2015

The Rambler Stand started to fill out around eight, as it typically did on a Saturday evening. It was why the restaurant closed on Sundays, rest and church. It'd been like that since Old West owned the joint and she kept the tradition, even though church was a little so-going or no-going in recent years. Saturday nights though, they were always the most interesting, the most entertaining, and the most tiring. For her staff of six, three of which were in the back, it was always taxing.

It only got worse during football season, with the restaurant being midway between two rival high schools.

Nothing like the picture shows, but still entertaining. She could hear the dull roar of conversation and music, laughs, and the occasional shout. Some of the pressure of the communal-seating dining room gave way to the porch out front, where folks sat with their iced teas.

"—got a debate brewing at Table Five. The Double Docs are at it again." Vanna Lou perched at the window, running a hand down her purple apron. "The Kids at Twelve are snapchatting it."

Of course they were. The doc debates were legendary. Edith snorted, settling a piece of chocolate silk pie into a small white bowl. She spun to the fridge and withdrew two more boxes.

"You can come help out here anytime, sweetheart. Maybe you can distract some people." Edith didn't know how much distraction she could provide, but— "Come wrangle in the bickering."

And the middle-aged blonde woman disappeared again.

"It's like whack-a-mole." Mike grinned from where he looked to be frying something. "Next time she pops up like that, whack her with a spoon."

"Nah, man. You really want Van to whine all night?" Omar let out a loud laugh, pointing his spatula at Edith. "You should humor her, Ellie. She'll bring it up every time now until ya do what she wants."

Sighing, Edith knew he was right. Vanna Lou was the motherly figure of the restaurant (not knowing Edith's age) and took it upon herself to be as domineering as she could manage with so little a frame. So she went ahead and prepared what she knew would get the docs to settle down.

"You gonna go for it, El?"

"I'm out. Obie, take over. Corner!"

She balanced four pies on her serving platter, weaving through mismatched tables, tossing a smile over her shoulder when she saw a group of regulars at the corner booth. The place was thriving with energy, the jukebox cranking out tunes that got people up and out of their seat near the stage at the back.

"Y'all behave over there!" There was a round of laughs and she zeroed in on the Doctors usual table at the window, coming to stand in front of it. "What's this I hear about an argument, fellas?" Her attention flickered over to where the group of teenagers (fondly called 'The Kids') sat holding up their camera phones and giggling. "Y'all gonna keep arguin' or do you want some pie?"

She sat a pie slice pointedly in front of Dr. Jamal.

"Can't we do both? Been comin' here ten years and we can always do both."

Dr. Jamal was a nice old man who worked at the community college down the street. He was the head of the music department now, a jazz pianist the likes of which she had never heard before. He leaned back and looped his thumbs into his pockets.

"C'mon, Ellie. You know it ain't right what happened." She just raised her brows, settling the pies in front of the other three men. Apple, caramel apple, silk. "It's a disaster and you and I both know they ain't gonna do a thing about it. Not a dang thing. They didn't do anything after New York. Why would they do a thing now?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone. What more do you want them to do?" Dr. Ryan was Jamal's favorite sparring buddy. Their friends, fellow staff members at the school, just watched the exchange, clearly comfortable with taking a backseat to the conversation. "They'll have an inquiry."

"Doesn't mean it'll do jack, David." Dr. Jamal took a large bite of his pie and smiled slyly around it. Edith took a breath and began to turn, knowing where this was going to head. Best to get the hell out of— "Whaddya think, Ellie? Got any opinions on it?" He knew she did.

She waved her hand and dismissed it, tucking the tray under her arm. "I got plenty o' opinions, Doc. They don't help me run this joint, so they ain't worth much thought."

He snorted, shaking his head as he gestured toward the far wall. Seeing his point and noticing a couple other tables, filled out with new or newly-regular customers, listening into the exchange, Edith pursed her lips and shifted her weight.

"Gotta appreciate a good hero. All the heroes. Besides, wasn't it leaked that HYDRA was at fault for this mess?" She wondered if her tone was getting a bit defensive. As an afterthought, she turned and gave the old men a smile. "Doesn't help that Captain America is one fine looking man"

She heard The Kids give a whoop before dissolving into hysterics.

