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Chapter Text

Pepper

"But I don't want to be CEO," Pepper protested for the third time, as Tony brushed past her into his office, basking in all the gawking that he generated along the way. Pepper had to hide a grin, at that - Tony was rather inordinately fond of his giant, clumsy wings, and even the halo, but while the other angels seemed to wear their evidence of divinity with grace, on Tony it just still seemed... strange.

Maybe it was because of their long-standing association. Certain memories of things that Pepper had to do for Tony over the years as his PA, including turning out various members of society in equally varying modes of dress out of the Malibu House, had stuck indelibly.

"You're going to have to be. Up until they can make up their minds whether angels can hold property, etcetera," Tony slouched into his chair, wings arched everywhere. "Fucking Congress. Besides, you were awesome. You handled the company and everything by yourself while I was busy going from one near death experience to another. Do you think those religious nutballs would listen to me now? Maybe I should get them all to picket the White House or something. Or Obi's office. Or both."

"I don't think so, Tony," Pepper said dryly, folding her arms over her clipboard.

"Why not? I'm holy now, aren't I? Tell me I'm holy."

"In view of overwhelming circumstantial evidence, maybe."

"That's not nice." Tony sulked, even as the lowest set of wings curled over his waist, scooting over the arm rests. "I save the world and instead of coming back to a ticker tape parade, I'm faced with an ongoing lawsuit and the increasingly weird demands of a startup company. Did Dad have so many problems setting up Stark Industries? Because I'm going to choke me some shareholders."

"It's a stagnant economy," Pepper lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "Consumer confidence is low, and our product is highly specialised. If you want to expand, we're going to have to clinch a higher profit market or create one."

"Let's create one. But no cellphones or tacky little gadgets." Tony spun a slow circle in his chair, tapping absently at his chin. "I had an idea in Afghanistan. You know that giant arc reactor that doesn't work, back over in Stark Industries? Let's get it back."

Pepper exhaled. "Legally speaking..."

"Fine. Maybe I'll just make another one. Smaller. More energy efficient. Doesn't explode when compromised. Would that work? Clean energy. Portable. Benign. Sustainable. It'll tie in to our main product, too. We can use it to generate the power needed. They'll be more stable than the current fusion prototypes."

"If you can pull it off, sure." Pepper arched an eyebrow, then she added, as mildly as possible, "And if you wanted the next Nobel prize for physics."

"The physics prize is old. I want the Peace prize," Tony, however, looked speculative. "And you're still going to be the CEO. I'll be the... the chief engineer. That way I can spend all my time in the labs, and you can handle the shareholders."

"All right, Tony," Pepper said mildly, with a sigh. She could see Tony's point, and besides, Obadiah Stane had been pushing the property matter in Congress and in the Courts for all that he was worth. The situation was getting dangerous, even with public opinion in their favour for now, "I accept."

"Great!"

"But that means that you're now in my office," Pepper added sweetly. "Sitting in my chair."

Tony paused in mid swivel. "Are you kicking me out?" There was definitely a whine there.

"You were going to work on a portable arc reactor, weren't you?"

Tony scowled, getting up, his wings puffing aggressively, and Pepper added, "And put those things away, you'll knock something over."

After a moment's pause, the wings disappeared, and Tony drawled, "Anything else?"

"Maybe we should discuss your salary later."

"A salary?"

"Only joking, Tony," Pepper covered her mouth as she grinned. "I'll see what I can do about the existing arc reactor. And... Tony?"

"What?"

"You did great," Pepper said gently. "With everything."

Tony blinked at her, as though startled for a moment, then he recovered quickly. "I'm always great," he shot back, before ambling away, possibly to terrorize R&R, and in the silence of her new office, Pepper righted the chair, shuffled the paperwork into place, and settled down onto the leather seat. She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes, enjoying the moment of quiet, then she reached for the keyboard, just as her phone rang.

"Pepper Potts."

"Hi Pep," Tony sounded distracted. "Just remembered I have a date tonight with Steve. Book us in for the French Laundry, would you? Nice table."

