May 18th, 2012
New York, New York—SHIELD Headquarters, Agent Scott's office

"Hey, Scottie. Feels like it's been forever since I saw you."

Quinn Scott gave a little start at Clint Barton's voice, but smiled when she looked up and saw her friend standing in the doorway of her office. She had to blink a few times to clear the fog from her eyes. "You saw me yesterday."

"I saw you two days ago, on Wednesday. It's Friday."

Quinn frowned and looked at the little calendar on her desk—a Word of the Day one she'd given to Coulson for Father's Day the year before, mostly as a joke. She'd thought about putting it away or giving it someone else, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Today's word was disquiet; Coulson had always made a point of using the word of the day in conversation and Quinn had made a game of trying to determine the correct word. Clint was right though. It had been two days. "Shit," she breathed, dropping into her chair. The minute she stopped moving, a weariness settled in her bones, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes. Go to sleep.

Clint sat in one of the chairs opposite her. "You've been working too much."

"There's a lot to deal with. Stuff that Coulson didn't finish with…" She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat at the thought of the late Phil Coulson, her boss, friend, and surrogate father. It hadn't even been a month since he'd passed—it had only been two weeks, actually—but Quinn had taken over his job with as much energy as she could muster. He would have wanted it that way. She wanted to do a good job. She wanted to make him proud. And working was easier than sitting around. Less time for her to miss him.

And less time to dwell on other problems as well, but Quinn wasn't thinking about that at all.

"Steve mentioned you hadn't been home in a couple days. Nat said you were still here."

So much for not thinking about Steve. "I just want to get this stuff handled as soon as possible, to try and start on a clean slate. I have to go over the security procedures for Laura and the kids and make sure the systems on the farm are all up to date, and I have to keeps tabs on Jane Foster—who, by the way, wants nothing to do with SHIELD, and I'm convinced she's doing whatever she can to make my life difficult." Quinn huffed and ran a hand back through her hair, realizing as she did that her normally immaculate braid was a mess. She must look a treat. "I also have to process all this paperwork," she said, slapping a hand on top of a large pile of files. "Coulson was great at a lot, but processing paperwork… not so much. And I don't have a me to help."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You could hire someone. And you need to sleep, but first, you need to come downstairs."

All thoughts of work and Steve vanished as the plan for Friday resurfaced in her brain. "Shit—right."

"Get your bag and come on. After this is done, I'm taking you home, and I don't want to see you here until Monday, and don't think you can sneak in here." He used two fingers to point at his eyes and then at her. "I'm watching you."

Smiling, Quinn logged out of her computer and grabbed her bag, tossing the few things she needed from her desk into it before following Clint out of the room. In the elevator, she pulled her braid out and swept her mass of dark brown hair into a ponytail, giving her appearance some semblance of order. There was nothing she could do about the wrinkled clothes she'd apparently been living in for days, but no one she was about to see would care. Clint looped one arm around her shoulders when she was done and gave her a brotherly squeeze. Quinn leaned into him and closed her eyes.

In the lobby of SHIELD's New York headquarters, they found Director Fury, Natasha Romanoff, and Maria Hill waiting for them, all in their various uniforms. They were arrayed in a semi-circle in front of the Wall of Valour: a display of the names of the SHIELD operatives who had fallen in battle. Quinn stuffed down a wave of grief as her eyes found the empty space where Coulson's nameplate would go.

Fury handed her a shield-shaped metal plate as she approached. "You should be the one to put it in place, Agent Scott," he said quietly.

He pressed it into her hand, and Quinn looked up to meet his one-eyed gaze. There was sympathy and pain there, and Quinn was struck once again by how little emotion the director usually showed. "Thank you," she whispered. She wrapped her fingers around the cold metal and stepped up to the Wall. All she could do for a few minutes was stare at the blank space; her body didn't want to obey.

Natasha stepped up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just stood there.

On Quinn's other side, Maria appeared, her arms crossed loosely on her stomach. "He was a great man," she said. "And he cared, so much."

"He did," Quinn agreed, her voice cracking.

