Chapter Text
"Why is Bobbi so nervous?" Tony asked Natasha, sotto voce as the Avengers gathered at the back entrance of the British Embassy. "I'm used to Bruce jittering around like a virgin bride, not the Mockingbird."
From Natasha's other shoulder Banner threw him an irritated look. Over near the retaining wall of the compound, where the Stark limos had dropped them off, Bobbi paced like a smoker unable to light up. Clint and Steve were watching her as though at the zoo, making occasional comments that had her looking at them the way Banner looked at Stark. Thor and Falcon were half way between the two groups, obliviously discussing wind speed and flight angles. Thor really enjoyed having someone other than Iron Man and War Machine he could talk about flying with.
Black Widow smiled. "Well, I think Pepper knew all of your old...cough...girlfriends."
"Oh. Oh! Really? One of hers is going to be here?" Tony's face lit up like a explosion.
"From before Slade?" Bruce asked in a quieter voice, his eyes serious. Natasha nodded at him, also a little grave.
"From before the Invasion and her life exploded, actually. She called him 'Hawkeye-lite' when she was drunk; my impression was that they were really close but she scared him."
"It be fair, both of you are fucking terrifying," Tony said absently. "You killer spy women, I mean."
"Thank you ever so much Tony," Natasha ground out, her eyes narrow.
"Scared him?" Bruce studied Bobbi, his dark eyes gentle. "She'd never live with that."
"Hence he's an 'ex' and she's married to Hawkeye."
"Does she think what? Hawkeye's going to go nuts?" Bruce looked at Nat with a worried expression.
"Not sure. I think she feels guilty about something she did to him before and well, I can see Hawkeye having a little flip out just for fun, can't you?"
"Yeah, actually." Bruce started to grin. "This is going to be a much more interesting night than I expected."
"That's the spirit, Dr Banner," Natasha grinned back at him as the attaché from the embassy appeared at the door and beckoned to the group.
Steve and the Bartons trailed over, Bobbi looking stressed and nervous, Clint and Steve relaxed. Bobbi looked around at the group, noted their expressions. "Thanks, Romanoff," she said sourly.
"Oh, babushka, as though any of us are going to let this opportunity slip through our fingers," Natasha said lovingly.
"I hate you all, individually, with every fiber of my being. Gimme a break, will you?"
"And when have you ever given anyone even the hope of a break in the past? Ever?" Steve asked in a reasonable voice.
"Point taken. I'm still going to try an’ break your shield arm the next time we spar."
"I welcome your attempt." Steve could flourish with the best of them, when he tried.
Clint's eyes were shining and he was rubbing his hands together. "This is great; Stark, make sure one of the limos is still around. I figure I'll be outta here in less than an hour."
"Oh, gods, Clint don't provo--"
The embassy staff cut off Bobbi's anguished cry, expertly ushering the American heros through a series of maintenance corridors into a lavishly appointed receiving room. Wide double doors at the far end were flung open by liveried men, revealing a glittering ballroom packed with people in the most formal of formal wear, designer clothes, ornate dresses, more military decoration than the Pentagon. The sound of a classical quartet trailed off into pregnant silence.
"Ladies and Gentleman," called out the major domo. "The Avengers!"
A huge round of applause rose, cheers and cries echoing around the gilded decorations, the crystal chandeliers. The quartet started up again and wait staff began circulating with trays of glasses.
The Avengers advanced through the doors in pairs, Steve and Natasha first, him in his vintage restored dress uniform with only about a tenth of his medals weighing him down; she was wearing a red evening gown a precise shade darker than her hair embroidered with a cobweb design in silver and black thread. Tony and Bruce, both in bespoke black suits came next; then Thor in what looked like a formal version of his armour and Falcon in a dark grey suit that made him look like he'd stepped off the pages of GQ.
Bobbi and Clint came last; they matched in color, navy blue. Clint looked sleek and brooding, the suit darkening his eyes from clear blue to a stormy sky. Bobbi was wearing a daring sequined cocktail dress that hit just above her knees, her legs in dark blue hose with a subtle stripe pattern woven into them. She looked all leg and bust -- and so nervous she was about to throw up. Her eyes were flicking around the room, searching for something, someone.
The Avengers had been asked to the British Embassy as guests of honor while the Duke and Duchess of York made their first progression across North America. Bobbi had instantly tried to be out of town but Steve had just...looked at her and she'd mumbled something about "history lessons" and shuffled off to the Nest with her head down.
