Liam held her gaze for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then he slowly stepped past her toward the small wooden desk where she had been writing her rally notes. The papers were still scattered, her handwriting slanted slightly from fatigue and urgency.
He picked up her worn pen, the same one that kept running out of ink, and tore a small piece from the corner of an unused sheet. Wanda watched, confused but silent.
Liam wrote a single number, long, international, coded differently from any civilian line she had ever seen.
He folded the paper once, then held it out to her.
Wanda hesitated before taking it. "What is this?"
"My personal number," Liam said simply.
"If you have any problem, anything at all, call me," he continued. "I might not be able to come quickly. But if you call, I'll try to get here."
Wanda lowered her eyes to the paper as if it weighed more than it should. "Why give me this? You said you're leaving. You… don't owe us anything now."
"I know," Liam replied. "But I'm giving it anyway."
She looked up again, searching his expression. "Is this… part of your mission?"
"No," Liam said without hesitation. "This has nothing to do with HYDRA. Or orders. Or Steve. Or Natasha."
His voice softened.
"This one's from me."
Wanda exhaled slowly, unsure what to say to that. She wasn't used to gestures like this, not in Sokovia, not during war, not after loss.
"You're not like I expected," she whispered.
Liam smirked faintly. "Most people aren't."
She held the paper a little tighter.
"And if I call… you will answer?"
"I will."
A confident, quiet promise.
Wanda nodded slowly, processing everything, the truth of who he was, the danger he had faced, the mask he had been wearing, the number now in her hand.
"Thank you," she said again, but this time her voice carried more weight. More sincerity.
Liam stepped back toward the door.
"I should get going."
Wanda inhaled, steadying herself. "And the next time I see you… it will be Liam. Not Viktor."
He opened the door halfway, paused, and glanced back.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Next time… it'll be me."
For the first time since he had arrived, Wanda smiled without hesitation. Small, quiet, real.
"Then… I'll be waiting."
Liam nodded once.
Then stepped out into the cold morning air.
And for a brief moment, just before the door closed, Wanda watched him go, not as a stranger, not as a mask, but as something else entirely.
Liam reached the canyon in no time, the cold wind biting at his face as he guided the bike into the narrow path that hid their Quinjet. Steve and Natasha were already inside, engines humming quietly as the systems warmed. Liam parked, jogged up the ramp, and the moment he stepped aboard, the hatch sealed shut behind him.
Within seconds, the Quinjet lifted off the rocky ground and shot into the sky, angling toward New York.
Liam settled into one of the side seats, fastening the harness loosely. He turned his head toward the window, a long stretch of reinforced glass where the world outside blurred into streaks of white and blue. They were flying fast enough that the snow-covered mountains below became nothing but shifting shapes.
He let out a slow breath and finally opened his Blue Wheel panel.
The translucent screen glowed faintly in front of him, unreadable to anyone else.
Plot Points: 1,700
He blinked once.
That was a lot.
The entire storyline had shifted more than he expected.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had not fallen like in the movies. Fury had not been forced into hiding as a criminal. The conspiracy of HYDRA had been crushed openly and cleanly, with all the senior traitors exposed before they could manipulate the world stage.
Now the only people who could have blamed S.H.I.E.L.D. were themselves under heavy interrogation, or buried under damning evidence that Fury had released strategically. The leftover HYDRA cells were scrambling, directionless, and terrified.
And yet, despite all that progress, two things remained unresolved.
The Winter Soldiers had vanished.
And Bucky Barnes was still missing.
Liam's fingers tapped against the armrest as he considered it. Those two pieces were the most dangerous variables left. They had to be found, and soon.
His eyes drifted back to the glowing panel.
1,700 points.
Seventeen spins.
Just the thought of it sent a small thrill through him. Seventeen spins meant seventeen new abilities, upgrades, evolutions, things that could alter the balance of power in the entire universe.
It was tempting. Too tempting.
But Liam closed the panel with a firm mental command.
He was not reckless.
Not here. Not in a Quinjet filled with delicate electronics and two very human passengers. For all he knew, a new ability might trigger an aura burst, a power spike, a brief uncontrolled reaction, anything that could destabilize the aircraft even slightly and send them crashing.
He was not going to risk that.
Not until they were on the ground and somewhere safe.
He leaned back into his seat, eyes lingering on the now dim space where the panel had been.
Soon.
Soon he would spin.
And when he did, the entire world, MCU or not, would shift once again.
For now, he simply closed his eyes and let the Quinjet carry them home.
---
A few hours later, the Quinjet broke through the clouds above New York, the skyline rising like steel teeth through the mist. The jet banked smoothly toward the S.H.I.E.L.D. landing strip hidden beneath the old storage docks.
Fury was already waiting for them.
He stood with his coat pulled tight against the wind, arms crossed, expression unreadable as ever. The moment the ramp lowered, Steve stepped out, followed by Natasha, then Liam.
Fury nodded once. "Good work. All of you."
He wasted no time.
Inside the briefing room, Fury projected holographic images of remaining HYDRA cells, coded supply routes, names of operatives who had gone dark, and fragments of files recovered from Zola's erased network.
"These are the last snakes," Fury said. "We cut off the heads. Now we burn the nests."
Steve stood with his arms folded, jaw set. Natasha absorbed every detail, silently planning ten steps ahead. Liam listened too, because if it had any connection to HYDRA, he wanted in.
When Fury finished outlining the sweep teams and intelligence plays, he turned to Liam specifically.
"And for you," Fury said, pulling out a black folder. "This," he handed the folder to Liam, "is me holding my part of the deal."
Liam flipped it open.
A United States passport under his real name.
A social security number.
Clean records.
A fully functional civilian identity.
A bank account already stocked with a comfortable amount of money.
And the deed to an apartment in Manhattan.
Fury continued, "You earned these. Consider them the foundation for your civilian life. Or your cover. Whichever you choose later."
Steve smiled faintly at Liam. "You finally get a real home."
Liam smirked. "About time."
Once the briefing wrapped, Steve clapped Liam on the shoulder. "I'll see you soon. If you need anything, call." Then, with a tired but satisfied smile, he headed back to his own apartment.
Natasha stayed.
She jogged the Quinjet off the platform, then escorted Liam through the streets until they reached the building Fury had assigned him. She parked, leaned back in her seat, and looked at him with a faint smirk.
"Fury wasn't exaggerating," she said. "You negotiated yourself a good deal in that Shawarma shop. Most rookies don't get access-level privileges before their second year."
"Guess I'm special."
She rolled her eyes. "You're something." Then, more sincerely, "Call if you need backup. Or if you get bored."
She drove off, leaving him alone in front of his new building.
Liam stepped inside.
The apartment was… comfortable.
Not grand. Not luxurious. But undeniably good.
The living room had clean wooden floors and soft lighting. A dark-gray couch sat across from a simple coffee table, and a wall-mounted TV rested above a minimalist shelf. The kitchen had modern appliances, steel and black tile, compact but sleek. A small hallway led to a bedroom with a large window overlooking the city, the skyline glowing like embers in the dusk. The bathroom was clean, polished, quietly expensive without screaming it.
Everything felt practical, quiet, and slightly warm. A perfect mix for someone who needed a place to breathe but not show off.
A real home.
Liam placed the folder on the kitchen counter and looked out the window.
New York stretched before him.
A new chapter.
And soon, seventeen spins.
***
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