Edith rolled her eyes, deciding to move over to talk with them for a bit. They sat a bit straighter, as they always did. The Kids respected the place, she made sure of it. There was five of them, each from the high school to the north.

"Hey, Miss E." The skinniest kid—she really did need to make him eat more, he was bones—held up a hand for her to shake. Good manners. "It's real busy tonight." She moved to settle herself on the open part of the bench seat, grinning at the kids.

"It's busy every Saturday, Gabe."

Gabe… She quickly looked to where Maddie sat, bracing her arms on the table, pushing that thought from her mind.

"Your mom doin' okay, hun?"

"She had chemo this week."

Edith nodded, smiling sadly. "Well, you know the drill. Y'all need anything, you call me. You got my number. I can bring some food over. It's not a problem and you know it. Tell your mom."

Maddie just nodded, eating a spoonful of pie and lowering her head. Her attention focused on Avery next, always finding him to be the most personable of the group. He always seemed to shine with energy, reminding her of others from the past that seemed to carry the same spirit of exuberance. This Saturday was no different.

"You stayin' out of trouble, Ave?"

"Nope." He laughed. "Hey, Miss E? Can we mess with the jukebox?"

Edith pushed herself up, giving him a stern look as her hands went to her hips. "On the two conditions: one, no non-stop showtunes. You annoyed the ever-lovin' hell out of everyone last time." They burst into laughter, guffaws mixed with giggles. "Two, no Lil' Jon. If you're gonna pick a rapper, you're gonna pick someone good." All eyes went to Gabe, who must've been at fault for the Lil' Jon fiasco. "And if you play 'What's New Pussycat' again because of that one comedian or whatever, I'll boot all of you to the curb."

She was already halfway across the dining room when she heard them chorus that it was 'three conditions!' She waved them off regardless. She trusted them not to get too crazy, and at this time of night, some new music was sorely needed. Pandora had already played the same song twice.

She could only listen to Mumford & Sons so many times before she wanted to throw something.

Instead of heading back to the kitchen—she was sure Mike, Obie, and Omar could handle it since the tables were slowly starting to empty—she went out to the porch. Winnie, bright little pixie Winnie, held the door open for her, grinning as she headed inside to get more drinks. "Everyone doing alright out here? Behavin' yourselves?" The regulars chorused their very innocent agreements.

"Ellie, c'mon over here."

She walked over to where a middle-aged man held out an arm for a hug. He was about two times or three times her size, all muscle and with a beard that made him maybe the most intimidating man in the restaurant. Except, Quint was one of the kindest and gentlest men she'd ever known. They always traded tattoo stories. She gave him a quick embrace before leaning down to hug his wife as well.

"Jimmy here was just tellin' us about all the shenanigans goin' down up in D.C. He was there when the whole thing happened."

Edith jerked her head around to the man in the adjoining rocking chair. He held up his hands.

"I'm okay, Ellie. I was at the Kennedy Center when it happened. Saw the whole damn thing."

Edith felt like the breath had been knocked out of her, moving to lean against the railing with her arms crossed. She eyed him critically, glancing to his fiancée, who was nodding along with a nervous expression on her face. Her hands trailed to her stomach absent-mindedly. Somehow, Edith had thought that her customer base would go unscathed. That this little community had somehow avoided the disaster in Washington. That they would somehow avoid all of it.

"You're not hurt?"

"I'm fine," he defended.

She'd known Jim Torrent for years, since she'd taken over the place back in '05. He lived outside of Washington, made the hour commute just to stay away from the dangers of downtown.

"Coulda been a lot worse."

Well, yeah. She knew that, but it didn't change how bad it was. She'd thought— A nervous thrill wound through her stomach, tangling somewhere beneath her heart.

"We had to keep the kids downstairs so they wouldn't see. I got up and out when the helicarrier started to fall." A tense silence fell over their end of the porch. Edith kept her arms crossed, eyes studying her shoes for a few moments. "Saw the Cap take a tumble in the water. He's lucky he survived."

Steve had survived, she knew. He'd been in the hospital for a week. All she knew from the news was that he was alive. For a few hours though, just like back when the aliens attacked New York, she'd thought…

But Steve seemed capable of surviving anything, didn't he?

Except, how was he surviving?

S.H.I.E.L.D. had been HYDRA all along, and he'd been working for them. They'd hunted him. The whole idea of it set her on edge, made her stomach church with anger and guilt.