The whole week she'd been jumpy, snappy and anxious, fussy with her clothing choices endlessly. Clint had started out concerned and gradually become evilly gleeful as he figured it out; Natasha had twigged instantly. She'd told Steve who had reacted with a level of joyful anticipation no one had ever seen from him.
He loved Bobbi like a sister but she'd gotten one over on him a few too many times. He wasn't an angel; he was going to enjoy the situation.
Mockingbird pulled off the formal introduction line with grace, once her eyes had flown down the line and not found a particular person. Her static smile had slipped at the sight of a tall dark haired man near the beginning, briefly turned to her usual sardonic expression, then flickered back into "Avenger in public" mode. When she and Clint stepped up, that man shook Clint's hand vigorously exchanging enthusiastic greetings complimenting his archery, then took hers and kissed the back of it with aplomb.
"How lovely to see you again, Dr. Morse," he said in a rich high class accent, smooth as cream.
The Ambassador--who was doing the introductions--raised her eyebrow. "You are acquainted with Baronet Braddock, Mrs. Barton?"
"Ah, excuse me, of course. Dr. Barton, my sincere apologies."
"Ah, yes, we must make sure to get the title correct, Baronet, or who knows? I might have to knock you out." Bobbi smiled, wickedly, back to her usual self for a moment. She and Braddock bared their teeth at each other. Clint was struggling to contain his own smile.
"We must chat later, Dr. Barton."
"Oh, I think you can call me Bobbi, Associate Director Braddock."
She got the last shot in with his 'secret' title before being pulled further down the line. When they got to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor she was on her best manners, curtseying like a pro, her smile demure and her body language soft. She was mostly being ignored by the dignitaries, since she hadn't been on the team for the Invasion, but when they reached the Duke he held onto her hand tightly when she extended it, studying her face. "Agent Morse?"
"I suppose it's a great breach of etiquette to correct you, Your Grace, but I'm not an Agent or a Morse any more. I prefer Mockingbird in public, I admit, but Mrs. Barton is fine if we must do the titles thing. Bobbi's right out, I presume?" she said with a gentle smile.
"Just a titch too informal, my dear lady. Barbara could perhaps be allowed but I am advised you dislike the name? So, Mockingbird it is. We must find a moment to speak before the night is over; I have something to give to you."
"If it's a bill for the motorcycle, I thought it would be impounded," she said brightly. Too brightly. Her eyes were panicked, deer-in-the-headlights.
His Grace the Duke of York just smiled and bent over the back of her hand and she and Hawkeye were free to roam the room.
Captain America had taken enough pity on his slightly paranoid, uncomfortable with crowds teammates to arrange for them to join the embassy event after the formal sit down dinner. It was cocktails, dessert and dancing time now. Thor, looking regal and approximately three times bigger than anyone else in the place was parked near pastry table, his deep genial voice booming out over the room. The crowd surrounding him was mostly female and all adoring. Falcon had found an SAS man he knew from some NATO missions and was swapping stories happily at the buffet. Stark was dancing with one beauty after another, suave and charming despite not knowing the steps. Steve was also dancing, and he did know the steps, perfectly, but he was mostly dancing with the wives of various military officers in attendance. Natasha and Bruce were standing together near one of the walls, people watching, laughing together.
Clint and Bobbi toured the outskirts of the room, her clutching his arm in a nearly painful grip, her head on a swivel still. All of her poise had deserted her to the point that Hawkeye's glee was mitigated by genuine concern.
"Little bird, if it's this bad, hell, fake an injury and we'll take off," he said and stroked her cheek, shocked at her flinch.
She shook her head. "Gods, Clint, the heir to the throne just asked me to stick around, I think Steve'll skin me alive if I take off now. It's just...I have no idea why I'm so jumpy I'm just--OH CHRIST."
She gasped that last, looking wildly over Clint's shoulder. A waltz started up and a voice spoke behind him, a gruff with a Londoner's accent. "Could I cut in, mate?"
Hawkeye turned around and looked at his wife's former lover.
He was smaller than the archer, shorter and slimmer in the torso, the body of a good athlete without the chiseled perfection that life as an Avenger demanded. He had stubble bristling from his cheeks, looking masculine rather than scruffy. His brown hair was cut short and receding a little off a high forehead. His suit was impeccable, matte black fabric that didn't quite conceal the cutaway for his under arm holster.
