8 YEARS AGO
RUSSIAN HYDRA BASE
This was too much. It burned too much. But I couldn't move. I couldn't run, walk, or even crawl away from this pain. It was in my skin. Everything in front of me was tinged grey, like I was looking through some kind of hazy screen.
I felt the scrambled piece of glass on the pavement pierce the skin of my fingers and my palm. But just that. Not the searing pain sure to follow such a wound. Only the odd sensation of something breaking the skin.
My body felt numb. Buzzed. I mustered up the strength to force my head up. And it was a mistake. The Hydra base was up in flames. Completely engulfed in the yellow orange heat. There was no way there'd be survivors after that.
A familiar masculine voice echoed through the carnage, making my heart beat right out of my chest. "Sam? Sam!" It was Grant. A pang of guilt sprang up in my chest for not thinking of him sooner.
I swallowed hard, against the constrictions of my desert of a throat, and rose my voice to the highest octave possible in that moment. "Here! I'm-" A hoarse, seal like cough ripped through my trachea, leaving behind a sharp sting. "I'm here!"
I hoped it was loud enough for him to hear, wherever he was. My numb fingertips gripped at the concrete beneath my body and I tried pulling. I tried with every ounce of strength I had. But my muscles couldn't move.
A sharp, burning pain deep in my bones pierced my left side and I gave it a rest with an audible wince. Heat was rolling down my left temple. I was bleeding, I knew. Though it took too much strength to find out why. I just couldn't.
"Sam! Oh, Sam..." I felt a presence at my side following the sound of his voice.
"It's better than it looks," I tried to assure.
I could hear him sigh. His hands were slightly raised above his lap from where he knelt inches from me, like he wanted to touch me, put me back together, or comfort me somehow but he didn't know what to do. "We need to go," he finally said. "Evac is in twenty. Can you move your legs?"
It almost sounded like it pained him to ask. I nodded a little. "Yeah..." I groaned, willing the muscles in my calves to move, to wiggle, to do anything but sit there. "I think so. Mm, maybe not. I can't."
"Okay. This is gonna hurt."
Just do it. As I thought that, he swung my right arm over his shoulder and lifted, pulling me up quickly to my feet as he stood. He was right. It hurt. It felt like my body was being ripped in half at the waist. A muffled scream escaped me and I clung to him, desperate for the pain to stop.
It was like everything hit me in that moment. The pain from the blast, the glass in my hands, and whatever happened to my side all broke through the numbness at the same time. "It's okay, I've got you. I'm gonna get you out of here," he said, slightly out of breath.
Standing, I could see his face. He looked virtually untouched. Except for the gash on his right leg. I could tell in the way he moved for the first few steps that something wasn't right, so I looked down. And that's when I saw it.
My head bumped oddly into the side of his and at first I groaned from the jostling of my brain. But I tried to stay a little more to the left. "Sorry," I groaned.
"I think that's the least of our worries," he waved it away. He still sounded out of breath, strained. With practically dragging me across the concrete littered with shrapnel and glass I can see why. "Did you get it?" I asked.
"Get what?"
"The file, did you get the file?" I pressed, more urgently.
A smirk spread across his chapped lips. "You think I would've left that place without it? It's in my pocket. You can check if you want."
"Well, at least Fury won't kill us completely," I sighed.
"Not completely," he agreed, playing along with the dry sarcasm presented him. "Maybe a quarter of the way. Or a half, considering the base is destroyed."
"I'll settle for a half."
PRESENT DAY
S.H.I.E.L.D. SAFE HOUSE
Sometimes it's hard to tell the days apart. If I didn't have a clock or a calendar I'd think it was still last week. Sitting on the back porch of the farm house in the ratty old chair some poor S.H.I.E.L.D. sap was tasked with moving.
Curled up on it's cushion with my knees to my chest, a blanket around my shoulders, and a warm cup of coffee in my hands. This is how it should be. Cozy and warm in the brisk of the morning waiting for the sun to rise above the tree line surrounding the property.
I don't belong in the fight. I don't belong in S.H.I.E.L.D. Not anymore. At least, that's what I've told myself every day since Russia. Every day. I've suffered enough for the cause. I deserve to leave and be on my own.
But sometimes it all comes back to me, and I wonder what I was thinking leaving the Helicarrier. And I think of all the missions I completed. All of the people that only knew my face right before it was all over for them. One thing in particular hits me a little harder than necessary.
