Part 13: the other side

Y/N groaned into her pillow before blindly reaching for her phone.6:08 a.m.

Who in their right mind was moving around this tower at this hour?

Then she remembered: Tony freaking Stark had access to her calendar now.

Friday chimed gently through the intercom."Miss Y/N, Mr. Stark requests your presence on sub-level four. Training deck. In exactly thirty-two minutes."

She sat up. "Seriously? I just exposed myself to the entire team, I deserve at least one day of pity pancakes."

"Mr. Stark says, and I quote, 'the universe doesn't care about your pancakes, Goldie.'"

Y/N sighed. "He would give me a nickname after my magic glows once."

Friday added, almost apologetically, "He's also asked that you dress for 'battle-ready evaluation,' whatever that means."

"Cool. Love that. No pressure."

Thirty minutes later, she stepped into the training deck — hoodie off, hair tied back, a fitted tactical set borrowed from Natasha's spare gear. Her boots thudded softly as she approached the center mat where Tony stood beside Fury, both flanked by a few S.H.I.E.L.D. analysts and holograms already flickering with readings."Y/N," Tony greeted, sipping his coffee like this was brunch. "Sleep well, sparkle hands?"

She gave him a deadpan look. "You're not allowed to give me superhero names."

"I've already filed four," he said. "Gold Standard, Pulse, Medicus, and Golden Hour. Personally rooting for the last one."

"Medicus sounds like a stomach condition."

Fury cut in, gravelly and sharp. "Let's stay focused."

Y/N raised a brow. "Focused on what, exactly?"

Tony stepped forward, tapping the holopad. "We need to assess the full range of what you can do — if you're ever in a worst-case scenario. You'll stay in the med bay unless it's life-or-death, but if that moment ever comes, we don't want surprises. You've been hiding this your whole life, we don't even know your limits."

"I do," she said quickly. "I don't plan on reaching them."

"That's the point," Fury said. "You don't get to plan in this job. You get caught off guard. And when that happens, hesitation kills."

Y/N hesitated.

Then nodded once. "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

Tony grinned. "Impress us."

The first test was simple: reaction speed.An array of moving drones buzzed in — blinking, dodging, shifting between defensive and offensive patterns.

Y/N stood at the center, gold light sparking faintly at her fingertips. She took a breath — grounded herself — and when the first one darted toward her, she flicked her wrist.

The bot rotted midair. Corroded into dust.

A ripple of gasps from the sidelines.

The next one tried to flank her. She pivoted, raised her palm — and instead of disintegrating it, she slowed it. Time compressed around the machine, movements dragging like molasses.

Another flick and it froze. A second more, and she scattered its insides with a pulse of golden energy.

Tony whistled. "Okay, you're terrifying."

"I warned you."

More drones. More speed. She moved like she'd done this a hundred times in secret. A field of glowing sigils arced around her hands when she needed protection — shimmering shields that absorbed kinetic force and redirected it.

Fury stepped forward, voice low. "Healing's one thing. But this? This is combat-grade manipulation."

Y/N stood in the center of the wreckage, heart racing, hands trembling faintly but still aglow.

"I didn't want you to see this part of me," she said quietly.

Tony approached her carefully. "Why not?"

"Because it's the part I don't trust," she admitted. "When I let go... it grows. It wants to keep going. There's a line, and every time I cross it, I wonder if it'll let me come back."

He didn't say anything at first.

Then: "That's why you'll have us."

As the test ended, Y/N stepped off the mat, sweat clinging to her spine. She grabbed a towel, wiping the gold dust from her palms. Her breath still hadn't evened.Bucky leaned against the wall by the locker entrance.

"You good?" he asked.

"Define good."

"You didn't vaporize Tony, so I'll take that as a win."

She gave a tired laugh. "I'm... exposed now. Fully. There's no going back."

"Then don't," he said softly. "Don't hide anymore."

She glanced at him. "You like the gold, huh?"

"I like you," he said, plainly. "But the gold? That's just extra."

The elevator ride back up was silent. The weight of the morning's tests still buzzed under Emery's skin — like electricity hadn't quite finished clearing her veins. The warmth of her magic had cooled, but the tension it left behind lingered in her jaw, her shoulders, the thrum behind her eyes.She stepped out onto her floor, greeted only by the soft hum of ambient tower noise: ventilation systems, the faint tick of lights, somewhere distant the rumble of a Hulk-sized treadmill. No chaos. No bots.

No one.

Her legs were jelly. Not from fatigue — she'd done worse during finals week — but from restraint. Holding back had always been her strong suit, but today had tested her more than she liked admitting.

Emery peeled off the training gear and stepped into her shower, standing under the hot spray until her thoughts caught up with her.

You're in this now. Fully.

Not just the med bay. Not just the white coat.

You're the contingency.

The one they'll send when it all goes wrong.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, she'd changed into her comfiest hoodie again — Tony had tried to buy her a whole new wardrobe, and she'd refused on principle. She was the same girl before this. She had to believe that.

Inside, Natasha was sipping tea by the window. Bruce scrolled through a tablet. Steve leaned against the counter, a coffee in hand, but his eyes flicked to her immediately when she entered.

"Goldie," Tony greeted from the fridge without looking up, "You burned through three S.H.I.E.L.D. bots. They cost, like, seven figures apiece. Just saying."

"I'll Venmo you," Emery said dryly, reaching for a banana.

Natasha smirked.

Bruce spoke up gently. "Your power... it's cellular manipulation, right? At a fundamental level?"

She paused, banana mid-peel. "More or less."

"It's elegant," he added. "But dangerous. Not because of what it does — because of what people will want it to do."

Steve stepped forward. "Which is why we're grateful you've kept it under control."

Tony turned, face slightly more serious. "I meant what I said, kid. You'll stay in the med bay unless we're desperate. But desperate happens more than I like to admit."

Y/N nodded. "I get it."

"You scared the shit out of everyone this morning," Natasha added helpfully, swirling her tea. "Even Fury flinched."

"I aim to please," she muttered, sinking into a chair.

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

She looked up. A whole room full of heroes. Each more dangerous than the last.

And yet, here they were — watching her.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I think I'm getting there."

"Good," Bucky's voice came from the doorway.

He walked in, still damp from his own shower. His dark shirt clung to him, and his hair was half tied back, strands falling around his face.

"You've got good instincts," he said. "Scary-good, actually."

"You saw all that?"

"I was there the whole time."

She narrowed her eyes. "How much of that was recorded?"

Tony raised a hand. "Everything. For science."

"I swear if you edit a training montage to AC/DC, I'm leaving."

"...Too late," he said with a grin.

Laughter broke the tension, just for a moment.

But as she sat there — surrounded, accepted, exhausted — Emery felt something settle.

Not peace. Not yet.

But purpose.

And that was a start.

A moment passed by in the comfort of beginning something new.

Until she had to get ready for a day of classes. Even after being pushed and tested this morning. She needed to continue school she was so close to the end. But also starting something new.

She smiled at the thought, truly when one door closes another opens.