"Sure, Tony," Pepper said dryly. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, make an appointment with Tom, or anyone decent. I need a new suit. Thanks. Wait. Make that two appointments, Steve's jackets are getting way too old. Love you bye."

Tony hung up, and Pepper shook her head as she brought up the French Laundry's number from memory. Some things weren't ever going to change.

Fury

Whatever Stark had done, Fury had to concede that it worked. The world returned to normal, SHIELD went back to devoting its time to preserving global security, and there was no more of that fucking godawful business with demons and rivers of fire. Lucifer seemed to have gone to ground, at least for now, and although Fury set a group of intel officers to keep track of that full time, his gut feeling was that they had a bit of breathing space.

SHIELD had also acquired, as a result of the entire situation, a group of high powered individuals - which was good, Fury had decided, after some thought. Michael had always been fairly friendly, even if it turned out that the archangel had kept some cards close to his chest after all; Clint and Natasha had always been good operatives, and were better now with more firepower; Ramiel was showing some promise, and Banner had always had a good reputation as a biologist.

And then there was Stark, who dropped by now and then, seemingly just to annoy people/visit Banner/distract Michael, and the man was still a loose cannon, arrogant and far too sure of himself despite nearly dying far too many times over the last month or so, but Fury could see the point of Stark's presence, even if he was glad that it was usually temporary. Of all of the archangels, Stark was the only one who had been utterly unchanged by the realisation of his powers. Fury supposed that there was something humbling there, even if the man was impossible to work with even at the best of times.

"SHIELD's interested in your defensive prototypes, Stark, not a fucking giant helicopter."

"I'm not selling the patents to the former. You're going to have to queue up like everyone else," Stark said blithely. "Get the helicarrier. You'll love it. It has camouflage arrays. Radio silence. It'll be a giant black ops fashion statement. I can even model the hull in the contours of your face if you'll like."

Fury snorted. "Do you realize what an absolute disaster it's going to be if you make anti-smart weapons equipment available to the private market? Every goddamned homegrown terrorist between here and fucking Mongolia would be able to get his hands on one!"

"And how many civilian casualties have been caused by smart tech?" Stark asked idly. "Drone strikes gone a little awry? Bombing? Smart mines and missiles? I want to change war as we know it, Fury."

"By making everyone head back to bows and goddamned arrows?"

"Clint might resent that remark," Stark noted breezily, then added, "Fewer people got killed by bows and arrows than bombs? No? Anyway, you're not going to dissuade me. But if it's going to be much comfort," he continued dryly, "I'm not going to sell them to terrorists, all right? I mean, I don't get why you think I like them. I spent some quality time in the Hindu Kush with them, after all. Lovely people."

"They could force villagers to purchase them as middlemen."

"We'll have interviews. Some sort of selection process. Pepper's handling the details. We were thinking that we could get NGOs or other corporations to sponsor villages."

"You can't save the world with gadgets, Stark," Fury growled. "And you're fucking deluded - or arrogant - if you think that you can. The only way to world peace is stable governments. Infrastructure. Food and clean water. Education."

"Funny how I don't see you making any of that," Stark shot back, though he smirked. "So let me try things my way."

Ezekiel

Bruce was slightly surprised when Tony had invited them all to move out of the Triskelion and into the top few floors of Resilient, but had gone along with it anyway, if only because Tony had already moved all his equipment and belongings before asking him. The lab was spacious and far more advanced than SHIELD's, and although Bruce missed having assistants, robotic ones eventually sufficed with some configurations.

"What I don't get," Tony said one day, perched on a chair early in the morning in Bruce's lab and nursing a coffee, "Is what made you first Hulk out. For the rest of us, something big happened. I nearly got killed, demons appeared, things like that. What about you?"

"This again?" Bruce noted mildly, as he checked the new slide under the microscope. "JARVIS, record a twenty-five percent reduction with sulphuric acid."

"Noted, Doctor Banner."

