Note: This story takes place about five years (Marvel Time Of Course) after the events in THUNDERBOLTS '97. In case you're interested, I'm working off the assumption that this would be after Songbird's tenure in the Avengers suggested in AVENGERS FOREVER #1-12. You'll get the idea.

 Send your comments/complaints/whatever to mike_p_smith@hotmail.com

I admit it, I really don't know why I'm doing this.

I admit it to myself, mind you. I don't want to give Atlas the satisfaction.

We're walking up the steps to the townhouse where everybody had agreed to meet. I left the door unlocked, and I expect several of them to already be inside when we get there. It's not that I trust them that much, but I've got no reason not to.

And before I can turn the doorknob, Atlas asks me again, "You sure you know what you're doin' boss?"

"Are you questioning my orders, Josten?" I ask in as stern a voice as I can muster. Of course, I'm too busy smiling to convince him I'm serious.

"No, ma'am, I know better than that." The mock salute he gives me is mildly comforting, but we both know that we're pretty uncomfortable with this. I open the door anyway.

Inside the living room is a circle of six folding chairs (personal preference, and the house is in my name, after all.) Three of them are occupied. Alternating, I notice. They're all as uneasy about this as we are. I half-expected this.

"Ah, at last our hostess arrives," one says, breaking the silence with a voice underscored by a slight electronic hum. "So are you ready to announce the name of the murderer?"

"Always a pistol, Tech," a second pipes in. It's as if our presence has lifted an awkward quiet in the place. "It's... good to see you again, Melissa."

And I can't say I don't feel the same. "It's good to see you too, Abe," I reply, adding, "It's good to see all of you."

"Hmmph. Let us move past these pleasantries, fraulin. Tell us, why have you brought this group together once again? Why have you reassembled the THUNDERBOLTS?"

"I'm glad you asked that, Baron," I begin, swallowing hard. This won't be easy, no matter how much I want it to be. Atlas and I take our seats on either side of Abe. "It's the Thunderbolts I want to discuss. I think you're all aware of our current situation. The team is at a crossroads, and I'm open to suggestions."

Abe gives me a puzzled look. "I don't get it, Melissa. Why us? I've read the T-Bolts charter. Heck, I wrote parts of it. And there's not a single line about any special privileges for founding members. I think we specifically left that out. What's your angle?"

"Well, I... I don't know. It seems like ever since the team got started, we always had our direction figured out for us. And now, for the first time, we kind of have this opportunity to decide for ourselves, and everybody's looking for me to figure it out. I just never figured that would be a decision I'd have to make." I look to Atlas and he nods in agreement.

Techno still doesn't understand. "Whoa, back up. I've been in China for the last two months. What do you mean by 'crossroads'? I'm gonna need some frame of reference if I'm doing any consultation."

Atlas answers for me. "Sure, Techno. See, it's like--remember when we were all contaminated with that Kree Deathpox?" He waits for the robot's acknowledgement and moves on. "Well, we knew we couldn't go back to Earth, 'cause we'd infect the whole world. And we couldn't stay on Neo-Kreevia because they wanted to dissect us and make the virus deadlier! So we wound up working as a security task force for the Skrull Republic. Not because we wanted to, not because it was the right thing to do, but because we just didn't have any other choice.

"And it's always been like that for us. We never had to find our own place in the superhero scene because somebody would always pick it for us. Not that it was so bad, but now we just got done saving Acroyear from the Macroverse, and we're fresh out of direction."

Techno sits motionless for a moment, as if processing all the relevant data and considering a solution. Finally he looks up and says, "Sorry, motivational speaking isn't my line of work. I don't see what good I can do for you."

And so the ball is back in my court. "You can't, Techno. Not by yourself anyway. Look around you--I need the original Thunderbolts, and you happen to be part of them, and that makes you part of the solution."  Zemo stares from the inside of his mask without a word, but I continue before he might possibly make any more objections, "Look, I rejoined the team because I
think it's important... I want to keep a sense of history on this team, instead of just a name random super-types use when they work together.  The Thunderbolts mean more to me than that.

