Chapter Text
All Moira had on her was a gun, some cash, and an extraction number memorised in case things went sideways. There had been reports of a possible exceptional in Honduras, and it was her job to investigate, determine whether they were a threat, and, if possible, bring them into S.H.I.E.L.D.
The biggest challenge would be tracking them down. S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided a set of blurry photos, but they weren’t much to go on. Once the plane landed, all she could do was talk to locals, keep an eye on the area, and hope they were still around. No one was certain what their abilities were, which was another concern. Just another problem to add to an already long list.
Leaving Xavier’s home had left her with a lot to think about. Part of her still burned with anger whenever she thought about Charles or Hank, but seeing Alex and Sean again had reminded her how much she missed them. Once upon a time, they had been a team, and at least two of them had genuinely cared about her.
Before Alex had dropped her off at the guesthouse, she’d handed him a card with her number on it – not her S.H.I.E.L.D. line, but the home number she rarely used. She checked the answering machine whenever she could.
The drive had been quiet, but as she opened the door, Alex had spoken up. “I’ll be in touch. And I’ll be having words with the Professor.”
“You don’t have to do that, Alex,” she said firmly.
“It wasn’t right.” He shook his head. “Besides, the others deserve to know.”
“I think Hank already does,” she sighed. She was fairly certain he was the one who had arranged to get her home safely.
“Sean doesn’t,” Alex frowned. “And I promise you, I didn’t either.”
“I know.” She offered a small smile. “Thanks for the ride, Alex.”
“Anytime, Agent MacTaggert.” He grinned before pulling away.
Watching his car disappear, Moira had snuck in around the back, quickly changing into civilian clothes before making her way on foot to meet the team at the hotel.
A quiet tension filled the room when she entered – no one liked the idea of having their mind probed, even when they had advance warning.
“Ma’am,” Johnson acknowledged her, bent over the small table in the corner as he wrote his report. “Ops coordinator just rang. Your S.O. wants you to call in.”
Moira nodded curtly, crossing the room to pick up the phone. She had the number memorised, along with other emergency contacts – including, for some reason, a direct line to Howard Stark’s pool house.
“Agent Carter,” came Peggy’s voice on the other end.
“Agent 24,” Moira replied crisply, turning her back on the room.
“Status report.”
“I entered the mansion after being contacted by Alex Summers. One round fired at Erik Lehnsherr – shoulder wound. No injuries among the X-Men.”
“You used the plastic rounds?”
“Yes. Very effective.”
“Howard will be pleased to hear that. And Erik?”
“Azazel teleported him and the others out.”
“How did Summers know where to find you?”
“Xavier sent him when Lehnsherr showed up. Though it’s unclear how Xavier knew I was there. And judging by what I saw, this isn’t the first time Erik’s arrived uninvited.”
“I see. He may be consolidating power faster than expected,” Peggy mused. “I understand the team informed Xavier about our organisation. How do you think they responded?”
“They’re wary. But Xavier’s curiosity will get the better of him. It’s only a matter of time before he reaches out – probably the next time Lehnsherr makes a move. He knows we’ve been collecting intel on him, and he should see the logic in using that.”
“Noted. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”
“Nothing of significance, ma’am.”
Peggy sighed. “An S.O. isn’t just there to provide physical training, Moira. Their job is also to help agents cope with the pressures of fieldwork. That support doesn’t stop just because you’re working independently.”
Moira hesitated, aware of the team listening behind her. But Peggy, as always, saw straight through her.
“Do you still feel like you’re betraying them?”
Moira swallowed. “Yes.”
“Even though Xavier violated your trust, you don’t think it justifies providing us with intel.”
“It’s complicated.”
Peggy’s voice softened. “Moira, you can walk away from this anytime you want – this assignment, even S.H.I.E.L.D. If you don’t want to work with the mutants anymore, Fury will reassign you. Yes, it’s useful having you on this case, but that’s not the only reason we recruited you. S.H.I.E.L.D. needs good people – people who aren’t afraid to do what’s right, even when it’s hard. When most people see powered individuals for the first time, they panic and run. You stayed. You investigated. And you saw past the labels. That’s rare.