Clint looked back at Bobbi, her mouth slightly open in arrested horror. "Little bird? Your call."
"I...I....I....h-h-h-ello, L-l-l-lancelot." The stutter was never a good sign with her but she still squeezed Clint's arm and held out her free hand to the other man. "Let's d-d-d-dance."
Clint stayed where he was standing, watching them as intently as a sniper could, his eyes dark and hooded.
They swung into the melee on the dance floor as though they'd done it before--they had, more than once. Silence reigned for a while, then Lance said exactly as though continuing a conversation they'd been having before: "How long?"
"Thirty six hours," she whispered, eyes down, her throat dry and squeaky.
"Hmmph. Couldn't get you to leave a blessed toothbrush at my flat and you're married to him in thirty six hours?"
She looked him full in the face for the first time, her expression set into a rictus mockery of a smile. She had blue-grey eyes that changed colored depending on what she was wearing, the illumination in the room (they looked silver in the moonlight, he'd often accused her of being a werewolf), her mood. At the moment they were pale, the darkness of her dress washing her creamy skin out as well. She looked like spun flax and alabaster, the long lines and rich curves of her body graceful as they swung in the measures of the dance.
Lance caught his breath at her beauty, her poise, the wholeness of her presence in his arms. This was yet another Bob, layered on the ones he'd seen before: the spy, the lover, the scientist, the killer.
Ah, this was the hero.
He smiled at her, without bitterness or irony. "You look good with him, Bob. And when I saw you come in I thought he looked familiar, other than being Hawkeye--then I realized it was just the expression on his face. I used to see it in the mirror when things were at their best with us." The dance ended and he bowed to her, straightening up and kissing her hand. "When I was in love with you."
"What, you mean you're not anymore? That's kind of insulting," Hawkeye said calmly from the right. He'd appeared on the dance floor as it cleared off for a brief intermission. "No real man would ever be able to forget her."
Bobbi looked from one of them to the other, her expression horrified. She reached out as though to prevent them from attacking each other.
Lance laughed and held out his hand. "Didn't say I forgot her mate. Lance Hunter, ex-boyfriend and general goat."
"Clint Barton, one and only husband."
They shook hands without any theatrics, no macho posturing or squeezing. Clint started to smile, an expression of genuine pleasure. Lance was grinning. He looked at Bobbi. "You always did have a thing for pectorals and long fingers."
"Ha, she's got a type for sure--you ever shoot much?"
"Like you? Nah, mate. My range's more intermediate."
"Oh gods," Bobbi whimpered, her eyes darting over them both. "Don't bond."
The two men smiled at her, nearly identical expressions of affectionate malice.
"Beer?" asked Clint.
"I could murder a pint," Lance agreed...
...and they walked away together, already chatting amicably.
Bobbi stood open-handed and stunned in the middle of the floor until Natasha and Bruce took pity on her and lead her away. She kept looking over her shoulder, muttering under her breath "This is the worst day of my life."
About an hour later, Natasha wandered back to the little side area where Bruce was still keeping Bobbi company. She was slumped against the top of the bar, a bottle of single malt in front of her and a glass containing a finger of dark amber perched next to it. She hadn't drunk from the glass or poured more since sitting down but every time the bartender tried to take it away she growled at him. Literally growled at him, prompting Bruce to gently advise the man "Her bite is actually worse than her bark, best to just leave it."
Bobbi blinked owlishly at Black Widow as she sailed gaily past to sit next to Bruce. "Are they still talking about me?"
Natasha had been chatting and laughing with Lance and Clint and even from where she was sitting Bobbi could hear her own name being spoken.
"Yes, Lance told the most delightful story about a hedge maze--"
"Oh, gods," Bobbi moaned, clutching her head.
"Funnily enough, I think I know that story already," said another voice from behind her, deep and regal. The Duke of York, flanked by his smiling wife and Captain America, joined their little group. All three of the Avengers straightened up, Bobbi managing to clamber off her stool and come to some semblance of attention. Looking around, the man second in line for the British throne gestured his bodyguards to stand further away. He opened his hands, smiling.
"If it's a comfort, I don't think anyone outside the House of Windsor and MI-13 knows that woman was you, Mockingbird. My grandmother does like to share the tale--at small private gatherings, when she's feeling a bit naughty--of watching from her bedroom window as a naked dryad ran about the lawn of one of the estates and fled into the hedge maze, pursued by a bear...or an agent of the realm, as it turns out. Director Hunter has already apologized for both you, in your absentia."