The day I officially left S.H.I.E.L.D. for the safe house. It was right at the forefront of my mind, and I almost saw it. I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool morning breeze. But the most unfamiliar sound broke any and all thoughts from my mind, except one: since when did the telephone work?
Apparently it's worked the whole time. I pried myself from my cozy perch on the chair, leaving behind the blanket, and walked fast into the house. Then to the kitchen. More specifically, the counter by the door, where the handset was based.
The number across the small screen was unfamiliar. But I recognized the first few numbers. It was a S.H.I.E.L.D. number. For a moment I thought better of it. I told myself no. It didn't last long. My fingers quickly snatched the phone off the base, pressing the green button.
I answered, "Who are you and how did you get this number?"
"Samantha. It's good to hear your voice."
"Coulson?" I paused. The blood in my veins froze right along with the rest of me. It was quiet on his end for a short moment, and every inch of my being was crawling with anticipation. What could be so important? What was enough to make him call me after all this time?
Why not call Barton or Romanoff? At least they're still in the field, as far as I know. "We need you," Coulson finally said, sounding a bit reluctant.
"You know I don't do that anymore," I reminded, resting a hand on my hip. I tried to remain calm. To hold myself back. But there was a war waging inside me. Deep in my bones. Half of me begged to say yes to whatever he offered.
And the other half of me was pleading with me to just say no. To stay in the simple life, out of harm's way. I held my breath waiting for him to reply. "I know," he answered. I can almost picture him nodding. "It's Ward."
That was enough. Just two words to bring it all back, to push me into the conversation, like a wave of ice water rushing down my body. "How do I get to you?"
"We're landing at the airfield just north of the farm in an hour," he clarified, calmly and evenly.
I inhaled. "I'll be there."
With that said, I ended the call on my side, docking the phone back on it's base and trotted upstairs to my bedroom. No matter the circumstance, I need to go. I can't stand by if Ward is in trouble. Ward. It sounds so wrong.
I only ever called him Grant. Under direct orders, I was to be called Agent 15 in any public setting or even around other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. But usually it was just '15'. Or Sam. He'd only called me Sam for a few weeks before Russia.
It was muscle memory. I packed a duffel bag with only the clothes I knew I'd absolutely need, making sure to pack a few extra clips for the glock I slid into my belt at my lower back, throwing on some palatable clothes before heading out to the barn.
Pushing open the tall door, sending a wave of a hay-dust mixture up into the air. The opening revealed a car shape beneath a black cover. I'd put it there myself almost three years ago. Now, peeling it off felt wrong. Almost too wrong.
But the sight of my silver jaguar could've made my heart stop completely. I gave a low whistle. "I missed you, girl," I hummed, opening the driver's side door. "Wanna go for a ride?" A car. I am talking to a car. As you can see, the retirement has done me well.
I started the engine, revving the gas a few times, and the roaring purr vibrated my bones switching it into gear. I tried to take it slow. Ease myself back into this lifestyle. Ease myself into the idea of being apart of something like S.H.I.E.L.D. again.
Though I couldn't help myself. I drove over the speed limit the whole leg of my trip by car. I knew where the airfield was; that's where I was dropped off when I first got to this dinky little farm town.
I swerved onto the runway and there it was. Coulson's plane. The bay down was open and a figure was standing at the top. It had to be him. I eased off the gas, gradually slowing my speed enough to slide to a stop before I could hit the ramp.
Cutting the engine and climbing out of the car seemed to be simultaneous. Swinging my duffel over my shoulder while sliding on my sunglasses, kicking the door closed with my boot heel. "Glad you could make it," Coulson greeted.
"Not sure I had a choice," I replied, a bit more blunt than I was going for, as I trotted up the ramp to meet him at the top. As soon as I was up, he turned and started walking deeper into the bay, expecting me to follow.
Like I always used to. It'd gotten to the point where we knew each other so well, how we thought and acted, that we didn't have to even ask questions. Because we just knew. There was no need. Well, except maybe for the people around us.
I sighed, breathing in that new car smell the S.H.I.E.L.D. plains always seemed to carry. "So, are you going to tell me why I'm here?" I inquired, glancing at him.
"Ward's with Hydra. Has been the whole time." I could hear the words. Hearing wasn't the problem. My feet stopped in their place and almost instinctively Coulson stopped as well. Only then did I pull off my glasses.
I need to look him in the eye. I need him to look me in the eye. "Coulson, what are you talking about? If it wasn't for Ward I would never have made it out of Russia," I reminded, keeping my voice low.