“The only question you have to ask yourself is – do you want to walk away from them completely?”
Moira’s grip tightened on the receiver. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. It had been a long day, and she wasn’t about to cry in front of a room full of agents.
“Am I cleared to return to base?” she asked, voice steady.
“Actually,” Peggy said, the sound of shuffling papers audible over the line. “If that’s your decision, there’s a high-priority case that just came through. Go pack. I’ll wire you the details.”
“Thank you, Agent Carter.”
Moira hung up the phone, exhaling slowly. Time to move.
“I’ve been reassigned,” Moira said, turning back to Johnson. “Do you need any further intelligence before I go?”
He exchanged a quick glance with Agents Paige and Buhle before replying. “Do you have any idea about the range of Professor Xavier’s telepathic abilities?”
Moira exhaled slowly. “On his own, he shouldn’t be able to hear you from here. But if he uses Cerebro, he can look in on you whenever he wants.” Her brow furrowed at her own words. “Beyond that, I don’t know much. The Mutants Division focused more on training new recruits than analysing Xavier’s powers.”
“The intel you’ve given us has been invaluable,” Buhle assured her.
“Good luck on your next mission,” Johnson added, settling back in his chair.
Moira nodded and left for the guesthouse. She packed her bags faster than she ever had before, checked out, and picked up her telegram. A flight number, an airport code, and an operation spec code. Her assignment: track an exceptional, considered potentially dangerous.
After a quick, convincing story about a sick relative, the manager kindly called her a cab. Before she knew it, she was back where she’d started the day before. With every mile put between her and Winchester, she felt a little lighter.
Her conversation with Johnson had sparked an unsettling thought. Had Charles seen her through Cerebro? It would explain how he knew she was at the mansion. Worse, it meant he might have been watching long before she regained her memories. The thought churned in her gut. He had seen her struggle, seen the consequences of his actions, and yet he had done nothing to fix it. He had let her suffer.
The seatbelt light dinged, pulling her from her thoughts. They were descending. A thrill cut through her sour mood as the plane touched down. This was it – her first solo mission.
Her first stop: the plaza, where the exceptional had last been seen.
The black suit she had chosen drew some attention, but no one questioned her as she examined the scorch marks along the building walls. Peggy had once told her that the right suit could get people to answer your questions but keep them from asking any in return.
The scene had clearly drawn plenty of onlookers. Trash littered the site, and even in the midday heat, people clustered in the shade, murmuring and pointing at the burns.
Moira moved closer. The scorch marks were concentrated between two buildings at the edge of the square. The plaster was badly damaged, the stone beneath it carved into by fire. A nearby bin had been reduced to a melted heap of metal. The flames had climbed high, easily reaching the second floor. If there had been any windows, she imagined they would have shattered from the heat.
Based on the blurry photos taken by a passing tourist – who had attempted to give them to the police, only to be redirected to a S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison – Moira was standing exactly where the exceptional had been. Fire generation? Electrical surge? Hard to tell. Local news had blamed lightning, but there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky.
She turned towards the building’s glass window, catching sight of her own reflection. A flash of light drew her attention. Keeping her back to it, she subtly watched the figure through the reflection. A man, late teens, Caucasian, blonde hair, sunglasses. Maybe a tourist.
Turning slightly, she swept her gaze over the buildings, letting her eyes skim over him. He was watching her. But his light hair didn’t match the dark silhouette from the photos. Law enforcement, perhaps?
S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t cleared her investigation with the Honduran government, and she wasn’t about to risk interference from another agency. She needed to stay low and find the exceptional before anyone else did.
Moving away from the buildings, she resolved to speak to the residents. If they had seen anything, they might be able to point her in the right direction. She chanced one last glance across the square.
The blonde teen was gone.
The buildings were apartments. Flashing her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge, she knocked on a few doors. Even if they didn’t recognise the agency, they’d likely see it as law enforcement and not ask too many questions.