Bobbi's mouth opened but the only thing that emerged from it was a muted squeak, like a winded mouse. Tony Stark joined them, reached past her and drained her glass, then refilled it. Bobbi snatched it firmly from his hand and emptied it again, then handed it back to him.
"Cap, may I be excused to go shoot myself in the head? Won't be but a minute," Bobbi gasped to Steve.
"Stay, soldier," Steve ordered her, his grin so wide you could count his teeth.
"Gonna break both your arms," she hissed, glowering. Sam Wilson drifted in, shedding a lovely red-head onto the dance floor as he did but gaining Thor in trade. Behind him sauntered Braddock, gathering Clint and his new bestest buddy Lance Hunter on the way. The Duchess gestured at the bartender to leave, murmuring at him "For a little privacy, my good man." Then she reached into her clutch purse and drew out a small flat case, handing it to her husband. He smiled at her as openly as a teenage boy, his eyes filled with love.
He turned and offered the case to Bobbi, lying flat on his palm. She took it in one trembling hand, her eyes going to Steve's. Captain America nodded, his face serious now, filled with pride.
Watched in silence by the rest of the team, Bobbi opened the case to reveal a medal attached to a short length of dark blue ribbon, the same shade as her dress. It was a silver cross, heavy and plain, with a circular medallion in the center, engraved with the picture of a man in armor smiting a dragon. The words "FOR GALLANTRY" were inscribed around the image.
"I speak now with the voice of my grandmother, her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain. She regrets most profoundly that this medal cannot be awarded to you with all the pomp and ceremony--and public recognition--that you deserve but due to the nature of the actions that won it, it must remain nearly as secret. She had wished to present it to you herself; I was proud to offer myself as her proxy. This is the George Cross, awarded for--what was the phrasing, my love?"
"Acts of the greatest heroism or of the most conspicuous courage in circumstances of extreme danger," the Duchess responded, her voice clear and calm. "It's not quite the Victoria Cross but, well, you Avengers already have one of those." She made a smooth gesture at Steve's top row of medals, where a bronze cross on a crimson ribbon had pride of place.
"My grandmother the Queen did wish very much to award you that honor, the highest we have, but was advised by Director Hunter that you might actually refuse to accept it as it was a wartime award and your sense of honor and fairness would not allow you to receive such, since you were not a serving soldier at the time. This medal is offered to civilians as well."
"I'm not a British citizen, Your Grace," Bobbi said in a soft voice, edged with steel. "I still cannot accept this." She shut the lid of the case and tried to hand it back to him. Both his hands closed over her fingers and the case, squeezing gently but firmly.
"And since Director Hunter advised us you would say that as well, allow me to quote my grandmother here: 'One of the pleasures of being the Sovereign of the nation is the delicious thrill of being able to make new rules when the old ones do not quite suffice to serve the needs of the people. Therefore We do grant Barbara Morse Barton honorary British citizenship for the purpose of allowing Us to celebrate her great service to Us and our Nation'. So, there. You must accept it or you risk angering your Queen." He released her hand.
"I didn't do anything, though," she responded in a small voice, drawing the case back to her chest convulsively.
"Oh for fu---heaven's sake Bob," Hunter said in an exasperated voice. "We sat down a year back and figure out how many people would have been killed if Radcliffe had released the information he'd been hoarding. What were the numbers, Braddock?"
"Conservatively, five thousand serving military personnel and at least two dozen MI-13 operatives. Realistically, something like over ten thousand and fifty."
"Right, and not counting all the times you saved my life before that and the lives of, oh, everyone on the planet since--"
"Plus not breaking my neck in Sydney when you could have..." interjected Braddock not quite under his breath.
Bobbi had a hunted look on her face. "Lance, I...I didn't...it was just the right thing to do! You don't reward people for doing the right thing; it what you're supposed to do as the bare minimum to be a decent human being."
For the first time, Steve spoke, stepping forward and laying his hands on Bobbi's shoulders. "It's not a reward, Mockingbird. It's an honor and a thank you." She looked up at him, her face wet now. He hugged her tightly. "Congratulations, sis."
One by one the others stepped forward and hugged her too, Clint last. He touched her face with those long fingered hands. “You deserve it, little bird. After those years of being alone in hell, you deserve it.” She buried her head in his chest, her back heaving a little as she sobbed silently.