Then Clint was there, a warm presence behind Quinn, and he squeezed her other shoulder. "He put one hundred percent into everything he did, including raising you into the fine agent you are, Scottie."

She chuckled, a couple tears rolling down her cheek as she squeezed the metal shield tightly. "It still doesn't feel real, you know? He should be here." Quinn shook off the hands of support and closed the final bit of distance between her and the Wall. She lifted the shield and held it in place with one hand, accepting the small screwdriver someone—she didn't see who—handed to her. Slowly, carefully, she screwed it in place. "Thank you, Boss," she whispered. "For everything."

Quinn kissed the tips of her fingers and touched the metal gently. She could hear his voice in her head: You're welcome, kid.

The others said their goodbyes in turn, Director Fury standing silent for a few minutes after everyone else had gone, and then Clint led Quinn into the parking lot to take her home. He didn't say a word when she cried the whole way, or when she stopped in the hall outside her apartment and stared at the door facing hers. He didn't say anything when she opened the door and dropped her bag on the floor in the middle of the hall. In fact, the only thing he said was goodnight, as he hugged her right before he left.

Quinn stood in her open doorway, thinking about how everyone was displaying and handling their grief differently, about how it had been a long time since she'd seen Clint so reserved and quiet. Her eyes darted back to the closed door across the hall.

Then she shut her door, locked it, and went to bed.

May 25th, 2012
New York, New York—SHIELD Headquarters, Agent Scott's office

"Nat, if you need a different gun, just take the other gun. Take both guns. Take all the guns. I don't care. I'll do the fucking paperwork afterwards. You know what you need to complete the mission and no one is going to question Strike Team fucking Delta—"

"Quinn."

Quinn heard her teeth click as her jaw snapped shut. The edges of her vision were red, and there was a hot ball of anger twisting in her stomach. Everything was rubbing her the wrong way lately and it was hard for her not to scream. She might technically be the head of Strike Team Delta, but since Coulson had passed, the remaining trio functioned more as a democracy than a leader and her team. She didn't feel as if she had the same authority as Coulson had had, so she didn't pretend to. Her, Clint, and Natasha discussed everything and decided courses of action together; Quinn had been promoted to Level 8 clearance, so the only things she didn't share were the ones she couldn't. It was a fine arrangement except when Quinn felt angry enough to explode—but she was friends with Natasha and Clint and screaming would accomplish nothing.

"Natasha," she snapped. Even to her, the reply sounded like it was coming from a snotty teenager. She squeezed her eyes shut, already cursing herself for acting ridiculous; she could hear it, but couldn't stop.

"There is no reason for you to take your shitty mood out on me, Scottie. Just because you're being stubborn—"

"Excuse me?"

She could almost hear Natasha roll her eyes. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, so we're not going to go over this again. Thanks for doing the paperwork, Scottie. We'll check in once we're on the ground, and then when we're done. The usual drill. Should be no later than tomorrow evening."

Quinn sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger as she slumped deeper into her chair. She took another deep breath to centre herself and then said, "Okay."

Natasha sighed as well, and Quinn heard her moving something around; probably loading up the quinjet. She could also hear Clint in the background, chatting with someone, though she couldn't make out the individual words. There was a dull thud—Natasha sitting down.

"You should just go talk to him. Or go to the gym with him again or something. He goes almost every day."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. Natasha might not want to go over a conversation they'd already had, but that apparently wasn't going to stop her from rehashing her point. "That would be a bad idea."

"Why? Because you were his handler? Because he's Captain America? Because you've only known him what? A month?"

"All of the above," Quinn huffed. She shook her head and forced herself to focus. "I'm sorry for the bad mood, Nat, but this isn't any of your business, and I will be fine. I just have to adjust to the new job and everything. I told Steve I would put him in touch with Peggy—I still have to do that—and I said I would try and find him a place at SHIELD. But that's it."

"You're being very stupid about the whole thing, Quinn, and that's not like you."

"Just call me with updates on the mission. Fury wants any rogue alien tech rounded up as soon as possible."

Natasha sighed again, but said, "Will do," and Quinn knew the conversation was over. Natasha ended the call a second later.