Her Spanish wasn’t as strong as her Russian, but she managed. A frazzled woman in the first building confirmed the exceptional was a young man, no older than twenty-five. An older couple upstairs eagerly described how their TV had mysteriously broken when the fire started, hoping to get compensation. They were less helpful when it came to identifying the suspect.
“Do you think we’ll get our claim?” the man asked impatiently.
Moira resisted the urge to roll her eyes at their blatant attempt to milk the situation. Instead, she assured him the company would handle it and excused herself.
The building across the way was closed for refurbishment.
Tapping her foot against the pavement, she stopped when she realised she was still drawing attention.
If the exceptional was local, this might not have been his first incident. She decided to visit the local newspaper office to see if there were any similar reports. Getting directions, she found it was only a short walk away. Before she stepped inside, she spotted the blonde teen again.
Alarm bells rang in her head.
At the front desk, she asked for the editor or a reporter covering the recent fire. A portly, middle-aged man with limited English emerged, squeezing through the gate from the bullpen.
“You have information?” he asked, barely interested.
“No, I was hoping to check your archives. I wanted to see if there were any similar incidents.”
“You police?”
“No. American journalist. I was covering another story when I heard about the lightning strike. Thought it might be worth looking into.” She smiled, keeping her tone casual.
“It was no lightning.”
“Oh?” she asked, injecting just the right amount of curiosity into her voice.
“Don’t know what it was. Some say a boy did it.” Bingo.
“Then why report it as lightning?”
He shrugged lazily. “No one could find him. Can’t publish without proof.”
“Do you know what he looks like?”
“Everyone says something different. But some saw him running towards the beach.”
Moira nodded, considering her next move. Heading to the beach made sense, but sunglasses outside complicated things. If she led him to the exceptional, she could be putting the kid in danger.
The phone rang at the desk. The reporter hurried off to answer it. Moira unbuttoned her jacket, preparing to step back into the heat when he called out again.
“Hey, lady. Another fire just started.”
Her heart leapt. “Where?”
“Not far. Ten minutes. You coming?” He motioned to another reporter, who grabbed a camera and hurried over.
“Yes, thank you.”
He nodded, leading them out the back. Moira followed hastily, hardly believing her luck.
The car tore through the streets. She braced herself against the door as they screeched around a sharp corner. The moment they stopped, she jumped out, not waiting for them to park.
Fire crews battled the blaze. The flames were taller than before, licking at a nearby house. A second team cleared undergrowth around the buildings. The fire backed onto a dense tree line.
And there – just beyond the flames – a boy clung to a tree, panting heavily, sweat-soaked clothes with smoke curling from his back.
Before she even finished processing that last observation, Moira leapt off the wall, diving back into the thick crowd gathered to watch the fire with morbid fascination. She jostled her way through, careful to keep her pace brisk – running would only draw attention to herself and, more importantly, to the boy.
Still, as she broke from the crowd, he saw her and retreated further into the trees. She ran after him.
As the foliage closed around her, she risked calling out, sure no one else could hear.
“Please stop! I just want to help you!” She called, first in Spanish, then in English.
Branches snapped around her as she blundered forward, almost falling as she unexpectedly emerged into a clearing. He was there, panting heavily, staring down in frustration at his burning hands.
He looked up sharply as she approached. “Don't come any closer!” he warned, his English immaculate, his accent distinctly American.
“Okay,” Moira said softly, raising her hands slightly. “It’s okay, I just want to talk.”
“Why have you people been following me?” he asked, voice shaking.
She frowned, thinking of the blonde she had seen earlier. “There’s no one else. No one that I work with. I only got here this morning.”
His face clearly conveyed doubt. “Who are you? Who sent you?” he demanded, sweat pouring down his dark face. He looked exhausted, practically vibrating with tension.
Keeping her palms visible, Moira stuck to Peggy’s instructions. “My name is Moira MacTaggert,” she said calmly. “I work for an organisation called S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“Never heard of it!” he yelled, taking another shaky step back.
“Most people haven’t. We’re an international organisation. If you just let me reach into my pocket, I can show you identification…”
“No!” he shouted, his hands flaring up.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured him.
“No, no, no.” He shook his head violently. “You want to study me!”