“Alone in hell?” asked Lance, from over Hawkeye’s shoulder, his voice concerned.
Clint nodded, rocking back and forth with her held tightly against him. “Not my story to tell, buddy. But the couple years between South America and Sydney were pretty bad.”
“I...know why she didn’t call me but...I’m sorry, Bob. I’m sorry you were so...abandoned.”
Hawkeye unfolded her from her arms and released her in Hunter’s direction. She hugged him as tightly as she had Hawkeye, then stepped back. “I think of it as the price I paid for what I have now. It was worth it. If it matters, you were the only person I even thought about calling the whole time. I didn’t know these mugs yet.”
They all noticed him check his pockets when she moved back towards Hawkeye...and apparently locate two objects that had been removed and switched from one side to the other.
“Though I am bloody reminded how evil your sense of humor is,” Hunter muttered darkly.
“That’s my girl,” Hawkeye said in proud voice.
Stark yelped and fell off his stool, clutching his ear. It was not an editorial comment. Steve, Bobbi, Natasha, Clint and Sam all did the same a moment later, mimicked in seconds by the British security contingent.
A high pitched whine sheared through the air like a razor blade through fabric. Everyone reacted to it now, clutching their heads and crying out.
Braddock and Hunter, even as they winced and staggered, both drew their guns and bullied the Duke and Duchess behind the bar, the three other body guards taking up defensive positions around them.
Outside the tall French doors to the outside a force field of some sort had curved up and over the building, starting at the perimeter wall. It was rounded like a soap bubble and shimmered with the same oily rainbow of colors. As it cut off the last view of the night sky, the whine cut out, leaving a strange sensation of unnatural quiet and dead, still air.
Iron Man, Black Widow, Mockingbird and Falcon took off at a sprint, headed back towards the corridor they'd used to come in. Captain America, Thor and Hawkeye went towards the outside, shoving people out of the way briskly, moving the crowd to the back wall of the building and then into a side room. Bruce Banner nervously loosened his tie, tucked his glasses into his suit pocket and hung his jacket off of a near by chair. He looked over at the Duke and Duchess, both looking concerned but not scared.
"Listen, if anyone see me...change shades...you might want to get out of the area. I don't always have time to warn people," he said apologetically.
There was movement outside on the stone patio, a flash of red and gold followed by dull grey. Captain America threw open one of the double doors to admit the suited up Iron Man and Falcon followed by Mjolnir rushing to Thor's hand like a falcon to its falconer. The next moment, the main doors burst open again.
Banner heard Hunter gasp sharply.
Mockingbird and Black Widow were framed in the door in their own tactical outfits, looking sleek and deadly against the rich backdrop of elegant woods and fabrics. Mockingbird had Clint's bow and quivers; Black Widow hefted Cap's shield. They met the two men in the middle of the room, handed off their gear. Steve and Clint both ripped of their suits, revealing their uniforms underneath.
"Were you fucking expecting something to happen?" Hunter snapped, advancing on the leader of the Avengers as he settled his cowl on his head.
"No. And yes. We always expect something to happen," Captain America said shortly. "Hawkeye, what can you see?"
The archer, looking out one window while Mockingbird set his quiver into its holding position on his back, called over his shoulder "Not much. Figures surrounding the building at the wall, not moving. Rifles I think, and identical uniforms. Big cluster over by that outbuilding and that's where the field is being generated. Other figures in different clothes--details keep fading, I think that force field is generating visual 'static' in the air as cover."
"Jarvis can't reach the mainframe; I've only got the fragment of him that 'lives' in the suit," said Iron Man.
"And the air out there is charged, I could feel it crackling off my wings," added Falcon. "I don't want to go back up without a good reason."
"No help for it," Lance heard Captain America mutter. "Mockingbird!"
Bobbi appeared at his side like a hunting hound. Now dressed in a very-dark-blue-almost-black and white body suit with the Avengers logo over her heart, a long trench coat and combat boot her batons were extended in her hands, her hair was pulled back and she wore a pair of yellow tinted goggles that flared out like wings.
"Cap?" Her voice was bright and manic, her eyes wide and filled with hunting pleasure. She looked more alive, more truly herself than Lance had ever seen her.
"Recon. If you're out there for more than ten minutes I will give you cause to regret it," Captain America snapped, barely looking at her.
Her smile flared like an explosion; her batons snapped into her thigh holsters with a single precise motion and she sprinted for the balcony doors. Lance watched her, holding his breath and so he saw the moment as she vaulted the second story railing and...vanished. Not from the drop but in mid-air, blurring out of existence in a heartbeat.