She just—

Edith nodded, plastering on an almost-believable smile. "He is the Cap after all." She pushed off the railing. "Can I get y'all anything from inside?"

"Nah, we're gonna call it a night. Gettin' too old to hang out like teenagers."

"Yeah? I got five inside you can compare notes with."

As if on cue, Macklemore started rapping. Her head dropped, a laugh escaping her at the whoop the kids let out.

"Speaking of…I need to go wrangle some wayward youths." They laughed at her put-upon tone. Her attention refocused on Jim. "Glad you're okay."

"Me too."

The rest of the night went on as usual. Customers cleared out around midnight. The stragglers were put into cabs and sent on their way. Eventually, it was an empty dining room and five more songs set on the jukebox. Each Saturday, The Kids did this. They'd play whatever and then five songs for the cleanup. It was their way of tipping, she figured, since they never did leave tips. She knew why though and never held it against them. Those five never did have steady or good home lives. A few quarters spent on songs were all they could give in return for a safe Saturday night. It was part of the reason she always made sure that Vanna Lou got her deserved tips right from her pocket.

As the owner, it was her job to make sure everyone was taken care of.

Taken care of in the way that Old West had never, ever cared to do.

She'd sworn to herself, when she started renovating the joint in '05, that she'd make the memories new.

Make them better.

The old dance hall no longer reminded her of the slouches and ten cents a swing.

"We're out, Ellie! Kitchen's prepped. I'll be in Monday!"

She heard Mike and Obie heading out the back to their cars, leaving Omar finishing up the dishes. Maddie and Vanna were finishing getting the trash together, leaving with calls of 'see you next week.' Before long, she was wrapping up mopping, moving all the tables back to their proper positions. It was down to a science at this point, each person knowing their exact tasks and what had to be done before heading home for the night. Zach left around one, tossing out a casual reminder that he was visiting his grandparents in Richmond the next week and that he'd already let Adam know to come in for the extra shifts.

She intended to hire Adam full-time after this. The young man hung around enough anyway.

By the time the fifth song ended—Def Leppard's "Rock of Ages"— she was done with the last tasks.

Two trash bags had been left for her to toss on the way to her truck and then she could head home for a shower and a much-needed day off. A much needed day to think. Edith flipped the lights, grabbed the two bags (the lightest ones, she smiled), and sang the chorus of the last song as she stepped out the back door, pushing the keys into the lock before turning.

"Still rollin', keep rollin'."

At least Steve was still alive, she reminded herself.

He'd survived. At least he—

Everything went white and she hit the ground, dropping like a bag of potatoes. Sucking in a breath, Edith struggled to get up, pushing herself backwards as quickly as possible until she was leaning against the door. The pain was so intense that it was hard to breathe. There was a figure standing over her, a looming presence in a black hoodie and darkness underneath. She blinked, looking at the knife in his hand as he frantically brandished it. It glinted off the parking lot lights. He wasn't paying attention to the fact that her hand was behind her back.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What a stupid kid.

"Give me the money!"

Though her ears were still ringing and her eyes were bleary— what the hell did he hit her with? a brick?—she managed to whip the gun from under her shirt, aiming it up at him with steady accuracy that startled him into an unsteady step back. His hood fell away from his face.

He looked young, face still too-round, eyes still too-innocent. Too young. Young, but stupidly determined. But scared. So scared of that gun she was holding. Scared of consequences and mortality. Edith sighed, watching his hand shake as he brandished the knife like a sword.

Stupid kid.

"You think I ain't done this dance before? No. I'm ain't givin' you shit. Get out of here. Try to turn your life around."

His mouth opened, a glare flickered across his face, and he took a hesitant and stupid half-step forward. She flicked the safety off, reaffirming her hold, aiming for his shoulder. Her other arm came up to hold the gun steady and sure.

"Knife to a gun fight, punk. Screw off. Now. I don't wanna hurt you, but I'll do it."

At the low tone of her voice and the steadiness of the gun, he took off running, making a break for the trees out behind the trash bin. When he disappeared out of the lights, Edith closed her eyes and rested her head against the door, lowering the gun to rest on her outstretched leg. She just sat there for a while, until her heart calmed down and she felt like she could stand without her legs shaking. She left the gun on the ground while she stood.