"You said you were arguing with Ross. General Ross. Was that all?"

"It doesn't matter, Tony."

"Did he say something that really ticked you off?"

Bruce sighed, glancing up briefly. "I'm in control now of the other guy."

"The other guy is also you, Bruce," Tony said dryly.

"I know. Objectively. But it's easier to think of it otherwise. When I'm... it," Bruce hesitated, before continuing, "I'm not always fully functional. I mean, I still manage objectives, most of the time, but there's always so much unstable energy. So much anger. It's exhausting to control, and it's corrosive, and I'm trying to cope. I think I would've preferred your 'face melting' powers."

"Okay," Tony noted soberly, clearly backing off on the point. "But just so that you're aware, Ross has been brought up on verbal and physical assault charges before. He just managed to sweep them off each time, that's all. And you're on SHIELD's payroll, full time, now. So there's nothing really in it for you to keep it all to yourself."

"Tony," Bruce said mildly, as he changed a slide, "Let it go. What good would doing anything else bring? I'm in a far better place now than I was then. Both in terms of employment, and mentally. Maybe spiritually, too, if you want to believe that. We're more than human in many ways. I think we should act that way."

Tony eyed him carefully, for a long moment, then he slouched further into the chair. "If you start heading off on remote Himalayan retreats to sit inside sacred mountain caves, I'm going to disown you as my science buddy."

"I'll keep that in mind," Bruce noted distractedly. "Come over here. I need another sample. I want to compare it to mine."

"You only like me for my blood," Tony said, with mock sadness, though he pushed himself off his chair.

Raziel

Natasha rather liked living in Resilient. For one, there was an excellent on-call chef with 24-hours room service, the Tower was just off Fifth Avenue, and most importantly, it didn't have the lingering locker room smell that waged a changing war with disinfectant in the Triskelion barracks. She wasn't even particularly concerned at going from being one of the few women in the barracks to being the only woman in what was effectively a boys' club over at the Resilient, particularly with on-suite bathrooms and housekeeping staff.

And besides, there was Pepper, who had originally been introduced as some sort of pseudo-secretary-CEO-assistant person, but who had quickly forged an alliance with Coulson and now jointly ran Resilient's day to day functionality with the same fierce efficiency that she ran Tony Stark's life. At first, Natasha had been slightly contemptuous of the entire arrangement, but she'd grown to respect it. It was clear that Pepper stuck with Stark out of sheer loyalty and a great deal of personal fondness, and now that Natasha was somewhat better acquainted with Stark, she knew that he didn't take his friends for granted.

At least, not any longer.

Today, Pepper was circling the Resilient floors, on the warpath. "JARVIS, where is Tony again?"

"In residence, Miss Potts."

"No he's not!" Pepper took in a deep breath. "He's going to be late for his meeting!"

"I am only authorized to inform you that Mister Stark is in residence, Miss Potts."

Pepper swore rather creatively under her breath, and finally ended with a scowled, "Men," that made Natasha's lip curl and Clint hastily duck out of sight from the stairwell.

"Vodka?" Natasha offered mildly, from the couch where she was curled with a book.

Pepper sighed. "Tempting. But maybe later. Thanks, Natasha."

"Important meeting?"

"Very."

"Wait here," Natasha decided, closing her book and setting it aside. Five minutes later, an annoyed and somewhat sandy Tony was standing in the living room, and though he put on an ingratiating smile when Pepper rounded on him, was eventually packed off to his meeting, and a slightly shamefaced Michael beat a quick retreat to the roof when Pepper arched an eyebrow at him.

"Thanks," Pepper offered, when the figurative dust had settled, and Natasha nodded amiably, picking up her book again.

"No problem."

"I have a block of time free now," Pepper added, with a warm, pretty smile, "And I'm not needed at the meeting. How about we take a walk down Fifth Avenue with Tony's credit card?"

"Good plan." Pepper was definitely one of the best parts about living at Resilient.

