
Clint didn't even glance up. He just adjusted his grip on the iPad, still scrolling. "My next target."
Selvig chuckled at that, looking over his shoulder at Clint. "Stick in the mud," he muttered, shaking his head. "He's got no soul." Then louder, to Clint: "No wonder you chose this tomb to work in!"
Clint finally looked up, deadpan. "Well, the Radisson doesn't have three levels of lead-lined flooring between SHIELD and that cube."
Selvig's laugh faded into a distracted nod, already walking off toward the CMS.
Loki, watching Clint now, allowed himself a little smirk. "I see why Fury chose you to guard it."
The two men fell into step, walking through the length of the lab as agents and scientists bustled around them.
"You're gonna have to contend with him," Clint said quietly, his voice even, his eyes sharp. "As long as he's in the air, I can't pin him down. He's already putting together a team."
Loki's smirk didn't falter. "Will they be a threat?"
Clint let out a dry snort. "To each other? More than likely. But if Fury can get them on track—and he might—they could throw some noise our way."
Loki tilted his head, studying the mortal with that unblinking, serpentine calm. "You admire him."
They kept walking. Clint's mouth curved into something resembling a smile. "He's got a clear line of sight."
"Is that why you failed to kill him?"
Clint stopped walking, but Loki didn't. He strolled into the tunnel ahead, his long fingers trailing lazily along the cold wall.
"It might be," Clint admitted finally, his voice low. "I was disoriented. Not at my best with a gun."
That stopped Loki in his tracks. His head turned slightly, that sharp grin of his curling wider as an idea bloomed behind his eyes.
"I want to know," he said softly, "everything you can tell me about this team of his. I would test their mettle. I grow weary of scuttling in shadows. I mean to rule this world…" He turned fully now, his green eyes glinting. "…not burrow in it."
Clint regarded him for a long, measured beat. "It's a risk."
Loki's smile turned devilish, his teeth catching the light. "Oh yes," he said.
Clint exhaled through his nose, one hand drifting down to the black case slung over his shoulder. "If you're set on making yourself known," he said evenly, "I could be useful."
Loki stepped closer now, his presence looming, his voice dropping into a velvet whisper. "Tell me what you need."
Clint knelt and unlatched the case, the soft click of metal loud in the silence. He swung it open and drew out his bow, extending it with a fluid motion until it locked into place with a satisfying snap.
"I'll need," Clint said dryly, "a distraction." He glanced up, meeting Loki's gaze without flinching. "And an eyeball."
Loki's laugh — low, rich, and entirely unholy — echoed through the tunnel.
—
The Helicarrier bridge hummed with energy and low chatter, the screens flickering as agents scrolled through feeds and data. Steve Rogers leaned over a tactical table, arms folded, jaw tight in concentration.
Coulson sidled up beside him, practically vibrating with quiet excitement. "Hey, Cap," he said, voice low but earnest, "if it's not too much trouble… mind signing these for me?"
Steve raised a brow, confused.
Coulson carefully pulled a plastic case from his coat and handed it over. Inside: a pristine stack of Captain America trading cards. "Vintage set," Coulson explained, voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "Took me a couple years to track 'em all down. Near mint condition. Well... slight foxing on the edges, but that's just character."
Steve blinked. "You collect these?"
A sheepish shrug from Coulson. "Guilty. Big fan. What can I say?"
Steve smiled softly, shaking his head in amused disbelief as he accepted the pen.
Before he could sign a single card, the hiss of the bridge doors opening snapped every head toward the walkway.
Harry Potter stepped onto the deck, the black bodysuit hugging his lithe frame, red and gold armor gleaming faintly beneath the harsh white lights. His emerald eyes scanned the room, cool and confident — a predator about to strike.
Behind him came the nine:
Daphne Greengrass, blonde and poised, with that Sydney Sweeney icy-glamour vibe, slipped into position beside Susan Bones, whose copper-red hair shimmered under the lights like Ariel Winter's quiet fire. Fleur Delacour floated just behind, Margot Robbie's effortless French chic oozing from every gesture.
Shaak Ti and Aayla Secura followed, robes whispering and eyes faintly glowing — Kate Beckinsale's refined menace paired with Anya Chalotra's sharp intensity.
Riyo Chuchi, Val, Dacey Mormont, and Allyria Dayne completed the circle, each radiating cool power and calm readiness — Sabrina Carpenter's youthful steadiness, Katheryn Winnick's no-nonsense strength, Bridget Regan's fierce warmth, and Alexandra Daddario's steely grace.
Fury stepped forward, arms crossed, the weight of his gaze pinning the group in place. His good eye narrowed just enough to cut through the bravado.
"We've got him," Harry said, voice low but carrying across the bridge like a command.
Susan stepped up, raising a datapad, "Two clusters down to one. Stuttgart. Germany."
Shaak Ti's calm voice cut through the hum. "He is… unguarded. Unconcerned."
A moment later, Jasper Sitwell approached, his Mark Strong–like presence all business, tablet in hand. "Sixty-seven percent match on local surveillance," he reported crisply. "Cross-match shows seventy-nine percent. Stuttgart, twenty-eight Königstraße."
Fury's smirk twitched. "Not exactly hiding."
Sitwell nodded once, dry smile faint. "No, sir."
Fury glanced at Steve, then Harry. "You're up."
Steve's jaw clenched, shoulders squared as he slung his shield onto his back. "Understood."
But his eyes flicked to Harry, waiting for the nod that gave the word.
Harry turned to his wives — his quiet authority wrapping the group like armor. Daphne met his gaze with a curt nod, Susan smiled faintly, Fleur murmured something in French that earned an eye-roll and smirk from Susan, Shaak and Aayla exchanged a sharp glance before stepping closer, Riyo, Val, Dacey, and Allyria poised and ready.