"I know. Sam...this is hard for the whole team. None of us wanted to believe it. But it happened. Now we need your help to track him down," Coulson replied. He was obviously trying to act like it didn't affect him.
When, I knew for a fact, that it did. I clenched my jaw and adjusted my weight to lean back on my heels to look left, out the open bay door. There was no way Coulson was mistaken. Not about something like this.
He had to be telling the truth. And that means that the man that I used to call friend, the man that saved my life too many times to recall, was working for the very group my father founded. I took a deep breath in.
It felt like my rib cage was closing in. I couldn't get a solid breath. But a shot of anger hit my chest, only gaining speed as it reached the pit of my stomach, settling in deep in my bones. I looked to Coulson and nodded. "Alright then. Show me your computer."
He nodded. "Right this way."
He started into a hallway through a door, and I followed shortly behind. All the way a room with a large touch screen table and monitor. The tech was accompanied by what I assumed was Coulson's team.
All four of them almost immediately disbanded their conversation, their heads turning our way. "This is Agent 15," Coulson introduced, slowing to a stop just before the table. Then he looked to me. "This is Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, Skye, and of course you already know Agent May."
He gestured around the table as he said each name. My eyes stopped on May when he finally reached her. She wore a light up-turning of lips that I recognized as the only sort of smile that woman could manage. I smirked as she took a step around the table, and held out a hand.
Her hand clasped in mine in a kind of hand shake greeting, like old friends do. "Last place I ever expected to see you again," I commented. "Especially considering last time we met, you hit me in the face."
She smirked a little in return, taking a step back. "I told you that was apart of the act."
"You know you liked it," I replied, lightly sarcastic, then I turned to see the others. "Nice to see where Coulson's been spending his days. And, no, you don't have to call me 'Agent 15' all the time. Just call me Sam."
"Why 'Agent 15'?" Skye asked, curiously, bent to lean her forearms atop the table.
"That's a story for another day. A very, very long one. For the time being, though, I hear you have a lost agent?" I said it like a question. Like this was first time I was hearing about it.
The one called Fitz huffed a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, you could call it that."
"What my colleague means to say, is that Ward was never really an agent," Simmons corrected, her accent clean and clipped around every word.
"He's a traitor," Skye huffed, eyes downcast.
"I know a thing or two about that, don't I, Coulson?" I glanced to Coulson and he only gave me a cautioning look, as if to warn me to watch my mouth in front of the group. So I nodded once and looked back to the sour faces of his team. "If someone could show me how to use this thing, I can get started."
"We have to get back to the lab, but it was very nice meeting you, Agent- um- Sam," Simmons said, corrected herself mid-sentence as she and Fitz backed out the other side of the room. They disappeared into the hall out the back door.
Skye stood, sighing. "I'll show you."
She sounded like she wanted to be polite and volunteer, but she felt too bitter to actually act like it. I let my duffel bag drop off my shoulder to the floor beside the table, then sidestepped up next to Skye to see what she was doing.
It was actually quite simple. It just took me a moment to retrain my muscles to using S.H.I.E.L.D.'s technology. I haven't seen a touch screen in seven years. I could tell Skye obviously had made some kind of connection with Ward.
It was in the way she spoke, in the way she acted and reacted, it was al over her face. She was more than a betrayed teammate. She was a woman scorned. So, finally, while the computer was running a preliminary search, I asked. "What was your relationship with Agent Ward?"
She didn't say anything at first, just quickly looked at me, almost like I'd caught her in the shower. I crossed my arms, leaning a hip into the table. "I...I don't know..." she stammered a little, extremely slow to speak.
"Seems more than an 'I don't know'," I pointed out, narrowing my eyes skeptically.
She sighed heavily, looking around, then down. Anywhere but at me. "I don't know, I guess...I thought we had something. I thought he cared," she shrugged, looking up to me. "But I guess not."
I just nodded and turned back to the computer. It figures. Isn't this what I wanted, from all those years ago? For him to move on? To find someone else? Russia didn't just put an end to me and my career as an Agent, it put an end to us.
I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle commitment. There was a moment when I thought I could, that maybe I could manage what happened to me and be normal. But it only took a second for that way of thinking to be gone.
Only to be replaced with whatever it is that I am now. I still have no idea. A sudden blurt from the screen pulled me from my thoughts, and I stood up straighter. "Well, well, well," I hummed.
"He's in Denver?" Skye asked, rhetorically.
"Some college campus just south of it, yeah," I replied, my fingers dance fast across the table. Using the street cameras and satellite images, I could narrow it down. "Get Coulson."