4

In one of the living areas of the Avengers headquarters, Steve Rogers, out of his Captain America uniform, watched news reports about the disaster in Lagos. “Eleven Wakandans were among those killed during a confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria, last month. The traditionally reclusive Wakandans were on an outreach mission in Lagos when the attack occurred.”

The camera cut to the Wakandan king, T'Chaka, speaking at a podium. “Our people's blood is spilled on foreign soil. Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent is no victory at all.”

The announcer resumed speaking over video of T'Chaka and the burning building in Lagos. “The Wakandan king went on to—”

Steve turned off the TV and went into the next room, where Wanda was watching another channel on her own TV. “What legal authority does an enhanced individual like Wanda Maximoff have to operate in Nigeria?” a talking head was asking as part of a panel discussion.

Steve shut that one off, too. “It's my fault,” Wanda said into the silence that followed.

“That's not true.”

“Then turn the TV back on. They're being very specific.”

“I should've grabbed that bomb,” Steve said. He was the leader—it'd been his job. He sat next to her on the couch. “Rumlow said ‘Bucky’ and . . . all of a sudden, I was a sixteen-year-old kid again in Brooklyn. People died. It's on me.”

She wasn't accepting that. He could tell. “It's on both of us,” she said.

Steve had to remind himself that she was new to the dangerous business of being an Avenger. He'd fought a lot of battles. She hadn't. “This job . . .” he said. “We try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody, but if we can't find a way to live with that, next time . . . maybe nobody gets saved.”

Vision phased through the wall, interrupting them. Steve was always surprised to see him do that. The gem in his forehead gave him powers that none of them completely understood. Ultron might have tried to destroy humanity, but instead he created a new Avenger, and maybe the most powerful of them all. Those vast powers made a strange contrast with the way he dressed, like a middle-school history teacher. He liked V-neck sweaters.

Wanda looked up. There was a connection between them. Steve could see that clearly. “Vis, we talked about this.”

“Yes,” Vision acknowledged. “But the door was open, so I assumed . . .” He paused before going on. “Captain Rogers wished to know when Mr. Stark was arriving.”

“Thank you. I'll be right down.”

“I'll . . . use the door,” Vision said, catching himself before he phased out through the wall again. He was still learning how his powers could make people a little uncomfortable. “Oh, and apparently, he's brought a guest.”

“You know who it is?” Steve asked.

Vision paused at the door. “The secretary of state.”

The current active Avengers—James Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, and Natasha Romanoff—sat at a long conference table as Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross paced while he decided how to begin a difficult conversation.

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack,” the secretary said. He liked to frame his policy decisions with stories to put people at ease, especially when he expected people to resist the decision. “I dropped right in the middle of my back-swing. Turned out, it was the best round of my life, because after thirteen hours of surgery and a triple bypass, I found something forty years in the army never taught me: perspective.” He paused, the practiced politician giving his opening words a chance to sink in. “The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You've fought for us. Protected us. Risked your lives. But while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some . . . who would prefer the word vigilantes.”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha asked.

“How about dangerous?” Ross shot back. “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind them?” He had a remote control in his hand, and with those last words he started a video queued up on a display screen that took up most of one wall. Clips of the Avengers' most violent and desperate battles started to play as Secretary Ross listed the names of the cities that were being shown. “New York.” Massive Chitauri creatures undulated through Midtown Manhattan, leaving destruction in their wakes. “Washington, D.C.” A burning Helicarrier plunged into the Potomac River. “Sokovia.” Ultron's massive island, intended as a missile, rose into the sky. “Lagos.” The wreckage of the burning building.

“Okay,” Steve said. The Lagos footage hit Wanda especially hard. “That's enough.”

“For the past four years, you operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” An aide handed him a bound sheaf of papers. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by one hundred and seventeen countries. It states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place,” Steve said. “I feel we've done that.” He was trying to be respectful of the chain of command, but he also needed to be heard.

“Tell me, Captain,” Ross said, “do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve didn't answer. He couldn't. Thor and the Hulk had been off on their own since the battle with Ultron. “If I misplaced a couple of thirty-megaton nukes, you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works.” Looking around the room, Ross saw the resistance and hostility on the Avengers' faces. He decided to give them a little more context. “Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So there are contingencies.” Rhodey, speaking for the first time since they'd all sat down, didn't look happy.

“Three days from now, they meet in Vienna to ratify the accords.” Ross gave them one last sweeping glance, making sure they understood the nature of the situation. “So talk it over.”

Natasha asked the question they were all thinking. “And if we come to a decision you don't like?”

Ross had clearly prepared for that. “Then you retire,” he said without hesitation. He left them to their thoughts.