Uriel

Clint only let his wings stay unfurled when he was on the rooftop of Resilient, sitting on the grass. This high up, the air was a little thin, but there was nothing quite like the view, or the wind, or sunning his feathers under the afternoon sun with no bird jokes in sight.

He didn't hear Phil settle down behind him on a deck chair, but then again, he didn't ever need to. "Something up?"

"Nice day," Phil replied, and Clint caught the can of cold beer tossed to him without having to glance over. There were some nice benefits to his new powers. Good for the field, too. "We've got a situation in Cambodia."

"I'm cleared for the field?"

"If you want to be," Phil said neutrally, and now, Clint frowned, turning around for a look in the middle of opening the can. "Fury said that it was up to you."

"What did he mean, it was up to me?" Clint asked, bewildered, setting the can aside. "I'm fired? What about Natasha?"

"No, no. It's just..." Phil gestured at Clint's wings. "You're more than human now, Clint. Fury's aware of that."

Phil was expressionless, but there was a line of tension in his shoulders that gave him away, and things finally fell into place. Clint had thought that it had just been having to handle all the newcomers and the apocalypse at the same time that had made Phil distant, but this? He would have laughed, if he wasn't sure that Phil would take offence.

Edging up onto the deck chair, flaring his wings for balance, Clint stated, "I'm still me, Phil. Natasha's still Natasha, and hell, Tony's definitely still a hundred per cent Tony. This hasn't changed us."

"The Director believes that it has."

"That's his opinion. I don't feel different." Clint hesitated, then he asked, "Do you?"

"Wings," Phil murmured, as a non-sequitur, his eyes growing dark as he looked Clint over, "And a halo."

"This isn't going to be another bird joke, is it?" Clint asked warily, then he froze when Phil rolled his eyes and leaned up to kiss him, gentle at first, then more roughly when Clint purred and climbed all the way up onto the deck chair.

Ramiel

As it turned out, his parents were more freaked out over meeting Tony Stark than the fact that Ramiel was awake, alive and the vessel of an archangel, at least initially, and Ramiel supposed wryly that he should thank his Creator for small mercies. He definitely wasn't the gangly boy that they had brought up; Donald Blake and his medical aspirations were a distant memory.

He sat at a coffee shop in Oslo with Ezekiel and Gabriel, days afterwards, when they'd come back to check on him, overlooking the Akerselva, and Gabriel had opened with a grinning, "Have they calmed down yet?"

"They might want your autograph," Ramiel noted dryly. He had never quite understood the point of celebrity, but Gabriel preened visibly, even as Ezekiel rolled his eyes. "I will return with you to Resilient."

"Are you sure? You can stay here for a bit more," Ezekiel was always gentle outside of his other form. Lucifer had once mentioned a balance of energy, in explanation.

Thinking of Lucifer made Ramiel grim, but he tried not to let it show. "I am sure. My parents are fine. And the Director said that I could help Raziel or Uriel on their missions."

"Yeah?" Gabriel scowled, always the protective one, even if he often tried to hide it with bluster or wit, "Doing what?"

"Peacekeeping. There would be battle, perhaps. Uriel seemed amused."

"Clint will keep an eye on him," Ezekiel assured Gabriel, who grumbled to himself but settled down, nursing a long black. "But really. I think you should take a bit more time off, Ramiel."

"I have had enough of that," Ramiel disagreed. Out of the battlefield, his thoughts tended to wind in and within themselves, chasing their own tails when he was bored, and he often found himself thinking, uselessly, of things that could have been. "Besides, Raziel has offered to spar."

"Just remember to do that on the Triskelion and not in my Tower," Gabriel noted instantly, then he added, turning to Ezekiel, "Fifty bucks on Natasha."

"I don't gamble," Ezekiel said, with a glance at Ramiel.

"Take the bet, Ezekiel." Ramiel assured him, his darkening mood fading quickly. "Let us locate Raziel."

"Now?"