Quinn returned the phone to its cradle and then slumped back into her chair, draping her head over the back of it and staring up at the ceiling. Natasha was right—she wasn't acting like herself, but it was strangely hard to find her way back. Sure, part of it was the stress of a new job and grief over Coulson, but an increasingly large part had to do with her feelings for Steve. The abruptness and intensity of them had alarmed Quinn, but she'd chalked it up to the confusing swirl of emotion surrounding Steve being found, the Battle of New York, and Coulson's death, all of which had happened in quick succession. And Steve being nearby since he'd woken up. She'd expected her feelings to fade once she was back at work, but they hadn't. So she'd told herself she'd keep her distance from him.

Quinn was Steve's handler, and was now the liaison between SHIELD and the Avengers as well. He'd only been in the 21st century—hell, he'd only been unfrozen—for a month. His face was all over her collection of comics and cards and other Captain America memorabilia. It felt… wrong in some way for Quinn to pursue her feelings.

But that didn't make them go away.

She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to do exactly what Natasha had said: talk to Steve, see him, spend time with him doing… anything. Her mind often raced back to the days they'd spent at The Retreat, watching movies, or sitting quietly while she worked and he drew or read. Quiet chats about old missions or details in a random SSR file. She thought about the little moments from the past month that lingered with her: Steve carrying her in the rain outside The Retreat, him holding the punching bag at the gym as she ran through drills, the smell of his leather jacket when he'd given her a ride home after the Battle of New York…

"Damn it."

Quinn rose from the chair and moved around her desk. She paced across the small space of her office for a moment or two, and then grabbed her bag and made sure she had everything she'd need; she wasn't going to get any more work done tonight, and she could just as easily wait for Natasha and Clint's call from home.

When she arrived back at her building—hurrying down the hall into her apartment and locking her door—Quinn didn't feel anymore relaxed than she had at work, but here she could at least pace in relative peace. And drink. She poured herself a scotch and headed for her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind her as she moved. Once she was in leggings and an oversized long-sleeved shirt, and her brace back in place, Quinn ventured to her living room, dropped into her chair, and sat there, staring out the window, condensation from her drink soaking her hand.

She thought about going across the hall and knocking on Steve's door. It had been two weeks since she'd seen him, since they'd spoken.

She missed him.

But there was too much that could go wrong, too much that could fall apart, and Quinn was too scared of what could happen, of what might happen. She was afraid that the feeling of wrongness in her gut was more than just nerves and her brain trying to rationalize away her confusion. She was afraid that things wouldn't go wrong, that it would feel so good.

Quinn was just afraid and she didn't know what to do.

And she hated it.

June 1st, 2012
New York, New York—Quinn's apartment

The knock came just as Quinn was pouring over the various take-out menus in her drawer, trying to decide what to order for dinner. She frowned, trying to figure out who it might be before she walked down the hall and peered through the peephole. She wasn't expecting anyone, and Nat and Clint were just back from a mission and thus decompressing somewhere, so that left… A twinge in her gut a second before her vision focused on the distorted hall confirmed her sudden suspicion. Her hope.

Steve.

Holding a pizza box in one hand and a bulging plastic bag in the other. He was looking right at her. Or, right at the peephole, anyway.

Quinn sighed and closed her eyes against the flutter of happiness and anticipation in her stomach before she opened the door and tried to smile like she hadn't been driving herself crazy with thoughts of Steve for the past three weeks. Like half of her hadn't been hoping Steve would be the one to break the silence between them because she was too damn scared to do it. And maybe she liked the idea of him pushing to be near her just a little.

For a heartbeat though, silence still reigned.

Then Steve, a tinge of pink on his cheeks, said, "So everyone keeps giving me movies to watch, and now I have a whole list. You have more movies than anyone else I know, so I was hoping you could help me check some of them off."

Quinn couldn't stop the smile from taking over her face. She'd missed the sound of his voice. "I think I can probably help you get through your list." She stepped aside to let him in, the butterflies in her gut flapping wildly; she couldn't recall ever having such a reaction to another person. "Especially if you keep bringing me pizza."

Steve grinned. "I haven't known you long, but I do know you don't like to cook."