"But I'm not sure _what_ it means. We started this gimmick as a scam, so does that mean it's all built on a lie? We wanted to use it as a chance to reform, but a lot of the current members don't even have a criminal record. So I'm putting it to you: The Avengers are a line of defense, the Fantastic Four are a charitable family of adventurers, the X-Men are a political movement. What are we? What's our angle?"

For a moment, no reply. Zemo shifts in his chair, and I almost think he's getting up to leave, but finally Abe clears his throat. Good old Abe, always coming to my rescue. For a second he tugs absent-mindedly at the flannel shirt he's wearing and then begins.

"Um, well, I guess I'll go first. I don't know, I always thought the Thunderbolts worked best when we were trying to show everyone that we were on the level. Nobody trusted MACH-1 at first, and then they all saw what I could do. And then we were exposed as criminals and that just made me more determined to prove myself. Time was that if my Beetle armor broke
down I'd just take the month off. But MACH-1 was different. I just saw the glitches in my armor as a chance to show everyone how committed I was to making this work. And when I surrendered myself to the law, I figured that was just one more step towards earning people's respect."

I think his account was having an effect on the others. I've been in a nostalgic mood lately, and hopefully I could pass it on to everybody else. Of course, Abe never mentions that we had each other as an incentive to reform (those were good times, even if they were crazy), but he knows that I can't ask my whole team to pair themselves off for the sake of tradition. Abe's a pragmatist, but he's a dreamer at the same time. One eye on the road in front of him, one eye on the horizon ahead.  I always liked that about him, even after we sort of split apart.

"--retired now, paid my debt to society, and I couldn't be happier.  Jenkins/Danvers Specialized Avionics is pretty successful even if we aren't exactly in the Fortune 500... yet," he adds, raising his finger.  It has a smidgen of motor oil on the side that he must not have washed off. I guess he still gets a chance to do some hands on work in the hangar now and then.

"So what's 'specialized' mean exactly? I never figured that out," Techno  asks.

Abe's looks to me as if to assure me he's coming back to his point, but he's never one to pass up a chance to plug his new pet project. "Basically we build aircraft from scratch, instead of the interchangeable parts they use in factories now. You know, like specialized, one-of-a-kind firearms they used to make before the Industrial Revolution. We get plenty of big contracts from intelligence agencies, clandestine operatives from various governments, super-teams looking to accessorize, and a few I can't mention or don't even know. I did a lot of modifications on the 'Non-Plane' if you've seen that--I'm boring you, aren't I?"

Techno nods in agreement and grins as only he can. "Only to tears, but it sounds like good work if you're into that sort of thing. Me, I can only reinvent the wheel so many times before it gets old. I'm happy for you."

Abe turns back to me and gets back to his story. "Well, I'd better get back to the moment at hand, but I'll be sure to give out business cards after we're done," he chuckles. "Anyway, I think the Thunderbolts is all about second chances and making something out of yourself. It's one thing to say you'll go straight, but when you're trading shots with Carnage, and you're at half power and dropping, you're either gonna sink or swim. I think the T-Bolts need to be that sort of crucible. And as far as your
members without a rap sheet, send them to someone else. I'll bet you money they're probably ready for the big time and they just don't know it yet. I think you'd be surprised." And Abe leans back in his seat.

It's an interesting suggestion, and my story's not much different than his (So I wound up a full-time superhero instead of making a steady income at a fun job, who needs a warm bed when you can make boxing gloves out of sound?). Still, I'm not so sure I can just ask Carlos and Zenda to just leave like that. They're as much a part of the Thunderbolts as Atlas or me, criminal record or not. Well, at least he's got me thinking, and I'm still not finished here. "All right, so what do you say, Techno?"

We all turn to face the machine, almost comically sitting in a chair too small for his nine foot mechanical frame. Of course, I know he usually never sits at all, so if he's just trying to be sociable he must not be too uncomfortable.