Lucifer

Worldwalking proved entertaining for a time, and then the novelty slowed. Many civilisations were just as venal as humanity, and Lucifer ghosted past those, with only a passing curiosity satisfied here and then about architecture, geology, or a particularly curious ecosystem. He had thought perhaps that Creation itself would be the greater puzzle, or that there would be others like them on other worlds, locked in their own eternal cycles, but there seemed to be no particular pattern, nothing distinctive but chaos.

It was disappointing, as though every world was but a new experiment, perhaps by different Creators, always and always forging something novel simply for the sake of it, with no view of a Grand Design or an ultimate formula. Perhaps within the chaos of new life, there was only chaos.

And without a driving goal to underpin his existence, Lucifer found himself growing... bored. He examined the sensation at first, delighted - boredom, after all, was a luxury previously afforded only by humanity, the functionless final creations of his Father, and then it had threatened to consume him, and as such, he let himself wander without aim, touching some worlds out of curiosity and leaving others alone, until finally, rather surprised, Lucifer found himself back on an all-too-familiar one.

Perhaps there was a Grand Design at play, after all. Or perhaps it was simply ugly coincidence. Lucifer pursed his lips, thoughtfully, as he looked around. This was one of the shelters that he had forged for himself, centuries ago, now long fallen into disuse, hidden eastwards of the human city of Istanbul and underground. He ran fingers idly over dusty furniture, still exquisite even in their decay, and was about to check on another room when Ramiel abruptly appeared before him.

Lucifer winced as an outstretched wing smashed a chair into splinters, and Ramiel flinched, then looked slightly shamefaced. "Sorry," he offered, and his voice was deeper now, older, with a touch of silver in his hair and some wisdom in his eyes.

Lucifer inclined his head, ready to defend himself if necessary. "Ramiel."

"Where have you been?" Ramiel demanded, and age, it seemed, hadn't bred out his impulsiveness, nor made it any less amusing. "I tried searching for you."

"As I told Gabriel. I went to look at other worlds."

"And you couldn't have checked back here now and then?"

Curious. Lucifer arched an eyebrow. "I nearly killed you, the last we met."

"If you wanted to kill me, you would have," Ramiel shot back. "I would have least liked to talk to you before you went."

"Talk? You?" Lucifer noted, definitely amused now despite himself. "You have grown, Ramiel."

Or perhaps he hadn't - Ramiel frowned and reached over to drag Lucifer into a hug that made him stiffen, then a kiss that made him stifle a sigh, even as he stroked his hands up the broad arch of Ramiel's back, to tap his fingers over the point where the bladed staff had pushed through, to within an inch of Ramiel's heart.

Instead of taking the broad hint, however, Ramiel merely growled, wrapping his broad wings around Lucifer's slighter form, and when they parted, Lucifer tilted his head at him, a little confused. "Surely you can't have chosen to forgotten."

"I haven't. I can, however, choose to forgive," Ramiel corrected, and added, rather erroneously, "You idiot."

"I beg to differ," Lucifer said, a little affronted, only for Ramiel to laugh and dip his head again, and this time, Lucifer pressed his hands upwards, over to the curve of Ramiel's shoulders.

Michael

Years ago, Gabriel would probably have roundly objected to the reintroduction of Lucifer to their lives, but age had made him mellow, even as slowed as it was with their natural regeneration. The world had grown peaceful, save with a few hiccups now and then, and the cycle seemed to be over. Still, the situation with Lucifer remained uneasy, and after a day or so, Ramiel and Lucifer had left Resilient, with no particular explanation.

"Probably worldwalking," Gabriel shrugged, where he might have been suspicious before, curled on the couch with a projection of lighted panels before him, absorbed in analysing a new alloy. "Lucky kids."

"Lucifer is hardly a kid," Michael corrected, as he sat beside him, a sketchbook at hand, indulging an old hobby now that he was off-cycle. "Nor is Ramiel."

"I was being figurative."

Michael glanced at Gabriel, curious at the slight edge to his voice. "Do you wish to go? Look at other worlds?"