"Let's move."
Nine figures melted into motion, swift and fluid, the quiet hum of their power barely disturbing the air as they swept off the bridge.
Agents paused mid-task, watching them go. Coulson discreetly tucked his trading cards away with a small, satisfied grin. Hill's cool gaze lingered, sharp and calculating.
But as the last footsteps faded, Shaak Ti remained behind.
Her grace was effortless as she drifted back to Fury's side, lekku twitching faintly.
"Your man," she said softly, eyes flicking toward Sitwell's station, "the one we spoke to."
Fury's brow creased but he didn't look at her directly. "Sitwell. What now?"
Shaak's pale eyes narrowed, voice calm but heavy with warning. "The Force whispers deception. Something clings to him. Wrongness."
Fury turned slowly, one good eye locking with hers.
"You're telling me to watch my own man?"
She inclined her head, unflinching. "Precisely."
With a final, deliberate nod, Shaak swept off to catch up with the others.
Fury stood silent for a moment, then muttered under his breath with a grin:
"Damn Force. Always spoiling the fun."
—
The corridors of the Helicarrier thrummed with quiet purpose, the steady roar of turbines beneath their feet lending a faint vibration to the air. Agents hustled past with clipboards and headsets, and holographic maps flickered across the walls like constellations in motion.
Harry and Steve walked shoulder to shoulder down the central walkway, Coulson trailing half a step behind them, tablet clutched in both hands like it was a holy relic.
Harry — tall, broad-shouldered, black bodysuit fitted under his gleaming red-and-gold light armor — strolled like he owned the place, hands tucked into his pockets and an amused little grin playing on his lips. His emerald eyes roamed lazily over the bridge's controlled chaos.
Steve — all chiseled jawline and quiet grit in his jeans and bomber jacket — walked with a sort of square-shouldered courtesy that still managed to command attention.
Coulson, of course, was grinning faintly to himself, his eyes flicking between the two men as though he still couldn't believe his luck at standing between Captain America and whatever exactly Harry Potter was.
It was Coulson who broke the silence first, clearing his throat and gesturing toward a door at the end of the corridor.
"Captain," he said, a little breathless despite himself, "we've got a changing room set up just ahead. Your gear's already there. I, uh…" He hesitated, then added with quiet pride, "…had some input on the design. Hope that's not a problem."
Steve shot him a glance, his mouth twitching into the faintest incredulous smile. "You helped design it?"
Coulson nodded, all earnestness now. "Made sure it paid respect to the classic. A lot of thought went into it. Months, actually. …Years, if I'm being honest."
Steve shook his head, a little chuckle rumbling out of him. "Well. Guess I'll see if it lives up to the hype."
"That's the spirit," Coulson said, almost beaming as he hugged his tablet closer.
But Steve's blue eyes slid sideways after another few paces, narrowing ever so slightly at the figure beside him. He studied Harry's relaxed, almost boyish posture; the cocky grin that never quite left his face; and — most of all — the faint shimmer of power in those impossible green eyes.
"Alright," Steve said at last, his tone light but edged with honest curiosity. "Tell me something, Harry. How does a young man — who's clearly British, by the way — end up married to nine women… three of whom, from the looks of things, aren't even human…"
Harry's grin widened without him saying a word.
"…and," Steve went on, "from what I've heard from you and Fury, you've been… roaming through space for the last seventeen, eighteen years?"
Harry stopped mid-stride, arching a brow at him, and then did something that startled even Coulson — he laughed. A deep, low, warm laugh that made Steve frown even harder.
"Ah, Steve," Harry said at last, still chuckling as he resumed walking. "You really shouldn't go by appearances. You, of all people, ought to know better."
Steve's brow knit even tighter. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Harry shot him a sideways look, emerald eyes glinting as the grin sharpened just a little. He didn't even have to think about it.
"You're ninety-two years old," Harry pointed out, calm as you please. "And here you are — walking, talking, fighting like you're still in your twenties."
Steve faltered for half a second at that, and Coulson — predictably — couldn't resist muttering under his breath behind them.
"He's got you there, Cap," Coulson said, the faintest smirk curling his lips.
Steve snorted softly and shook his head, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward in something like reluctant amusement. "Fair enough," he admitted. "So you're saying there's more to you than meets the eye?"
Harry let out another quiet laugh, though this one was darker. "Oh," he said. "Much more."
He slowed as they approached the door, one hand rising to rest lightly against the frame. He leaned against it just enough to give his next words a deliberate weight, his eyes catching the light and burning faintly brighter.
"To understand us," he said, his voice dropping to something softer — but no less commanding, "you'd need to start with one simple truth."
Coulson leaned forward slightly, his tablet held tight in both hands now, his eyes wide.
Harry's grin stayed in place — faint, dangerous, amused — as he held Steve's gaze.
"We," he said, "don't belong to this universe."
The words hit the air like a thunderclap.
Steve actually stopped cold this time, staring at him. Coulson's jaw went slack, his eyes darting between Harry and Steve as though he was waiting for someone to tell him this was a joke.
Harry didn't move. He just let it sink in.
Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, he added:
"We're multiversal travelers."
For the first time, Steve Rogers looked like he didn't quite know what to say. His mouth opened, then closed. His brow furrowed so deep it could've cast shadows.
Coulson mouthed the words silently to himself: Multiversal… travelers?
And then Harry pushed the door open, glancing back at them over his shoulder with a flash of white teeth and a wink that was all confidence and mischief.
"But," he added smoothly, "that's a story for another time."
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Steve and Coulson alone in the hall — one bewildered, the other looking like Christmas had come early and punched him in the face.
Steve stared at the door for a long beat, then finally muttered, half to himself:
"Well, hell."
Coulson just grinned faintly.
---
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