Quinn led the way into the living room, where Steve deposited his burdens on the coffee table. She inhaled deeply as she opened the pizza box. "Pepperoni, bacon, and green peppers. Did I tell you those were my favourite toppings?"

Steve pulled a couple cans of root beer out of the plastic bag, along with a smaller cardboard box, and then took a small notebook out of his pocket. "Natasha told me. She also told me you like root beer with your pizza and garlic bread with cheese."

I see what you're doing, Nat. "Well, I can't say I'm not thankful." Quinn pulled a slice of pizza free and took a large bite. She closed her eyes and savoured the flavour for a minute. When she opened her eyes, Steve was flipping through the notebook, his cheeks pink-tinged again. She had the distinct impression he'd been watching her. What's happening? She swallowed and cleared her throat. "So show me this list," Quinn said.

Steve passed her the notebook, open to a page filled in Steve's writing. Quinn scanned it as she finished her piece of pizza, and then got to her feet and walked over to the shelves holding her movie collection. After a moment of deliberation—nothing too scary or too romantic, nothing too heavy—she settled on a DVD and slid it from its spot. Her movies were arranged in alphabetical order, making her choices easy to find.

"Which one did you pick?" Steve asked as she turned to the TV and DVD player.

"The Incredibles," she said. "It's about superheroes," she added with an eyebrow wiggle.

Steve laughed, which was what she'd hoped for.

Once the movie was playing, she settled on the couch beside him, and grabbed another slice of pizza. "This list is good, but it's a bit incomplete. Mind if I add some stuff?"

"Go ahead."

The list was a combination of movies, music, TV shows, books, speeches, major events—anything important or culturally significant or awesome that Steve had missed out while he was frozen. Quinn could spot suggestions she was sure came from Natasha, Clint, Tony, and Maria, and maybe even one or two from Fury. She grabbed a pen from the mug of them she kept on one end table, and started writing down more suggestions in whatever category she could think of; hers definitely ran more towards the awesome end of the spectrum.

"Quinn," Steve said after a while.

She was on her third page of recommendations, and third slice of pizza, her gaze flicking back and forth between the page and her shelf. Steve was intent on the movie; she tuned in for her favourite parts. "Yeah?"

"I… I've missed you this past month."

"Three weeks," she said, too quickly. They both flushed a bit, and Quinn continued on, a little embarrassed and confused by her outburst. Just like everything else. "Uh, sorry. Uhm…" She could feel her face heating and looked at Steve, then away, then back. "I've missed you too, Steve. It's just been…"

"I know."

Were they hinting at the same thing? Did he think she was talking about Coulson's death and her grief? Was she? She looked down at the notebook in her lap. She had felt better since Steve had arrived, her mind settled. She was still grieving Coulson—she would grieve him in some way forever—but she was past the point of telling herself she only wanted Steve around to help her in that regard. No, she hadn't been talking about her grief. She'd been talking about her feelings for Steve. It was awkward and complicated, and she wanted to say that, but didn't know how.

But was he talking about the same thing?

Did he have feelings for her?

No. He can't. Wishful thinking. Quinn forced herself to smile at Steve. "I'm sorry I've been… distant."

"You don't have to apologize."

Quinn wanted to tell him she did have to apologize because she'd been purposely avoiding him, but settled for saying, "It stops here. I need to stop… hiding." She tapped the notebook with her pen. "We can make our way through this list. And I know you've adjusted pretty well to the new century, but I can still… help. I mean, officially, I'm still your handler. SHIELD never replaced me when I took over Coulson's job."

One corner of Steve's mouth twitched, like he was suppressing a smile.

Quinn realized she'd been rambling a bit. Smirking, she pointed at the TV with her pen. "You should be focusing on the movie, Cap."

She just caught Steve's smirk before he looked away.

Blushing, Quinn grabbed a piece of garlic bread and turned back to the list.

June 8th, 2012
New York, New York—Steve's apartment

Quinn knocked on Steve's door quietly. It was late—she'd gotten stuck at work, dealing with a field agent who'd called in an 804 and then almost immediately rescinded the report—but she had to talk to him. When he didn't come to the door immediately, a wave of guilt surged through Quinn. Steve didn't sleep much; what if she'd woken him?