"It's all in the delivery, Melissa. The way I see it, he whole purpose of the Thunderbolts is just to highlight everything associated with it. Look at me. Six years ago, I was working odd jobs for whoever could afford it, bored with the kinds of penny ante schemes was asked to do. 'Provide technical support', 'Invade S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier', 'Supply android task force'. Been there, done that, I say. And it's not like I needed the money that badly either. So I went into semi-retirement in Atlanta. And finally the good Baron here sets me up with what would eventually become the Thunderbolts. Things picked up in no time. 'Dupe the public', 'Invade Kosmos', 'Falsify records', 'Survive terminal neck injury', 'Take over world', on and on and on. And maybe the best part was that finally the rest of the world had to sit up and take notice at what I could do.  And even though I almost never work with the gang anymore, every client I get tells me that they first learned about me from the T-Bolts. And
besides, who would you rather hire, P. Norbert Ebersol, the unassuming guy in the green suit, or the stylish self-made machine?"

I have to give him credit on all counts. Without Techno, a lot of what the Thunderbolts are wouldn't exist. And his current status is a symbol of the kind of notoriety we've earned from the world, for better or worse. Of course, he's minimizing his own service to the team. Techno may be ever ready to congratulate himself for all his other endeavors, but he always seems to gloss over his third stint with the Thunderbolts, when we had to use his mind as an access to the astral plane for our final battle with the Shadow King. He risked his life for us, and we wound up learning more about him than he'd probably care to admit, so I've chosen to respect his feelings on the matter. On the other hand, I don't think I understand where he's going. "So, what are you saying, Techno? That the Thunderbolts each wear a big sandwich board praising your talents?"

His answer isn't all that surprising. "Exactly! Take Atlas here, for example. Let's say he wanted to reform on his own. Do you really think he'd get a warm reception wearing his Goliath get-up, stomping down the streets of Manhattan with a snarl? Of course not. Not that you had a much easier time the way it was, Erik, but I think you'd agree that a red and blue costume and a face like the friendly hometown quarterback next door... well, I think they got your foot in the door at the very least.  And not to toot my own horn here, but the costumes, the facial adjustments, that was all me, and I take a great deal of pride in how well
it's held up over the years. What I'm getting at is that the Thunderbolts aren't about _what_ they do so much as _how_ they do it.

"Did you know that your team has a cult fan following in some places?  People like you because they think you do 'good guy' work, but with a 'bad guy' attitude. And that's the kind of stuff you need to build a larger than life image for people to see. Captain America took sixty years to do what we've done in a fraction of that time. I think that says a lot, wouldn't you?"

"So you're saying that whatever I do, we need to do it with a lot of flash and glamour?"

"Hey, you're the professional wrestler. I'm surprised you needed me to tell you that," Techno smirks.

"He's got a point, boss," Atlas chimes in. "I started out doing the 'hero scam' and I was a lot more popular as Atlas than I was as Power Man all those years ago. And Power Man had it easy. Back then the Avengers could barely get arrested in New York."

"I suppose," I reply. To me, it was never really about public relations.  "Face heat" and "heel heat" were equally good, as long as the people were just paying attention to you at all. And no matter what your outfit looked like, no matter how many pyrotechnics you used, the fans made the final decision and you just had to work with it.

But then, this isn't pro wrestling. Or I wouldn't even need to do this.

"So what about you, Atlas?" I say, trying to segue this as well as I can.

"Who, me?" Atlas says with a confused look.

"You're one of the original Thunderbolts, last time I checked," I answer.  In fact, he's a lot more than that. Atlas has been a member of nearly every roster and incarnation of the Thunderbolts' existence, including the present one. And, whenever I'd stopped to consider it, I wanted to know why.

"Aw, you already know what I think, Miss."

"No, I don't. Come on, Erik, you've got to have some opinion on all of this. Whatever we decide, you'll wind up living with it." 

