Ian Quinn had never felt so inferior in his life. He was in a room with a single bunk, toilet, and sink, wearing the scraps of a grey jumpsuit, with nothing to do accept stare at a wall and sleep. Food was passed through a slot under the door twice a day, usually water, a hard, cold biscuit, a slab of unidentifiable meat, and some squishy object, supposedly passing as a vegetable.
He had been detained for a week now, ever since Agent Triplett had thrown him inside and locked the door. There was a small bulb, hanging from the ceiling, providing the only source of light in the 10x10 room. He knew the dimensions because he paced them every day. It was the only thing from keeping him from going insane.
The Clairvoyant had promised him safety, life. But here he was, stuck in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, probably going to be killed or interrogated any day now. He had kept his mouth shut for the most part on Coulson's plane, but he didn't know how long he could last under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s unfathomable methods of interrogation.
On his 10th night in the room, Ian laid out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. What else was he supposed to do? He was nearly falling asleep, when the bulb was extinguished. "Great," he sighed, wondering if things could get any worse. They could.
He heard someone at the door, and thought mildly that they were there to replace the light. He heard the click of the door being unlocked, and the stealthy footsteps of two people entering the room. He was startled when someone grabbed him roughly by the wrists (how could they see in the pitch black darkness filling the room?) and handcuff him to the bed post. In the background, he heard someone else pulling a couple of chairs into the room.
"What's going on? Who are you?" he heard himself ask. He didn't like that he could almost feel the person closest to him smile before saying "Your worst nightmare." The person who spoke was a man, and he had a low, gravely voice, that sent a shiver through Ian's spine; his voice said that he was more than capable of killing him very painfully.
The man walked away from him, and Ian heard him settle into one of the chairs. He guessed that the other person was sitting in the second chair.
"What do you want?" Ian stammered into the tense silence.
He heard the man laugh. "It's not about what we want. It's about what we believe in."
Ian was puzzled. What did that mean? "I'm not giving anything up on the Clairvoyant, so don't even bother asking," he said, hoping he sounded somewhat brave.
He heard a woman's laugh. "You think we give a damn about the Clairvoyant? That's not our job, or our clearance level. That's level nine. But what is our level, is what happened to an agent named Coulson. Reckon you've heard of him."
Ian snorted. Someone hit him in the stomach-hard. He coughed, wincing in pain. "Oh, grow a pair. That's nothing compared to getting shot. Imagine your pain, quadrupled, times two. Because that's how many times you shot Agent Skye, wasn't it?" Still sputtering, Ian mumbled something unintelligible.
The woman spoke up again. "Maybe you should hit him again Barton. I don't think he got the message." Another blow was given to Ian's stomach. He yelled, pulling his knees up to his chest.
"What do you want?" Ian asked again. He realized that was a stupid thing to do.
He felt someone yank his hair back roughly, and the hot breath of the man on his face. "I don't like to repeat myself. We're here because we learned you've been causing quite a bit of trouble with our friend Coulson, and we don't like that. Not one bit."
The man threw Ian back. "I know you know Coulson died, and that you aren't exactly clear on how he was brought back to life, but he's alive, and that's what matters. Why Fury neglected to inform us that he was alive, I don't know, but we know now, so I plan to continue defending my friend Coulson from people like you who have no right to be interfering with his job. If there is one thing I've learned about Coulson, it's that he doesn't appreciate people bothering him while he is working, and that he doesn't like being helped. Which is why we cut the power to your room, so no one would know we were here. And you're not going to tell them we were here, are you?"
Silence.
"Are you?" This time it was the woman who spoke, and she was close. She was holding a blade at his throat; he could feel the cool metal against his skin.
"No, no I won't," he sputtered, trying to pull away.
"Good," she said simply, returning to her chair. "After we learned Coulson was alive, naturally, we wanted to go see him, but my partner here came up with an even better idea; to take down anyone who tries to hurt our dear friend. Of course, there were times when we couldn't be there, like when Mike Peterson surfaced, or when Rena took Coulson; we still had jobs at S.H.I.E.L.D. But we kept a close eye on him. I'm surprised he hasn't realized we've been watching him."
Ian interrupted. "Why are you telling me this? Are you going to kill me?"
The woman laughed a cruel and cold laugh. "Not unless you want me too," her voice drifting over him, freezing the blood in his veins. He could almost feel her knife blade itching to be stabbed into his heart.
"Easy Nat. We have nothing to gain from killing him, other than a suspension, a few weeks training with the rookies, and another nightmare to add to the list." Ian heard the woman mumble something in a foreign language. Russian maybe? The man laughed. "Oh, it would be fun, but Fury would be pissed. Besides; I think it will be more fun scaring him to death rather than kill him ourselves."
Ian shivered. Whoever these people were, they were scary enough already. They were talking about murdering him as casually as if they killed people on a regular basis. "So, to the point," came the man's voice. "After hearing you shot one of Coulson's agents twice in the stomach, I was pretty pissed. Actually punched out a wall. Nat here made a few dents herself, but calmed down enough to take us both the medical. Luckily for you we had our hands in casts for the past week. Otherwise our visit would have come sooner.
"You want to know why we were so mad? It's because you injured one of Coulson's family members. Whoever works with Coulson for an extended amount of time becomes family to him, as Nat and I have experienced. That whole team on the bus with him, is his family. Coulson is very protective of his family. Very protective. You should be lucky you're alive. When Nat got shot and was in medical, unconscious for a few weeks, Coulson tracked down the guy responsible, and put a bullet through his head. He was back by the time she woke up. Family means a lot to Coulson, so we knew he was undoubtedly hurt by you shooting Skye. We don't like it when someone hurts Coulson."
Voices and footsteps could be heard far away, outside of the room, and they were coming closer.
"We came here to tell you and your stupid psychic to knock it off. You aren't going to win. Barton and I are personally here to guarantee that you learn nothing pertaining to Coulson's revival. I don't give a damn why you need that information, but I do know that you aren't going to get it. And if we get wind that Coulson has been injured, abducted, or harmed in any way, well, let's just put it this way. We may not be able to get our hands on the Clairvoyant, but we can sure as hell get our hands on you. And mark my words, we will. So you better communicate to your little friend right now and tell them to leave Coulson the hell alone, because if they don't, we won't be so generous as to keeping you alive next time. Say the Clairvoyant doesn't value your life? Well, tell them we'll hunt them down too. Shouldn't be too hard right? Between the two of us, Barton and I know plenty enough techniques that will make you squeal. Keep your hands off Coulson. Understood?"
Ian nodded, thought about speaking up and saying yes aloud because of how dark the room was, but then remembered the two could obviously see well enough in the dark.
"Good. And don't say a word to anyone about our visit, or we'll be back. That's a promise."
Ian winced as he felt the man near him, unlocking the handcuffs. He expected to hear the door open and the chairs being drug back out, but all he heard was a shuffling noise, a click, then silence.
Five minutes after the mysterious couple left, four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushed into the room, their guns drawn with flashlights attached to the barrel. Ian held up his hands as the lights were aimed on him, and they remained that way, until the power suddenly flicked back on.
Once the agents were sure Ian was secure, they left the room, dragging from the room two chairs that had been stacked on top of one another and placed under the air vent. The chairs were the only thing that made Ian sure that the past thirty minutes hadn't been a dream.