"What the fuck?" he hissed.
"Camotech," said Bruce Banner from behind him, seeing his confusion.
"Camotech? We use that-- it's for changing faces and such. Not becoming a bloody ghost."
"She's got the only full body suit in existence as far as we know. The energy debt for a moving object is huge--without Tony's arc reactors the suit only has a few minutes of power. She can run it for thirty minutes or more now."
"Then why's he so adamant she be back in under ten?"
"Because after that she starts bleeding from the mouth and nose and then having seizures. The camo field sets up some weird cerebral resonances; we're working on it."
Lance spun to look at Hawkeye, methodically checking every moving part of his bow. "Bloody hell, Clint, you're okay with that?"
The archer looked up at him with a confused expression, then nodded. "Well, yeah, Lance. It's her suit. She doesn't tell me how to shoot."
Hunter looked around at the team, searching for someone who agreed with him and not finding it. Bruce was smiling at him slightly--that was as close to sympathy as he was going to get.
"We're all like that a little, Mr. Hunter. Shared insanity is bonding or something." The gentle dark-haired man shrugged and wandered over to the Tony/Natasha/Thor/Falcon cluster that had formed in the center of the room. Lance watched them a moment, seeing a god, a man in flying armor, an assassin so skilled she was like poisoned smoke and a scientist who could turn into a thing that could use a tank as a hand weapon.
That's when it struck him. He was the strange one in this room, he and Braddock and Royals. The Avengers were going about their preparation for anything up to and including alien invasion as though preparing for a shopping trip. For them the idea of wearing and using a tool that cause them to fall over bleeding was just a thing that they did, like oiling a gun or sharpening a knife; the only difference was that they themselves were the weapons.
Bobbi had always cut him, little nips and strikes that he saw now were her way of testing their compatibility. Seeing her for five minutes with Hawkeye had proved that. Really, he'd known when he heard him call her "little bird", the endearment sweet and open as a blooming flower. He, himself, had always called her Bob, chopping her name into a harsh masculine line.
He'd tried to separate her from the core of herself, the violence and courage and diamond hard will that made her Mockingbird. He'd called her Bob not as an endearment but as a diminishment, turning her into a tomboy urchin in her mind .
Hawkeye spoke to her as a lover and partner and adoring equal. Lance shook his head, as though trying to dislodge a lot of old memories he couldn't quite reconcile with his current reality.
"Steve? Eleven minutes," said Falcon.
Captain America looked grim and threw a look at Hawkeye, who shrugged.
"She'd have good reason and you know it, old man."
"We need her functional, not delirious--"
He broke off as a woman shaped space in the door way blurred and turned into Mockingbird, breathing hard. The blood dripping from her nose was bright red; so was the blood she vomited onto the marble of the patio before coming inside.
Again, no one did what Lance expected them to do. Bobbi didn't apologize for being over time. Captain America didn't chastise her for disobeying him. Hawkeye didn't rush to her side.
Natasha threw her a bottle of water which she swigged a mouthful from and spat it out back onto the patio, then chugged.
She looked only at Cap as she advanced into the room, nodding sharply. "Hellfire," was all she said.
Her face was pale under the crimson blood and Lance could see her left hand trembling against her thigh.
Cap and Hawkeye walked over to the door of the side room where the other guests were gathered.
"Could everyone sit down, please? Just on the floor," Captain America requested calmly. When everyone was down, Hawkeye tapped together two pieces of metal in his hand and tossed them casually into the air. As they pulled the doors shut behind them, Lance heard a whump and saw gas spewing from the arrowheads Hawkeye had thrown.
"What the hell?" Braddock yelled, jumping towards them. Romanoff put him on his back the next second.
Barely glancing at the Englishman, Captain America gathered his team in the middle of the room. Iron Man stepped up and handed around small devices they each started hooking to their ears.
"Hellfire club," he said, as though explaining. "The White Queen is out there; high-powered telepath. It's just knockout gas; this way they can't be used against us."
"And what do you plan to do to us?" Lance asked, one hand against his chest, his gun loose and ready in his hand. He, Braddock, the Duke and Duchess and their three bodyguards all closed rank next to the bar. Mockingbird nudged Cap, gesturing, and they all turned to look at the other group.
The Avengers faced off with MI13, while the enemy outside waited.