It'd been a while since she'd—

It was taking way more effort than it should have to stand up, requiring her to brace herself on the door and crawl her way upright. Readjusting her shirt, she bent down to retrieve the weapon, settling it at the small of her back again with the safety on. Around her feet were bits of concrete, bits that might've been a clump at some point before he tried to bash her skull in.

Which meant that—

"Son of a gun." Edith huffed, stumbling a bit as she looked out into the trees. "Really?"

The concrete block he'd struck her with shattered on impact like a snowball.

If she'd been anything but what she was, Edith would've been dead.

Story of her damn life.

She picked up the trash and started walking, tossing one bag in and then the other before she went very still, eyes still on the tree line behind the bins.

Something was still wrong. She could sense it, feel it.

Something in the air felt off from most nights, like something invisible was lurking just out of sight. Her eyes skittered around, hands itching to get the gun back out. Just to feel better about it. The tips of her fingers made contact with the gun when it seemed like the air cleared a bit.

Ghosts. Ghosts and senses of a long, long time ago. Maybe it was Steve's predicament that reminded her. Made her mind dream up enemies where they weren't.

Enemies that never seemed to die.

She stared at a space in the trees for a moment longer before yanking the shirt back over the gun, walking to her truck, tossing her purse in, and taking off. She swung out of the parking lot like the Devil was on her heels, spitting gravel into the street. That punk was probably hiding in the underbrush, just waiting for her guard to be down.

Her head wasn't even aching anymore.

"You're still not gonna go see him?"

"It's not my fight."

It was twilight when her cell rang. Colton had taken off around mid-afternoon, telling her that he'd be back to finish the railing around the remaining portion of the porch the following day. His errands were important after all. Edith sat in her folding chair, now comfortably situated on the newly finished outlook porch with her feet propped up on the fresh wood railing. Her cell rattled in the chair's cup holder, Adele's newest single tearing through the speakers. Just as she went to reach for the phone, it stopped ringing.

Her stomach twisted, nervous energy pooling around her heart.

"You're a tough woman to find."

Edith sat forward and lowered her feet from the rail. She could see him in the light from the porch, at the bottom of the stairs. The whirring of the cicadas seemed to almost drown the thunder in her ears, the sound of explosions and shelling and screams. There was a dull hum of boats making their way to the docks on the other side of the lake. Her throat suddenly felt dry, remembering the news and radio reports, the backchannel whispers.

She saw him slip his cellphone into his jacket pocket.

"I'll give you this: Howard gave you a pretty sound cover."

He started to climb the stairs, bracing his arms on either side as he leaned forward one step down. Old leather jacket and a beanie too warm for this humid evening. The sunglasses were a new touch.

"I'm assuming you've heard about what's been going on."

She tried, she honestly tried, not to feel trapped, but the frantic feeling was making her hands shake and she gripped the fabric arms of her chair, setting forward.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding, Sawyer?"

"Honestly," she paused. His brows rose in question, daring her to finish the thought. Edith ignored the thrill of nerves as she released her hold on the chair's fabric. What the hell, he was here anyway. "Honestly, you look like shit."

He snorted.

"Can't say it's good to see you, Nick."

He shrugged, a rare sarcastic smile pulling at his lips.

"Yeah, well. This isn't really my idea of a good weekend either, Sawyer. I'd much rather be watching a game, drinking a beer. You know, the good life. Instead, I'm here." Without an invitation, he moved to unfold another of the fabric chairs, roughly setting it on the other side of the cooler. "Don't act like you're surprised I showed up."

"Considering you were supposed to be dead, yeah gotta say that I am." She sighed. "Frankly, I was expecting a kraken."

Cut off one head…

Edith let her eyes track away from him when he didn't speak immediately, eyes focusing on a log floating out in the lake. The evening ripples might've been calming. She heard the cooler lid open and then the low hiss of a can opening. Well, he at least got the beer he wanted.

"Sorry to disappoint you." She snorted at his tone despite the nervousness, feeling it fade with every wash of waves on the shore. "We're back to basics, back to the heart of it. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s not going away. It's…starting over, starting fresh, starting with people we can trust."

"Too many stubborn people in S.H.I.E.L.D. for it to actually be disbanded anyway."

