June 22nd, 2012
New York, New York—Quinn's apartment

"I do not want a new physical therapist."

"I know, Quinn, but you still need help, especially if you insist on being nearly blown up every few months."

"I wasn't nearly blown up. I was nearly shot. And then the helicarrier nearly fell out of the sky."

"Well, excuse me. My point is that you need someone to make sure you're exercising the leg, stretching it, and working on strength and flexibility. Someone who will follow a regimen. If you continue to be so rough on the limb, it's never going to heal to the point where you don't have to wear the brace." There was a short pause and a sigh. "Although, if you get yourself killed, it won't matter, I suppose."

Quinn dropped heavily onto her couch and stretched out on her back, her feet propped up on the armrest. She kept the phone pressed to her ear, though she was fighting the urge to throw it across the room or, at least, hang up as forcibly as she could with a cell phone. With the other hand, she traced the top of her Stark-made brace; when she focused on it, she could still feel the electrical buzzing coming from the pins in her leg, assisting with her movement. She wanted to be done with physical therapy. She wanted to be back to the way she'd been before a building had nearly crushed her.

Mike Vaughn had been her physical therapist since she'd been moved to New York after her accident, and had helped her get used to the brace Tony Stark had designed for her. And they were friends now too. But Mike and his fianceé were planning a wedding at the same time they were moving to Boston, and that kept Mike from helping Quinn in person. She was technically his last patient in New York City, and she was reluctant to let go, to start at the beginning with another physical therapist who didn't know her, especially when she didn't need the help as much as so many others. She should have been long past the need for regular work, but, as Mike had said, she had a nasty habit of getting tossed around.

"Does it have to be a trained physical therapist?" she asked grudgingly. Maybe there was a compromise…

"Preferably, yes, but if SHIELD has someone you trust to make sure—"

"Not technically SHIELD, but—"

She could almost hear Mike rolling his eyes. "Yes, Captain America can help you. I'll email you the list of exercises and stretches you need to do every day and you will email me your progress, okay?"

"Yes, Dad."

Mike snorted. A sure sign he was trying to keep his laughter in. "You've come such a long way, Quinn, but if you keep putting yourself in these situations, you're going to be in that brace forever."

"I know, but I can't—"

"I wasn't telling you to take it easy or leave SHIELD or anything like that, Quinn. I know it's important to you. But you have to take better care of the leg or you will be in the brace forever."

Quinn blinked away a few tears that sprung to life; the Battle of New York, Coulson's death, and the pressures of her new position were still new enough that she was caught off-guard by a wave of emotion every now and again, especially when confronted with hard truths. "Okay, enough about that. Tell me about the new house and the wedding planning."

Quinn and Mike spoke for a while longer, covering all the updates in his life, and then he asked her a few questions about how things were going. He didn't know all the details about the SHIELD stuff, but he knew enough. Quinn enjoyed the conversation. It was a nice break from her normal day to day. After she'd hung up with Mike, she stayed on the couch, her phone on her stomach, and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts bouncing from her job, to the onslaught of calls and emails she'd had from people trying to contact one or all of the Avengers, to the projects she was working on on her own, and the missions Clint and Nat were undertaking…

A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. She didn't bother getting up though, despite the flutter in her stomach. It was Friday evening—it would only be one person. "It's open!" she yelled.

She heard the door open and close, and a moment later Steve stepped into the living room, a bag of takeout in one hand. He took in her position on the couch. "Long day?" he asked.

Quinn found herself smiling widely at his tone; Steve coming over on Fridays to watch a movie from his list and eat takeout he chose because he wanted to try was fast becoming a routine, and one she looked forward to. Seeing him immediately made her feel better. "Very," she said, carefully sitting up and facing forward on the couch. "What did you get tonight?"

Steve set the takeout on the coffee table and headed for Quinn's shelves of DVDs. "Thai. Natasha gave me a list of dishes to try, so I got one of each from the place down the street." He pulled a movie shelf and studied the cover. "I know the leftovers will get eaten," he added, smirking.

Quinn snickered. "Did you happen to get chicken pad thai?"

"I did." Steve put the movie in the DVD player and Quinn set up the rest of the system while Steve retrieved two beers from the fridge.

