"No. Nightmares," Harry admitted.
"I hear you there," Tony muttered. "What were yours about?"
"The war," Harry replied succinctly.
"War?" Tony asked, swiping his hand across one panel to close most of the displays, including the holographic ones, down.
"Yeah. Well, I guess you'd probably see it as more of a skirmish, really, but with a population as small as ours, it was a war to us."
"If you were just a kid, what were you doing in a war?" Tony asked.
"Long story," Harry replied. "The short of it is that I was the central schmuck who was touted as the one guy that could end the war against the bad guys and kill the Dark Wizard."
"You? A kid? What were the adults doing?" Tony asked incredulously.
"Most of them were just trying to survive. You see, there was this Merlin-be-damned prophecy and in magical society, prophecies are pretty big things," Harry explained.
"You have to kill people?" Tony asked.
"Yeah. A lot, actually."
"How close did you come to buying the farm in this war?" Tony asked and there was something in his voice that told Harry that this was a pretty important question to the other man.
"Couldn't get any closer," Harry replied wryly. "Let's just say that I have a pretty good idea of what comes next."
"Yeah? Yeah, I know what that's like. How'd you deal with it?" Tony asked.
"Poorly," Harry replied. "It's taken years. Didn't help that I bottled it all up. Guess that's a big part of what sent me wandering around the world for years."
"Well, you seem to be doing alright," Tony remarked after a few minutes of silence. "Guess there's hope for all of us, then."
"Yeah, there is," Harry replied, clapping the other man on the shoulder. "If you don't mind, I'm going to get myself a warm glass of milk and head back to bed."
"Knock yourself out," Tony replied. "Especially if that'll help you sleep better."
"Thanks, Tony," Harry replied with a grin. "I'll see you in the morning. Don't stay up too late yourself."
"Yeah, sure, no worries. Night, kid," Tony replied before turning back to his computers and reactivating his screens.
ooo00ooo
Steve Rogers stepped out of the glass elevator into a new corridor of the Triskelion, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s main bases of operations. He glanced down at the pad in his hand, confirming that he was in the right place and where to go next.
He'd been given a crash course on the modern world over the past few months, but in contrast to the tiny bit of sightseeing and wandering around that he'd done before the whole Battle of New York and aliens thing, this time he'd been given instructors. The instant that he'd mentioned to Agent Morse that he was interested in becoming a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he'd been snapped up, flown around and put through tests and scenarios and more classrooms than he could count.
In some ways, it was very familiar, reminding him of his days just after he'd first joined the army, getting trained and ready for battle. In others, everything was strange and unfamiliar and he'd had to fight his own mind to stop himself from having a full-blown panic attack or simply running as far and as fast as he could from this strange new world. But if there was one thing Steve knew about himself, it was the fact that he wasn't a quitter.
And there was one other thing that kept him grounded: learning that he knew the three founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. – Peggy, Howard and Colonel Phillips. Peggy was the only one still alive and he was still in the process of getting up the courage that he needed to go and see her, to tell her that he'd survived the ice.
Not that he'd had much time to do that yet. S.H.I.E.L.D. had dominated sixteen or more hours of his day, seven days a week, rushing him through training. Technology had been the biggest thing that he'd needed to be brought up to speed with. But he was getting there. Slowly. He'd even been given a brief on how to pilot one of their jump-jets, not that he was rated to actually fly one.
Now, though, the next phase of his training was to begin.
Finding the right door, Steve gave a single knock before opening it.
"Captain. Good. You found the right place," Agent Sitwell greeted.
Steve nodded to the man, taking note of the half dozen men around the room.
"Captain Rogers," Agent Sitwell continued. "I'd like to introduce you to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Special Tactic Reserve for International Key Emergencies Response Team. You'll be training with them for the next couple of months before you begin joining with them for missions."
The men had loosely lined up. All were large men, heavily muscled and looked like they meant business.
"Brock Rumlow," the first man introduced himself as. He had a chiselled face with a five-day growth around his jaw and chin and a regulation military haircut. "Welcome to S.T.R.I.K.E."
"Nice to meet you," Steve said, clasping the man's hand.
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