She'd taken one step across the hall when Steve opened the door. "Quinn? What's wrong?"

He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and his hair was rumpled—he'd definitely been sleeping. "Oh god, Steve, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. I probably would have been up soon anyway. Come in." He walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open for Quinn to follow. "Did something happen?" he asked as she closed the door.

"Uh, no. Nothing bad anyway." Quinn leaned against the counter in Steve's kitchen, watching as he made coffee. She crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. For a moment, she debated whether easing into what she had come to talk to him about would be better, but then decided jumping in was the way to go. "Did you still want to go and see Peggy?"

Steve paused, his hands flat on the counter on either side of the percolating coffee machine. When he turned his head to look at Quinn, his face was unreadable. "Yes," he said, almost too quiet to hear.

"I've arranged for us to go next Friday. Peggy's nurse, Anna, will let us know that morning if she's not up to visitors, but as it stands, flight and hotel are all set. We'll head down Thursday night. I have to go with you to the retirement home, since they know me, but you can have all the time with Peggy you want, and—"

"Quinn."

Her jaw snapped shut; she hated that she rambled when she was nervous, and lately, just whenever she was around Steve.

"Thank you." Steve handed her a steaming mug and held his in both hands, like he was savouring the warmth. "I'm glad you'll be there, actually."

"Oh?"

"I…" He gave his head a small shake. "I'm looking forward to seeing her, of course, but… How do you talk to someone who's lived a full life when you've essentially stood still for so long?"

Quinn couldn't imagine all the questions Steve was asking himself, all the scenarios he was running through about what might have happened had he and Peggy been allowed to have their life together. Quinn put her mug down on the counter and crossed her arms again. "I wish I had answers for you, Steve. I can't even imagine what you're feeling where she's concerned."

Steve moved so he was leaning on the counter next to Quinn. Quinn shuffled over the fraction of an inch between them, so her shoulder pressed lightly against his bicep. "It still doesn't seem real sometimes, that she had this whole other life, that she aged… Whenever I think about how this reunion might go, I have to remind myself she doesn't look like she did when I knew her. That she might not even be the same person anymore."

"In that regard, I can offer some reassurance: on a good day, Peggy is as my great-grandfather described her in his journals. She's been stubborn and confident and sure since I've known her, and unafraid to kick the ass of anyone who doesn't listen to her. Verbally, at least."

Steve chuckled a bit as he took a sip from the mug still cradled in his hands. "That sounds like Peggy."

June 15th, 2012
Washington, DC—Willow Grove Retirement Home, Peggy Carter's room

Willow Grove Retirement Home was a smaller, pricer facility, but Quinn knew it was worth it. It felt more like a residence than a hospital, and all the residents she'd seen during her few visits seemed happy and healthy. Those who needed extra care got it, and those who wanted more freedom had it, to whatever degree was deemed safe for them. Even so, Quinn always felt a little uncomfortable in the place, and tended to stay on the familiar path from reception to Peggy's room.

Currently, she was standing outside Peggy's room with Steve, who was preparing himself for the moment Anna told them it was okay for them to enter. Steve had asked Quinn to go in first so she could say hi to Peggy and help prepare her; Anna would do her best, but a more personal touch might be better. Steve was tense, his back ramrod straight, and Quinn felt useless, unsure how to put him at ease, or even if she should try.

Anna opened the door after what seemed like ages, but was only a few minutes. "You can come in now," she said. A complicated mix of happiness and apprehension warred across her face.

Quinn flashed her a nervous smile and then gave Steve's hand a quick squeeze before she slipped into the bedroom.

Peggy was in bed, as she usually was, propped up against a pile of pillows so she was almost sitting upright. Her eyes were clear and bright, but there were tears on her cheeks. "Quinn!" she breathed upon seeing the younger woman. "Is it true?" She reached towards Quinn.

Quinn perched on the edge of the chair and took Peggy's hand in both of hers. She couldn't stop tears from filling her eyes; Peggy was so happy. "It is. It's true. SHIELD found him, frozen in the wreck of the Valkyrie. When the ice froze, he woke up."