"Do I look like I have the time?" Gabriel asked absently. "Resilient's just about to setup Somalia with a reactor grid. It's been a fucking shitstorm since Day One. If Pep and I don't at least score another Peace prize out of this, I'm going to sabotage salient bits of Norway."

"You've been working on this all day and night for weeks." Michael set his sketchbook aside, and put a hand on Gabriel's hip, pointedly. "Take a break. Please?"

Gabriel eyed his hand, then the panels, then he sighed, as Michael leaned over to brush a kiss over the edges of his mouth. Gabriel's hair had gone silver now, a mark of time, and as Michael kissed down over to an ear, brushing the hairline, Gabriel pulled away. "I'm getting a little too old to do it on the couch," he noted dryly.

"Nonsense."

"Coulson and Clint are in."

"They've seen worse." Michael carefully tugged Gabriel onto his lap, mouthing up the tantalising slip of skin available under his pressed collar to his jaw, and Gabriel groaned, tangling fingers through his short-cut hair.

"God. Don't remind me," he muttered, though he tugged on Michael's shirt until he pulled it off, then his fingers dipped down to his belt, and that was when it got complicated, working to kiss and get at Gabriel's clothes at the same time, shucking shirts, belts and jeans and boxers until they were skin to skin, panting, drunk with lust, their hands sketching over each others' bodies with the easy familiarity of time.

Gabriel's wings unfurled first, gorgeous and wide, feathertips brushing the walls, then he laughed as Michael pushed his hands greedily into covert feathers, tugging, curling his arms over his shoulders. "Your turn, smartass, c'mon," he growled, and when Michael obliged, he stroked his fingers down to wing muscle to press his thumbs against the roots of Michael's biggest wings, making him jerk back against the couch with a moan.

Grinning, Gabriel's clever fingers kneaded dips of muscle and rubbed at tense knots until Michael was shivering and dazed, his own hands pressed helplessly over Gabriel's hips, watching hungrily as Gabriel leaned over to fish in the pockets of his jeans, coming up with a packet of lube that he tore open quickly. He was still loose from the morning, taking two fingers easily enough, and Michael husked his next breath against Gabriel's skin, drawing a nipple into his mouth to rasp his teeth against and make him twist for it, shifting his hands up to the arches of Gabriel's third set of wings to hold on as Gabriel shivered and grasped Michael's arousal, always impatient.

The glide until Gabriel was seated was glorious and tight, a velvet slide until he was lost, losing himself, muting his whines and moans against Gabriel's neck as Gabriel clawed fingers against the dips of muscle against his back and growled. When he moved, it was savage, this time, all sharp jerks of his hips that ground Michael back mercilessly against the couch until he was keening, flaring his wine-dark wings to balance himself, laughing when Michael finally rolled them around, shoving Gabriel against the couch to drag up his hips and pound into him, cocooned in a whorl of heaving wings as Gabriel arched against him and screamed.

It was Gabriel who moved them up to their bed, later, grumbling about a cramp, though he allowed Michael to tuck him close, even spent and sweating.

"They'll be all right," Gabriel said finally, "I think. Going off like that."

Michael nodded. He wasn't still entirely sure of Lucifer's motives, but Ramiel had seemed happy.

"I don't think I could do that," Gabriel added, even more slowly. "Run off into the sunset like that. Or fly, if you want to be specific."

"No," Michael agreed. It wasn't Gabriel's way.

Gabriel, however, looked at him oddly. "Did you want that? A happy ever after on Mars, or wherever the hell they've gone, just the two of us?"

"I have my happy ever after," Michael shrugged, leaning over, and Gabriel snorted, flicking at his forehead.

"Sap." Gabriel, however, didn't smile. "You and Lucifer... the rest of us will move on. Won't even be that long by your books."

"I know." He had long accepted that.

"I think we'll be back," Gabriel said, after a moment's thought, his hand curling over Michael's thigh. "Even without the cycles. I know that we will. You'll look for me again, won't you?"

Michael pressed a lopsided kiss over Gabriel's mouth, arching as wings curled over his flank. "Always."