“That’s not true.” Moira paused. “Will you tell me your name?”
“Why?” His voice cracked. He looked on the verge of tears. “So you can tell the world about me? Warn them to keep away from the fire-starting freak?”
“I’m not going to do that,” she soothed. “It’s just you and me.” She glanced around the clearing and spotted a relatively flat rock. Moving slowly, she sat down. “I’m going to get my badge out now.”
His whole body shook as she reached into her pocket, pulled out her badge, and tossed it onto the ground between them. He peered forward cautiously.
“S.H.I.E.L.D. is a secret organisation. We work with people who have powers – people like you. We were formed after the death of a man known as Captain America. He had powers too – an experiment gave them to him during the Second World War.” Moira spoke calmly, as if they were discussing this over coffee rather than in a forest clearing, while she risked being burned alive. “I’ll answer any questions you have until you understand I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to help. Please, just tell me your name.”
The boy took a shaky breath and lowered his hands slightly. “Dante. Dante Pertuz.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dante,” Moira said, offering a small smile.
The flames in his hands dimmed.
“This Captain America… what happened to him?”
“He died,” Moira said simply. “Gave up his life to save a lot of people. He was a hero.”
Dante nodded. “And what does S.H.I.E.L.D. want with me?”
“S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps track of powered individuals and helps them stay safe. There are people out there who would exploit people like you – try to duplicate your abilities or force you to do things you don’t want to. S.H.I.E.L.D. works to protect you, to put you in touch with others like you. We train people who need help controlling their abilities. And if they want to, they can join us. But it’s always their choice. Even if you don’t want to work with us, we’ll still help you. Find you a safe place to live. And you can contact us anytime if you need help or feel like you’re in danger. We’ll be right there to help keep you safe.”
Moira paused, giving him time to process. “Can I ask you something?”
Dante looked up. He had been staring at his hands, which were now barely smouldering. “What?”
“How did you get your powers? Have you had them long?”
He shook his head. “Only about a month. I couldn’t…” He hesitated. “I came here.”
“You have family here?”
“No. I just had to get away. It wasn’t safe. My powers. They’re not safe.”
“How did you get here?”
“On foot.”
Moira raised a brow. “That sounds dangerous.”
“I’m stronger now. Faster. I don’t get tired much.”
“And you can generate fire.”
“Not just my hands,” Dante murmured. He looked impossibly young as exhaustion weighed on his features. “It’s not just fire. Do you want to see?”
Before Moira could answer, he shrugged off his bag and kicked off his shoes.
She nearly fell off her perch as he erupted into a figure of fire and rock, towering at least a foot taller than before. His eyes blazed orange, flames licking at the air around him. His black hair had disappeared into molten rock, his skin glowing crimson with heat. When he moved, fire trailed in his wake – Dante was a walking inferno.
“Wow.” Moira exhaled, taking in the sight. She had seen powered individuals before, but the incredulity never faded. Standing, she moved closer but had to stop as the heat intensified.
Abruptly, he collapsed back into human form. His clothes were scorched, his body shaking violently. Before he hit the ground, Moira caught him, easing him onto a patch of ferns.
She folded her jacket and placed it under his head. They needed somewhere safe, somewhere secluded where he could rest and learn to control himself.
“I’m going to find us somewhere to stay,” she said as his eyelids drooped.
“When was the last time you slept?”
“Few days ago,” he mumbled.
“And in a bed?”
A weak smile. “About a month ago.”
“I passed a phone booth earlier. I’m going to call a friend. Will you be okay here?”
Dante struggled to push himself up. “I’d rather go with you.”
“Can you?” Moira steadied him as he wobbled.
“Yeah.”
“And can you stay cool?”
He gave a half-hearted smile. “Don’t think I’ve got the energy to do that again anytime soon.”
“Good. Let’s get you some food and a place to rest.”
As they made their way through the dimly lit streets, the weight of the day pressed heavily on Moira’s shoulders. Dante walked beside her, his movements sluggish with exhaustion. He had barely spoken since they left the clearing, and she could see the toll his transformations had taken on him. The boy needed rest – proper rest – and somewhere safe to recover.