"And he's okay?"

Quinn smiled. "He's okay. The serum kept him alive and kept him… the same. He looks the same as he did when he went into the ice."

Peggy's hand tightened on Quinn's and, for a moment, her shock was clear. But it faded quickly, once again replaced by the joy and relief Quinn had seen before. Peggy's eyes darted from Quinn to the door and back. "How do I look?"

The laugh fell from Quinn's lips and relief soothed her discomfort. "You look gorgeous, as always. I'll go get him." Quinn squeezed Peggy's hand gently and then got to her feet. She poked her head out the door and smiled at Steve, using one hand to wipe away a few tears that escaped. "Come in, Cap."

Steve clasped her shoulder as he passed and Quinn turned to watch him cross the room and come to a stop at the foot of Peggy's bed. Peggy's eyes widened, and she began to cry again, one hand covering her mouth.

"Oh, Steve…"

He sat in the vacated chair and took both Peggy's hands in his. There were tears in his eyes too, but he was smiling, and it was the smile that Quinn loved but a bit different. This was a smile just for Peggy. Quinn stepped out of the room and dropped onto a bench in the hallway to wait, pulling out her phone so she had something to focus on. Anna was chatting with another nurse nearby, but otherwise, the hall was empty and quiet.

Quinn felt herself growing more nervous as time passed. She checked all her social media accounts, her work and personal emails, and even tired to play a few games, but nothing could hold her focus. She got up after a few minutes and paced the hall a bit, and, when Anna went in to check on things, hovered near the door. She didn't want to intrude, but she also really wanted to be in that room. A moment after Anna went in, Steve came out, looking more relaxed than Quinn had ever seen him. She took a step back so she could more easily look him in the eye.

"Anna said I should leave, since Peggy was starting to get tired and she's more likely to slip away when she's tired. Peggy told me to say goodbye to you though, and to thank you."

Quinn's cheeks flushed. "No need. I'm just glad it went well."

Steve started walking back towards the front door and Quinn fell in step beside him, once more feeling awkward and unsure what to do or say. What was wrong with her?

"I made sure they had my number so Peggy could call if she wanted. It was good to talk to her again. To hear about her life."

Steve might have been relaxed, but Quinn could hear the faint strain in his voice as he spoke—it was still hard for him to face what he'd lost out on. She wanted to take his hand, offer him some comfort, but she wasn't sure she should touch him. Instead, she led the way out of Willow Grove and across the street to a small park, Steve following without question. She found a semi-secluded bench under some of the willow trees giving the park and retirement home their names and sank down on it.

"You were right," Steve said as he settled beside her. "She's the same person she was."

Quinn made a vague noise, still unsure what to say.

Thankfully, it didn't seem to matter too much at the moment.

"She told me about her late husband, her children… Have you met them?"

"Only once. We didn't really talk too much." Quinn rubbed her bad leg, massaging along the scar. "She told me about them though. She's proud of them."

Steve nodded, finally turning to look at Quinn; she could see the pain in his eyes, the pain he was trying to hold back. "And her husband?"

"I never met him, no. Peggy and I would usually meet for lunch or dinner somewhere, so it was just the two of us. Sometimes Coulson." Quinn sighed, wishing she knew what to do to help Steve. "I hope you two get a chance to talk some more," she said quietly.

"Me too." Steve sighed as well and sank back against the bench, his eyes watching a few people walk along the path through the park. "It might hurt, but I'm glad she got to be happy." His voice was quiet, as it usually got when he started thinking about his past. "We never really talked about what might happen after the war. We were too busy just trying to get to the other side of it."

"Did you ever think about the future?" Quinn asked cautiously.

"More and more towards the end, when it seemed like we were finally getting ahead of HYDRA. I thought about it a lot in the plane. I was never really…" Steve shook his head and then stood up. "Let's head back to the hotel. I could use some dinner."

Quinn got to her feet, her leg protesting a bit. She wasn't going to push; if Steve wanted to change the subject, they would, and if he wanted to talk about it more, she would listen. "Sounds good. Maybe we can find a movie from your list to watch."

"I'd like that."