Edith relaxed a bit into her seat. She saw him nod in her peripheral vision. Howard and Peggy lived and breathed for S.H.I.E.L.D., and, of course, Nick would restart it. Of course.

"So you're here to…what? Recall me? I'm retired. Old folks like me aren't cut out for field work, Nick. I'm not a field agent. Never was."

"You didn't come out of hiding even after Steve Rogers reappeared." His tone was a smack to the face and she felt every bit of it. "You stayed out of it when Earth was invaded by aliens and a Norse smartass was trying to take over the world. And you kept your head under the sand when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell." Edith tried not to let his tone affect her too much, but she turned to face him anyway. His no-shit expression was enough to make her dig her heels in a bit more. "No, you're not gonna come out of hiding just because I ask nicely."

"Didn't anticipate you asking at all, Nick. Much less 'nicely.'"

"I'm a nice person." He said it in a very not-nice way. "We have intel on Sergeant Barnes. You want in?" Nick Fury eyed her, sizing up her reaction. "See, Sawyer? This is me asking nicely."

Edith kept her eyes on the water.

The lake could burn and she would watch the flames instead.

Anything to keep Nick from seeing just how unsettled she really was.

Sergeant Barnes. Not The Winter Soldier.

Edith gritted her teeth.

"Stark and Carter got you out. You'll only come back for your own reasons, not mine. I know that and I don't like to waste my time. It's not like I could throw that one man speech at you and hope something sticks."

Edith snorted under her breath, taking a drink of her beer as it grew even darker outside.

"Truth is, I'm not even Director anymore. Don't have the ability to recall you even if I wanted to. But Stark told me that if anything ever happened, I just needed to look for some ghosts. You're the first person that came to mind. The new Director doesn't have time to chase ghosts, so here I am."

"Consider myself more of a zombie, if I'm honest."

Sighing, she nodded and pushed herself up to stand, looking down at him in the dim light of the porch lantern.

"Me and Howard used to argue about rest stops on the highway. He said they were liminal spaces. Used to argue about it for hours. They freaked him out. Said that was where I was from once. Made me a rest stop. 'Course you probably already know all about that."

Pursing her lips, she leaned against the new railing and crossed her arms, looking down at Nick Fury with a sort of calm she hadn't felt in twenty-some-odd years.

It was high time her past caught up to her.

"Come on in, Nick."

His brows rose. "Coming out of retirement?"

"Giving an old colleague a place to land. Let's not push it. I've got a restaurant to run. Got enough of S.H.I.E.L.D. shenanigans in my youth." She held the back door open for him and he stood slowly, turning to look back at her but not moving. Edith sighed, shaking her head. "My guess is that you're well off the grid by now, Nick. But you need access to the grid. Your network—"

"And you still got that access thirty years out?"

Edith stood a little straighter, the shock and wariness starting to wear off. Now, she was slipping back into a comfortable suit, a comfortable medium from years and years of practice.

This wasn't Edith the Taxi Girl, USO high kicks and grapevines.

Or Eleanor 'Ellie' from The Rambler Stand.

"If you came here for a vacation, Fury, I would've chosen somewhere on the coast."

"Just came from the gulf. I'm not one for tanning."

He walked up, stopping just outside the door. Edith stood at his height, not taking her eyes from his sunglasses. After just a moment of looking her over, from her sweaty t-shirt to her ratty jeans, he stepped inside. The air conditioning brushed her face as she followed, a chill rushing over her shoulders as she moved past the dining room table. She kicked off the tennis shoes in the corner.

"You really took the Suzy Homemaker routine to heart, didn't you?"

She turned as he snatched up a cookie from the plate on the table. Her arms crossed.

"Never got the chance to just be Edith Sawyer. I was always someone else."

"You're not her now either, Ellie." His eyes rolled and he brandished the cookie. "You're still a shit baker, Edith Sawyer."

Edith just snorted, finally allowing her heart rate to settle and slow. This was happening, whether she wanted it to or not. The familiarity of it was enough to ease her mind if only slightly. Especially knowing that she had a couple Aces up her metaphorical sleeves. Things that Fury knew nothing about. Having one up on Nick Fury was always rare.

"So, what? You leave S.H.I.E.L.D. and hide here for nearly thirty years before buying your old haunt?"

