“I want to thank you for coming in.” Coulson taps his fingers on the polished tabletop. “I understand that the past few months have been...difficult.”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Tony mutters under his breath. “Hey, by the way, Phil, super job on faking the dead, I think we could all learn a thing or two from you. It’s a technique I might try myself, you know, next time some shadowy government agency decides it just absolutely needs to get its sticky fingers all over my tech, with only the best of intentions, of course. Truth, justice, and the American way.” He shoots a glance at Steve. It’s not entirely friendly, but it’s not entirely hostile, either. Under the circumstances, Steve will take it. “As it were.”
“What can we do for you, Agent?” Steve asks politely.
“We have a situation,” Coulson says, and there’s an odd, cautious note in his voice. “An offshoot of Hydra appears to have resurfaced in Maryland. We’ve sent a number of undercover agents to investigate. Yesterday, they sent one of our agents back. His condition was--” he pauses, glances around the table. “--bad. Very bad. This group does not appear to be overly concerned with secrecy. They consider his return a warning.”
Something unpleasant tickles at the back of Steve’s mind. This is sounding familiar, and not in a good way.
“This is not a new splinter cell, although until recently they operated almost exclusively in Europe. They seem to have crossed over to the U.S. in an attempt to fill the power void left when Project Insight was destroyed. They call themselves Die Lachenden Männer--”
“The Laughing Men,” Steve finishes quietly. Damn it. Damn it. He’d hoped--well, never mind what he’d hoped. “What’s our mission? Contain, destroy, or--”
Coulson blinks at him. “Ah. No, actually. Or not yet. Sergeant Dusquene reported that there were still a number of hostages alive. They’re all high-ranking agents with access to sensitive information, for one thing; for another this group is--” he pauses again, looking away. “They don’t abide by the Geneva Conventions or any other law of warfare. I won’t leave my people in their power unless we have no other choice.”
That’s an understatement if Steve ever heard one. The Laughing Men--what they did to prisoners, most of the ones they didn’t kill outright didn’t survive all that long after rescue. He calls up the file on his tablet and scrolls through; the clinical descriptions of Sgt. Dusquene’s injuries are dispassionate and oblique, but he can read between the lines just fine. It’s a testament to modern medicine that the man is still breathing at all. And not like they really need a detailed run-down of rape and brutality, but it’s uncharacteristic for Coulson to dance around a subject like this.
For a moment he wonders if it’s for Tony’s benefit--after what he went through in Afghanistan, captivity and torture have got to be sore spots--but Tony is reading through the files on his tablet with no noticeable distress other than a furrow between his brows, and anyway, if what Steve read is true, Tony didn’t exactly get the same treatment that these bastards like to dish out.
Of course, things like that have a way of not making it into the reports. He knows that only too well.
“If they haven’t already killed the rest of the hostages,” he says out loud. Back in the day, they wouldn’t bother keeping more than one guy alive.
“We’re fairly sure they’re still alive,” Coulson says.
Bruce clears his throat. “Do we think the rest of them are getting the same--treatment?” he asks. Steve looks up in time to see Bruce’s gaze flicker toward him, and then away.
“It seems likely,” Coulson says, and he’s avoiding Steve’s gaze too, and all of a sudden Steve gets it. It isn’t Tony they’re worried about. It’s him.
It really isn’t funny, but there’s a part of him that wants to laugh anyway. He leans forward onto his elbows instead, puts on his best Captain America face, and says, “Alright, lets run through the intel on these guys.” Coulson and Bruce exchange glances--Tony seems mercifully oblivious, Natasha and Sam are both concentrating on their tablets--and Steve manages to keep from rolling his eyes. “I want specifics on the base before we try to formulate a plan of attack.”
Coulson doesn’t breathe out a sigh of relief, but Steve can see it in his eyes all the same. “Their base is located outside of Baltimore in an abandoned shipping yard…”
FILL 1/? to burn your kingdom down
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Tony mutters under his breath. “Hey, by the way, Phil, super job on faking the dead, I think we could all learn a thing or two from you. It’s a technique I might try myself, you know, next time some shadowy government agency decides it just absolutely needs to get its sticky fingers all over my tech, with only the best of intentions, of course. Truth, justice, and the American way.” He shoots a glance at Steve. It’s not entirely friendly, but it’s not entirely hostile, either. Under the circumstances, Steve will take it. “As it were.”
“What can we do for you, Agent?” Steve asks politely.
“We have a situation,” Coulson says, and there’s an odd, cautious note in his voice. “An offshoot of Hydra appears to have resurfaced in Maryland. We’ve sent a number of undercover agents to investigate. Yesterday, they sent one of our agents back. His condition was--” he pauses, glances around the table. “--bad. Very bad. This group does not appear to be overly concerned with secrecy. They consider his return a warning.”
Something unpleasant tickles at the back of Steve’s mind. This is sounding familiar, and not in a good way.
“This is not a new splinter cell, although until recently they operated almost exclusively in Europe. They seem to have crossed over to the U.S. in an attempt to fill the power void left when Project Insight was destroyed. They call themselves Die Lachenden Männer--”
“The Laughing Men,” Steve finishes quietly. Damn it. Damn it. He’d hoped--well, never mind what he’d hoped. “What’s our mission? Contain, destroy, or--”
Coulson blinks at him. “Ah. No, actually. Or not yet. Sergeant Dusquene reported that there were still a number of hostages alive. They’re all high-ranking agents with access to sensitive information, for one thing; for another this group is--” he pauses again, looking away. “They don’t abide by the Geneva Conventions or any other law of warfare. I won’t leave my people in their power unless we have no other choice.”
That’s an understatement if Steve ever heard one. The Laughing Men--what they did to prisoners, most of the ones they didn’t kill outright didn’t survive all that long after rescue. He calls up the file on his tablet and scrolls through; the clinical descriptions of Sgt. Dusquene’s injuries are dispassionate and oblique, but he can read between the lines just fine. It’s a testament to modern medicine that the man is still breathing at all. And not like they really need a detailed run-down of rape and brutality, but it’s uncharacteristic for Coulson to dance around a subject like this.
For a moment he wonders if it’s for Tony’s benefit--after what he went through in Afghanistan, captivity and torture have got to be sore spots--but Tony is reading through the files on his tablet with no noticeable distress other than a furrow between his brows, and anyway, if what Steve read is true, Tony didn’t exactly get the same treatment that these bastards like to dish out.
Of course, things like that have a way of not making it into the reports. He knows that only too well.
“If they haven’t already killed the rest of the hostages,” he says out loud. Back in the day, they wouldn’t bother keeping more than one guy alive.
“We’re fairly sure they’re still alive,” Coulson says.
Bruce clears his throat. “Do we think the rest of them are getting the same--treatment?” he asks. Steve looks up in time to see Bruce’s gaze flicker toward him, and then away.
“It seems likely,” Coulson says, and he’s avoiding Steve’s gaze too, and all of a sudden Steve gets it. It isn’t Tony they’re worried about. It’s him.
It really isn’t funny, but there’s a part of him that wants to laugh anyway. He leans forward onto his elbows instead, puts on his best Captain America face, and says, “Alright, lets run through the intel on these guys.” Coulson and Bruce exchange glances--Tony seems mercifully oblivious, Natasha and Sam are both concentrating on their tablets--and Steve manages to keep from rolling his eyes. “I want specifics on the base before we try to formulate a plan of attack.”
Coulson doesn’t breathe out a sigh of relief, but Steve can see it in his eyes all the same. “Their base is located outside of Baltimore in an abandoned shipping yard…”