 "That's no big deal to me. Like I said before, havin' things decided for you isn't so bad. But then I guess if nobody's ready to decide yet..."
 
He sits up in his chair and crosses his arms, placing one hand on his chin, as if in deep thought. It was a little humorous; Atlas often comes off as being dumber than he really is, but we all see through that act.  It's mostly just his way of stepping back and letting the brilliant men do their thing, while he handles the grunt work. That's what makes Atlas so dependable. He knows exactly what he's capable of, and he does it. Of course, sometimes he needs a bit more prodding than usual, like now. I know he's got pretty strong opinions about the team, and if he's reluctant to voice them it's only because he doesn't know how to put them into words just right. Finally he speaks.

 "Seems to me that we're all about catching the bad guys. I mean, I agree with Abe and Techno about all that other stuff, but the way I see it we've got the law off our backs, the public doesn't think we're mutants anymore, most of our enemies are down for the count, we're not under some kinda Skrull house arrest, we're just in the clear all of a sudden."

 "Right," I say, encouraging him to go on.

 "So why don't we just pick up where we left off? The 'Justice, like lightning...' tagline from our first interview. Well, we're serious about it now. I mean, you don't see the Avengers or the FF worrying about what they need to be doing. They just do it, you know?"

 I feel like he's holding back on me. Atlas knows as well as I do that the Thunderbolts were founded on a deception. "Back to the basics" won't work for us because we're fundamentally opposed to the basics. And that raises a larger question. Atlas has always been loyal to the Thunderbolts, but that loyalty has forced him to pledge and betray loyalty to so many others. What makes the T-Bolts special? What is it that makes him stick with such an abstract notion? Well, I can figure that out later.

 The crowd falls dead for a moment. We all know whose turn it is, but I'm too apprehensive to ask. No matter, since he's never been one to wait for opportunity to knock. 

 "I am afraid that I still fail to see the point in this exercise, Melissa. You seek value in something that has no value save for it's name. You may choose to put some kind of importance on the history and tradition behind the Thunderbolts--that is your prerogative--but in fact you know as well as I that it is nothing more than the fallout of a failed strategy."

 Baron Helmut Zemo. The man who created the Thunderbolts in the first place was perfectly willing to admit that it was simply another one of his fledgling attempts for global domination. His apathy says a lot about our situation. I mean you don't see Ben Franklin saying he was plastered the night he created the fire department. Back when Zemo was in his "Rightful Master of the World" phase, he at least hated the Thunderbolts and we could stick together to spite our mutual enemy if nothing else. Lately he didn't even give us that much. 

 Which prompted the question: "So why are you here, Baron?" 

He chuckles under his mask and taps a small communicator in his hand. He says something in German and a young man walks in the front door. His dress was an exact duplicate of the Baron's save for the lack of the trademark mask. I'd recognize him anywhere. 

 "Handel, fourteenth Baron Zemo, at your service, father," the man says. 

He turns to face me. "It's a pleasure to meet you again, Songbird."

 "This," the elder Zemo says, "is why I am here. I feel that my debt to you is paid in full, and I have come to inform you as such." 

 Good as the word he gave me all that time ago. I'll never forget the time I saved a young man from a HYDRA raid--there's a scar on my right arm to remind me--and when I got him back to Avengers Mansion, we learned that he was the long lost son of Helmut Zemo. Turns out Helmut had a one night stand a few years before being reunited with _his_ father, and he had no idea that he'd sired an heir. When the kid wanted me to take him to his father, I obliged--against my better judgement--and Helmut promised to repay me in time. 

What finally happened was that he took over leadership of the Thunderbolts while the Avengers called in their reserve for an extended period of time. Hawkeye and I were nervous, but Zemo led them just I would have wanted, if for no other reason than to set a good example for his son about the honor of German nobility.

 And since then, Helmut's been influenced by his son as much as the other way around. Handel became a _GIANT_ fan of the Avengers, Thunderbolts, even the Grapplers if you can believe it (I'd bet you anything that underneath that outfit he's wearing the Mimi 3:16 shirt I gave him). And it seems that the Zemo dynasty has lightened up a bit. A bit.