"Eleanor Sawyer bought that restaurant. She's 29 from Spokane. Worked at her grandpa's place in Washington until he died and decided to move out east to start her own hole-in-the-wall." Edith crossed her arms. "I'm a little better at the undercover routine than you seem to think, Nick. I got a couple other degrees under a couple different names. I haven't been twiddling my thumbs. I've been living my life."

"You're damn lucky that HYDRA hasn't come knocking yet."

"I've had my share of close encounters with HYDRA and its underlings."

Fury stayed quiet for a long moment, watching her with an almost bored expression. "We're gonna build back from the ground up. HYDRA is not gonna grow any of its damn heads in this new organization. I'll do whatever I have to—to keep that from happening."

There was an undercurrent there, a current that demanded action, demanded her presence.

Demanded her presence for the rebirth of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Edith crossed her arms and leaned on the counter, tracing her foot over the black-and-white tiles under her toes.

"After Janet died, I had very little reason to stay involved. With her gone and Dum-Dum on the ropes, then Howard— it was time for me to throw in the towel." With a sigh, she let her head hang forward. "It's been thirty years since I've seen any action, Fury. I'm not the same person you knew back then. I'm just a lonely retiree widow livin' on a back road."

"I don't know about that, Sawyer. Since I came through that door, I've counted three hidden cameras and two microphones. I've seen about eleven—no, twelve—hidden weapons. Thirteen if you count the gun behind your back. Do you want me to keep going?"

Her head continued to hang forward, a reluctant smile pulling at her lips.

He hadn't changed a bit. Always had been one of the best in the game.

"You're a lot of things, Agent Sawyer. Out of the game isn't one of 'em."

Sighing, Edith decided to just give up. A puff of a laugh left her before she stood straight again.

"You're really something, kid. I'll give you that." Ignoring the indignant look he gave her, she turned on her bare heel and walked toward the formal dining room. "C'mon, soldier. I've got something you might find interesting."

"Not in the mood for games," he muttered as she walked past him. "I am so not in the mood for games."

Stopping in front of the over-filled bookshelf, Edith reached up and pulled at the worn copy of War and Peace that sat at the end of the row. "I've never been good at poker. Used to play with Dum-Dum and Gabe. I always lost."

The reaction was instantaneous. The bookshelf shifted and then parted, revealing a metallic wall upon which a keypad rested. She turned and gave her old colleague a look. It'd been decades, but she would never, ever get tired of that expression: Nick Fury was surprised and, from that unflappable man, it was like winning the lottery.

"You want to know about games, Nick? Try playing the longest game of Battleship with a Russian hitman bent on your eventual and inevitable assassination." Her thin fingers pressed in a fifteen digit passcode, ending with the numbers 1944. "How is Tony by the way? Keeping out of trouble? Nah, nevermind. I bet he's having a hard time getting over that battle. Looked like a rough one, from what I saw. He's been havin' a rough go of it."

"From what you—"

"I'm glad you're checking in on him. He needs that. Pepper will keep him straight, at the very least. If not her, then maybe Steve can jostle him out of it."

A smirk pulled at her lips as she stepped into the elevator. When she turned, Edith saw Nick's slack-jawed expression.

"Remember Grenada?"

"Retired, huh? And don't bring up Grenada. This is nothing like Grenada." He stepped into the elevator and the doors shut behind him. Edith didn't bother to move from where she was leaning against the metallic wall, one of her bare feet pressed up on the paneling. "You know…This doesn't look very retired, Sawyer. Actually, this is the exact opposite. This is very not retired. What the hell is this?"

"I told you. I'm not fit for the field. Not anymore. I got my fill of the field. They got me out, helped me relocate here. Gave me as many identities as I needed. I was Canadian for a while, a long while. I spent some time at Red River helping out where I could. I spent some time in Australia and Korea. I told you: I haven't been twiddling my thumbs."

Walking out, Edith left Nick to trail after with his surprise barely hidden behind his emotionless façade. What a lark. He was trying to act unimpressed and, though many wouldn't be able to see it, he was failing miserably.

"Can't take all the credit, of course. Howard designed it. I've kept it updated over the years though since he died. Took some fancy work to get my hands on some of this tech, but damn, can you really blame me? Tony's a brilliant young man. Of course I'm going to invest in his tech…or steal it. Well, invest is a better term. Keeps him on his toes."