They passed shuttered market stalls and the occasional murmured conversation from doorways, but the streets were mostly empty at this late hour. Moira kept an eye out for any lingering figures, her instincts sharp despite her own fatigue. Dante was trying to keep his head down, but even in the flickering glow of the streetlights, his unease was evident.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
Danta hesitated before answering. “I just don’t know where I go from here.”
“You don’t have to figure that out tonight,” she reassured him. “First thing is getting you somewhere safe. One step at a time.”
It wasn’t long before they reached the phone booth. Moira picked up the receiver and dialled.
“Stark.”
“Howard, it’s Agent 24. I need a favour.”
A beat of silence, then an unmistakable grin in Howard’s voice when he replied, “Moira! You wound me. You only ever call when you need something. How’s Peg?”
Moira glanced behind her. Dante was leaning against the booth, his bag slung limply over one shoulder. He wasn’t going to last much longer.
“She’s not here right now. I’m on assignment.”
“Oh yeah? You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“Not exactly. But I need to get an exceptional off the street and somewhere quiet.”
That got his attention. “Where are you?”
“Honduras – Tegucigalpa. We need a place to lie low. Can’t risk putting him on a plane yet.” She glanced at Dante again, lowering her voice. “He’s still figuring things out. I need somewhere safe, away from people.”
Howard hummed, likely already jotting something down. “Your exceptional doesn’t have his powers under control yet, huh?”
“Not exactly. Unless spontaneous combustion counts.”
“Ah. One of those,” Howard said, intrigued rather than concerned. “I don’t have anything in Honduras, but if you can get to the coast, I can send a boat. Get you both out of there, no fuss.”
A boat. Water. That was significantly better than a pressurised metal tube at 35,000 feet. “That works. Where?”
“I’ve got a yacht moored in Jamaica. Maria likes the tropical weather, so I bought her a villa there.”
Of course he did. “There’s a port to the north, Puerto de Caballos...”
“Perfect. I’ll have my guy meet you there. You got a car?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got enough cash on me to find something.”
Howard chuckled. “You, driving something cheap? Now that I’d like to see. Maybe I’ll fly out, meet you myself. Been a while since I worked with an exceptional – could be fun.”
Moira huffed a laugh. “You just want an excuse to get in Peggy’s good books, don’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Dante shifted his weight, eyeing her curiously. He could only hear her side of the conversation, but he must have caught on to the familiar ease in her voice.
“Thanks, Howard,” she said sincerely. “Really.”
“Anytime, Agent 24. Now get moving. You’re burning minutes, and your boy there sounds flammable.”
Moira hung up and turned to Dante. “We’ve got a ride. We just need to get to the coast first.”
“Who was that?” he asked, frowning.
“Howard Stark.” At his blank look, she clarified, “Genius, inventor, occasional pain in the ass. You’ll like him.”
Dante let out a breath. “And he’s helping us?”
“That’s what he does. Just… be prepared for a lot of questions.”
With that, she left him at the booth and set off to find transport.
It was going to be a long night. And an even longer journey.
One rundown jeep and an exhausting trek later, they finally reached the docks. Dante had slept fitfully in the backseat most of the way, waking in sporadic bursts to ask if they were nearly there before dozing off again. When they pulled up at the port, the sleek yacht waiting at the water’s edge made him pause.
“That’s our ride?” he asked incredulously.
“You sound surprised.”
“I don’t know what I expected, but this… this is kind of ridiculous.”
Moira smirked. “Welcome to Stark Industries.”
Howard was already waiting at the gangway, shirt unbuttoned, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the pre-dawn hour. He took one look at Dante, then at Moira, then grinned.
“Ah, so this is our firestarter. Inferno, was it?”
Dante glanced at Moira, bewildered. “I never told him that.”
“He probably made it up.”
Howard slung an arm around Dante’s shoulders before he could react, leading him toward the yacht. “We’re gonna get along just fine, kid. Like a house on fire, if you’ll pardon the expression. Now tell me – do you explode or just simmer?”
Moira pinched the bridge of her nose.
This was going to be a disaster.