"Still keeping your old man in line?" I ask Handel. It's not totally ironic. The kid's been a pacifying influence on his father, and the name of Zemo isn't nearly as feared in the world as it once was. 

"He still gives me a workout in the gym, but I've managed to steal victory a few times yet," he answers with an affectionate pat on his father's shoulder and a quick motion of his finger to signify fencing. I have to give Helmut credit, he turned his son into a perfect gentleman in only a few years. He may have conquered the world a time or two, but I can't deny his parenting skills. 

"Pleasant greetings aside, Songbird," the elder Zemo now continues, "I still see no point to this meeting. True, you may have acquired some inspiration this day, but that would have been better served without me.  You'd have been more prudent to invite Hawkeye, or the Burning Man, or..."

 And that's the downside to fatherhood. Helmut's been lethargic ever since he took in his son. It's tough to spot in some places, but Atlas has noticed it in the past. Techno might too if he had an eye for that sort of thing. I guess he feels like a weaker personality sandwiched between his notorious father and his exuberant son. Not that I want to see him blow up Paris or something, but it would almost be preferable to watching him deteriorate like this. Then again, he's well over seventy years old. 
Age retarding chemicals or not, he's probably feeling the weight of all those years. 

 "--after all, young Jolt _was_ the fountain of idealism that led you to betray me in the first place, was she not? Surely she would serve your interests better than this old man."

 "Yeah, where is Hallie anyway?" Abe interjects. I was kind of hoping to see her today."

"As a matter of fact I was wondering that myself, Ms. Gold," Handel adds.  His practiced accent and composure don't do much to hide that twinkle in his eye. After all, I've seen it before. But I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint.

 "Easy, kid," Atlas answers for me, "You'll just have to stand in line at Berkley just like everybody else. Of course, if you wanna armwrestle me now and save some time..."

 "You know Hallie, guys," I put in, "She's trying to act like she doesn't even remember us anymore, so busy with college and the X-Warriors she's too big for the Thunderbolts." 

 "Well then why the sixth chair, Melissa, unless you knew Zemo, Jr. was coming?" Techno points out. For a minute he's just observing an apparent inefficiency in my furniture arrangement. A problem, however small, to be fixed. Then it hits him. "No. You didn't..."

 "What? What did she--?" and Abe catches on too. I lower my head in frustration. This is what I had been afraid of from the start. I'm about to explain why I did what I did, or at least that it seemed like a good idea at the time, but then I hear the door open. Fitting she should do this at the worst possible moment. 

 "Well, well. Nice to see all of you too. I hope I haven't missed anything... useful, hmmm?"

 Zemo leaps out of his seat with all the inner fire I thought he had lost long ago. "I would be interested in knowing the cause for this outrage," he says, teeth undoubtedly clenched beneath the mask. His hand is poised inches away from his sidearm. 

"Come now, Baron, I was invited just like the rest of you. It's not as if I don't share your fascination in," she turns to look at Handel, "repeating past failures."


Helmut's response to that is almost inaudible, and probably in German. As his hand moves closer to the pistol, I prepare to form a plug of slid sound jamming the trigger. Of course, that leaves two of us tensing up for a conflict, which is just what I wanted to avoid.


Thank goodness for new blood and clearer heads. "Dad, maybe we should--" 

 Helmut stops him midsentence. "Get behind me, boy. I refuse to allow this witch to come anywhere near you." 

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Zemo," she strides past him and takes her seat without a care. "So, fill me in," she says to the others. 

Atlas frowns, either in confusion or concern, I can't tell. 

Techno watches her in disbelief. Abe looks to me. "Aw, why did you do this, Melissa? I thought you'd know better than to bring Sofen in on this!" 