That 'young man' was over forty now though and the thought was utterly sickening.

She held Maria's hand when he was born.

Turning, Edith crossed her arms over her chest.

"I've been guarding S.H.I.E.L.D.'s back, Nick, taking out a few threats that you couldn't see."

"You missed a pretty big one."

Edith nodded solemnly. "I know... Every time we got close, it'd disappear and we'd have to start all over again. You all never saw us in there though and it made me concerned for your computer and tech team. There should've been records. For all that we were doing, as many breadcrumbs as we left, there was nothing. Do a little better with your IT recruiting this time around. That's why I sent Hamilton to get you sorted out."

"Hamilton? You mean the tech analyst? My tech analyst?"

"The same. My guy," Edith shrugged.

Padding across the concrete floor, she grabbed the tablet from the table top and swiped the screen. On the heads-up, images appeared: six different people with various strategic positions in agencies the world over—all of whom were in Edith's service.

All of whom were loyal to her for one reason or another.

Smirking smugly, Edith turned and leaned haphazardly against the table.

She didn't bother to look in Fury's direction, but she could imagine the look of astounded offense on his face.

"Taylor Hamilton's been on my payroll for seven years, ever since you recruited him as a matter of fact. The only reason you have him is because I sent him."

Glancing to her right, Edith looked at the young man's face and imagined him as she had found him all those years ago, broken and bruised in an alley outside of Chicago. Now, he looked healthier with his face full and his auburn curls flyaway, clashing almost ridiculously with his suit and tie.

"Taylor's safe. He's got a cover and enough money to make it."

He'd made contact after the Washington attack, swinging by the restaurant on his way out west. He had a cover now and should have been halfway to the safe house in Saint Louis by now. Colton would make sure to get the money to his brother: Taylor. She'd handed over all the new identity materials for the boys to go under until it was safe.

His attention swayed to one of the screens and he deadpanned, sighing. She followed his gaze to the opposite screen and smiled, dipping her head forward to grin at the floor. Nick's voice was incredulous.

"Are you—" He shifted and placed his hands on his hips. "Are you seriously telling me that you recruited that son of a bitch?" Edith threw her head back and laughed. "That's Gabriel Rivera. Coulson tried to recruit him two years ago. He works for you?"

"'Works' is a… debatable term," she responded slowly. Fury looked unimpressed with her hedging. She sighed and gave a weak laugh, which felt more like a cough. "Gabe does what he wants. Luckily, what he wants is often what I want." At the look Nick sent her, Edith held up both hands. "Fine. Gabriel owes me…a lot. Owes me his life really. All of them do. The things they do for me are their choice. I don't blackmail them into it or pay them. I just request. It's amazing what a little kindness can do—"

"Manipulation, you mean. I've seen this kind of thing before, Edith. It's—"

"No," Edith retorted. "I mean kindness. Goodness, kindness, honesty. Hope. Those virtues aren't gone from society, Nick. They're everywhere. We've just been living in the dark so long that they're hard to see. We see all the terror and horror that the world has to offer. If we open up our eyes though, you can see that people really do care. People really can be good and beautiful. I— Just couldn't—be in the darkness anymore."

He stared at her for a moment before snorting. Whatever.

Rolling her shoulders, Edith flicked her head from side to side to release the tension. "Anyway, Gabriel got into a bad way with some worse people—KGB, the Chinese and Koreans. Hell, even MI-6. I hate MI-6…They all wanted him, bad. I bailed him out and helped him recover. Took him in. Like I did with all of them. His bedroom's upstairs, if you're curious. He works at the restaurant when he's in town."

Before he could ask his question, Edith gestured toward the left where a door was situated. He didn't look like he quite believed it, but Edith pushed off the counter and strode forward. "That door over there leads to a passageway that connects to a campsite about half-a-mile up the road. One of my chefs, Obie, checks it twice a week on the off-chance something happens. He has the false identities ready to go, for anywhere they're needed. Obie's one of the best forgers in the game. The house is rigged. It's tighter than Fort Knox."

Edith gave a faraway smile.

"Howard always did like to look out for me, in his own special way."

Her eyes trailed over the various screens and concrete. In her mind, she could hear the swing of the trumpet and the rhythm of the piano.

"Just never seemed to go about it the right way. But when he got it right, he got it right."