3 Months Later
Lola sat on the bed, facing the blank white wall. It had been painted over since her productive grief. Her eyes were tired, blinking slowly and deliberately. Her laptop was on the floor, abandoned. The tips of her toes brushed the white floor.
The door opened.
"Get back to work, McGuffin."
"I'm taking a break."
Fury was silent, and the silence was somehow more oppressive than his voice.
"I'm taking a break."
"You know what this training means."
"What?" She launched herself off the bed. "Tell me, Fury. What does it mean? You say that I'm protecting my country. But how can I do that in here, watching training videos, when everyone else is fighting out there?" she spat out.
For a moment, he simply looked at her and said nothing before finally saying, "You're on your way to being a full-fledged Agent, McGuffin. It would be very foolish of you to give up now."
"But I couldn't give up even if I wanted to, could I?"
He didn't give an answer. Lola stepped closer, her eyes squinting slightly. "Could I?"
"No. You've seen too much of the operation. But if you become an Agent, we can trust you enough to give you clearance to roam."
"So, in other words, I'm a prisoner."
"No, you're an agent in training."
"In training, my ass! I can't leave the Helicarrier, I can't call my parents, I'm not even supposed to leave this room!" Her voice grew louder as anger and realization clouded her judgment.
"Lola, you're enduring one of the most rigorous training programs we have to offer. You're going to have to make some sacrifices if you want to-"
"No," she interrupted, "I've been making too damn many sacrifices. I've been locked up here for two years, and I want out."
"Out isn't something I can give you." With those final words, he turned and disappeared through the glass door in a flurry of black fabric.
Lola turned to the open window, and the breeze lightly brushed the stray hairs off her face.
Natasha Romanoff walked down to where a few other agents were working on the computer.
"Have any of you seen Barton lately?"
"Not for a while," one answered. "Probably went out for some fresh air. He's always talking about how he 'can't stand these goons.'"
She sighed and her hands glided along the rail as she used it to support her weight.
Barton had been on some pretty thin ice lately. If he wasn't careful now, his actions could result in a reprimanding for the whole Helicarrier crew.
She looked up, out the window at the still landscape. They had stopped for supplies, but she had no idea where he would go here, in the middle of nowhere.
With a short huff, she pushed herself up and walked away.
The man in question was sitting at a bar, about a mile away from where the Helicarrier was stopped. The bartender motioned toward the empty glass in Clint's hand, asking if he wanted it refilled. He shook his head. The bartender walked out.
He checked his watch quickly. Although he didn't want to, he would probably have to start heading back soon, or Angry Man would start showing the proof behind his nickname.
The door opened behind him, and the bell at the top clanged loudly. Clint turned around and watched as a slim redhead slowly made her way to the bar. Her face was slightly flushed, and a black backpack was slung across her shoulders. She sat down two seats away from him and put her head down for a second as she waited for the bartender to come back. Clint watched intently, curious to see what secrets lay underneath the wild mass of red curls.
Eventually he returned and the girl lifted her head.
"Excuse me, sir. I'm unfamiliar with this area. Can you tell me where the nearest hotel is?"
The man proceeded to give her directions.
"If you keep walking down that street, you'll come to a little inn in... about fifteen minutes, if you're on foot."
"Thank you."
She stood up wearily to leave.
"Wait," Clint called.
She turned around.
He was surprised by her eyes. They were a piercing shade of blue, and they were wide and innocent and tired and terrified all at the same time.
"Why don't you stay and have a drink?"
She stood for a moment, looking outside anxiously before turning back to him.
"Yeah... yeah, I think I will."
Angry Man stood on the bridge, his hands resting on the rail that Black Widow had been leaning on a half hour later. He watched with one eye as the agents swarmed beneath him. Some clacked away at computers, some milled about distributing papers and supplies.
Agent Maria Hill jogged up to him. He lazily swung around to hear what she had to say.
"Sir!" She stopped to catch her breath.
"Sir, there's a major problem with the-"
At that moment, the lights went out, plunging the entire Helicarrier in complete darkness. Shouts were heard from the Agents below.
"...power."
The shouts below began to escalate.
"QUIET DOWN THERE!" Hill bellowed into the darkness.
They instantly fell silent. After a few more moments, the backup power kicked in, and soft blue light illuminated the pathways and dimly lit the larger rooms. Agent Hill turned to the director, the dim light outlining her jaw.
"Sir, what do you want me to do?"
Fury stood in silence for a while, his eye focused on a spot in the distance. Finally, he spoke. "Keep those hooligans in check. I'll take care of this."
He walked down the hallways with long, purposeful strides, making the journey that he had made so many times before. Victor and Joe stood at the door, steadfast.
"Glad to see you're all right sir. Everyone down there okay?" Joe greeted.
"Where's McGuffin?"
"She... she never left the room, sir."
"Like hell, she never left the room." Fury shouldered past them to enter the room himself. "If she never left the room, then tell me. Where. Is. She?"
All that was there was an open window, the curtains that hung off of it fluttering in the night breeze.
Joe's mouth struggled to make words, but no sound came.
In the empty room, the three looked at each other, the soft, blue emergency light outlining the bottom halves of their faces.