I'm a little too tense to give him a careful answer, what with Zemo ready to open fire. Then I realize that she wanted it this way--using Zemo's pride and my Avengers violence prevention training--she used us against each other just to upset the balance that much more. I sigh and wonder how everything could have been going so well before. "I keep telling you, Abe. I wanted the original Thunderbolts. I can't be choosy about who did or didn't found the group." 

"Very true, Abner," Karla says with mock accordance, "and little Mimi's in charge of this gathering, so why don't we talk it all over, shall we?"

Abe wouldn't even look her in the eye. "I've got nothing to say to her.  Not now. Not ever."

 "I have to go with Abe on this one, Songbird," Techno agrees. "Founders have no status here, and it's not like anybody twisted your arm to bring Moonstone in."

"Please, Norbert, is that any way to talk to me? And call me Meteorite, if you don't mind. Someone might think you're trying to blow our cover."  Techno just held out his hand to show that she made his point for him. 

And I know. Believe me, I know. The very idea that she'd use such an obscure reference to unsettle Techno (an unlikely attempt at that), shows just how disturbed she really is. And I had hoped that this might somehow help her through whatever it is she's going through. Unfortunately, Moonstone hadn't exactly been the Thunderbolts' biggest booster. On more than one occasion she'd used her position to make grabs for power, each more untenable than the last. I really think she wanted to turn herself around, but old habits are hard to break, and she just went deeper. By the time she had usurped the throne of Atlantis and made a mad gambit for the Serpent Crown... well, most everybody thought she was too far gone.  After that, Sofen was left twisting in the wind.

Turns out that that was a bigger mistake than anybody realized. Ever since, she's almost made it a personal mission to needlessly antagonize anyone she happens to run into. I think her cold reception here, a meeting of former crooks, thugs, and world-beaters, says it all. 


"This is becoming boring, Melissa," she says, "I thought you were the daring leader type, just like dear, dear Br'er Hawkeye. One would think you were competent enough to handle a simple discussion group." 

I don't take the bait, simply because it's so obvious of her. "I asked you to come here, Karla, and I really do want your opinion. So what do you say?" 

"I'm so glad you asked. I really am. You see, I'd like to see the Thunderbolts knock over more banks. In a pattern that resembles a happy face on a map when the police thumbtack our crime spree. And then we use the money to become Jehovah's Witnesses."

Dead silence. Abe looks like he wants to leave. Zemo actually relaxes, probably because he thinks she's too pathetic to be a threat. Atlas looks to me for the next step and I honestly don't know what it is. Karla just keeps going.

"Well, isn't it a good idea? I realize there's some fine tuning to be done, but it's a start, right? That's what we're after, isn't it? Convince everybody we're good old fashioned bank robbers, then BAM, we're revealed to be proponents for a religious sect. I really don't see how it's any different from your ideas, Baron. It's a perfectly reasonable plan, Zemo. So who's the mother?"

Zemo sits without a word. He's probably enjoying this now. 

"Well don't all congratulate me at once. I know it's a good plan, but you shouldn't be so jealous that I thought of it. I'm just good at that sort of thing. That's why I'm in control. I am in control. I am." 

I can tell this is reaching her somehow. From the moment she walked in, she was wearing her old Meteorite costume, and now she's flashing back to the early days of the team. The problem is that I can't tell if this is a sincere episode, or just a feeble attempt to garner sympathy. With Karla Sofen you just can't tell. Nobody can. 

Not even her. Not anymore. 

And bless him, Atlas just wants to do something, anything at all to make it better. He triples in size (in case she lashes out at him), and holds out a big hand to her as gently as possible. "It's OK, Meteorite. It sounds like a pretty good idea, actually."

And she just laughs. 

"Dad, what are you doing here?" she half whispers. There's sort of a giggle to her voice like she's a little embarrassed. "This is Thunderbolts business. We're having a _meeting_. Yeah, I know he let his son come, but two wrongs don't make a right, you know."

It's then that Atlas realizes just how out of his depth he really is. I think it was a wake up call for all of us. "Uhhhhh, I'm sorry?" is all he can get out.


"Well if we can't even keep this behind closed doors, I'm afraid I'm just going to have to adjourn this right here and now.  Thunderbolts--dismissed!" And with that she levitated off the ground and through the ceiling. Silent at first, but then followed by the crunching sound of broken wood and brick. 

"She phased through until the attic, then she punched her way past the roof," Techno observed, apparently with some optical scanner. "She's more messed up than I thought."

That pretty much marked the end of the whole thing. "Well, I really need to go back to work, folks," Abe says as he rises from his chair and faces the door. Really, it was nice seeing everybody." I can hear the reserve he has in his voice when he says that. It was almost nice he means. 


Almost.

"Yeah, I'm up to my nose in clients these days, gang," Techno follows.  "Wouldn't want them to start looking up the competition while I'm gone, right? It was... interesting, Songbird. Let's do it again sometime." I can't decide if that's sarcasm or just a non-human perspective on everything. Right now I don't care. 

Zemo leaves with a few mutterings. I guess any respect I earned from him is now questionable at best, but I didn't do this to impress anyone. On the way out his son reassures me, "He'll get over it, Songbird, he's just having a hard time facing all this Thunderbolts business again." That kid is a godsend, I remind myself once again.

And that leaves Atlas and me. We're looking over the damage to my roof and trying to hash out everything that's happened here today. 


"This is a total disaster," I say.

"I think I want to change my answer," Atlas says. 

 "What?"

"About the team. I couldn't think of a good answer before, so I wanna change it. Is that OK?"

"Well, sure, knock yourself out," I shrug. To tell the truth I'm more concerned with the repair bill right now.

"All right. Well, I was thinking about it when Moonstone-Karla-whatever, she came in and everybody got all upset."

"I seem to recall that happening," I reply.

"But you invited her anyway, even though you knew she'd cause problems and you were nervous enough about this already. Why?" 

 I probably wouldn't have answered if it had been anyone else. But you feel more obliged to tell a guy that big what he wants to know. And he's Atlas. If you can't tell _him_... "I just felt like she should be a part of it. If nothing else, she wouldn't be offended that we'd left her out, and for all we knew she might have had some ideas. I guess I let sentimentality get the better of me."

Atlas nods, satisfied with the answer. "So you did it because you thought it would be good for the team. So why'd you even want to still lead the team? You could always go back to the Avengers, or do some solo work.  Nobody'd blame you for resigning if you don't feel comfortable leading us. We'd do OK."

I can't believe my ears. "Forget it, Atlas! Just because I don't know what to do with the Thunderbolts doesn't mean that giving up would solve the problem! Sure, you could handle things, but I may as well stick around to help. The team means more to me than that. How could you have been on the team so long and suggest I just quit?"

"Remember when Hawkeye got framed for robbery and the Avengers wouldn't get involved, so we had to bust him out ourselves?" Atlas asks.

"Sure, the Thunderbolts don't abandon their own. That was the first rule in the charter," I say.

"That's why I stick around. I got recruited for the Champions a couple of times, but I never joined up. The T-Bolts have always been there for me.  Zemo pulled my butt out of Kosmos, you guys watched my back, and when I did leave the fold, I always had somebody to welcome me back. That's why I put the team first, because the army, the Enchantress, the Lethal Legion, all those guys left me hanging, but never the Thunderbolts. And I think your situation isn't much different."

And as I listen to him, I think of Dave, and Mike, and the Grapplers, Mom and Dad, even the Avengers a time or two. But I always had the Thunderbolts. And now I know why I called this little get-together. I just wanted to return the favor, in some small way.

"So do you know what we're gonna do now?" Atlas asks.

From the roof of the house I look up into the sky. "I think we'll start off by looking up Doc Samson and tracking down a certain friend in need.  Like it or not, she's our responsibility, and who knows? Maybe we'll reform a criminal or two along the way, and look pretty darn flashy doing it."

And Atlas reaches for his T-Bolt communicator and smiles. "Sounds like a plan, boss." 

THE END