Quinn paused in retrieving her food from the bag, momentarily stunned by the familiarity and domesticity of the situation. Steve knew his way around her apartment as well as he did his own, and these Friday nights felt… right. She shook her head. This is fine. We're just friends. No closer. Quinn huffed. Except that— No. She forcibly shut down the train of her thoughts, took the beer Steve handed her, and took a long drink before digging into her food. She knew her cheeks were flushed.

Thankfully, Steve was focusing on the movie—Jaws—and didn't notice.

After a few moments, Quinn put down her food. "Steve, can I ask you a favour?"

Sensing something serious or important, Steve paused the movie and turned to face her. "Of course."

Her cheeks flared again—why was she so nervous? "Since, uh, Mike is moving to Boston, and I don't want to get another physical therapist, I asked him if someone else could help me with my leg and he said sure and I was wondering if you'd do it?" The last words tumbled out.

Steve shifted a bit, the muscles in his jaw bunching as he clenched his jaw. "What would I have to do?"

Quinn scratched her head and ran her fingers back through her hair; she'd taken her hair out of its usual braid as soon as she'd gotten home and it fell in messy waves around her shoulders. "Well, he's going to send me a list of stuff, but mostly it would just be going for walks with me and supervising my exercises so I don't hurt myself, but still actually push myself." She took in the expression on Steve's face. "You don't have to answer now," she said hurriedly, wanting to assuage any awkwardness.

"I would be happy to help, Quinn, I've just never done anything like that before. Why ask me?"

"Besides the fact you're familiar with regimens and discipline?" She smirked and Steve laughed softly. "You know about my injuries, you've helped me before, and… I trust you."

Steve smiled the small, quiet smile Quinn was so fond of. "Of course I'll do what I can to help."

Quinn's cheeks flushed again and she returned the smile. She wanted to reach across the couch and squeeze his hand or something, but she refrained. "Thanks, Steve."

June 29th, 2012
New York, New York—Steve's apartment

Steve was bored.

He had developed a routine of sorts since the Battle of New York, but being back in the fray had made him realize just how much he needed something to do, how much he needed a battle to fight. Some goal to work towards. Reading files and learning about the twentieth century was all well and good, but Steve was used to having something bigger to be a part of. Quinn had been poking around SHIELD, looking for a place, and she'd mentioned a while ago that Directory Fury was working on something, but it might still be a while.

So, while he waited, he went to the gym, went to the library, went to museums, browsed the internet, read SHIELD files, watched movies and TV shows with Quinn, helped her with her physical therapy, explored the city—which was both familiar and vastly strange—and sometimes went by Avengers Tower to see what Tony was working on and to observe the progress on the remodel of the former Stark Tower. He passed the time best he could and hated himself a bit for hoping something would happen to call Captain America back to the font.

He was reading a fantasy novel Quinn had lent him when he heard her come up the hall. It was very late—she had been staying at SHIELD's New York headquarters late almost every night, fielding calls from people trying to get ahold of the Avengers and trying to arrange something more formal—and he could tell by the sound of her footsteps that she was in pain.

Steve put his book down and went to the door, opening it to find Quinn standing in the hall with her fist poised to knock.

She gave a little start and then shook her head. Her tawny eyes were dull; she was exhausted. "I just wanted to apologize for missing movie night," she said. Her voice was thick.

"You don't have to apologize, Quinn," he said. Though, in truth, he'd felt a little disappointed when she'd texted to say she was stuck at work. He enjoyed spending Friday evenings with Quinn, and appreciated that she was always willing to answer his questions about… anything. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, just exceptionally tired." She gave him a sleepy smile. "A couple reporters won't take no for an answer, so I finally just told the switchboard not to let them through anymore. Media relations was never supposed to be part of my job, but they all want to talk to the 'official liaison.' Same thing is happening at Stark Enterprises." Quinn sighed and leaned on the doorframe, looking up at Steve. "If the Avengers are going to actually do this, you guys may need to hire some people."

Steve laughed. "I'm sure Tony has already started on that."

"Oh, probably." Quinn's head thumped lightly against the doorframe and her eyes fluttered closed. She forced them open again and looked up at Steve from under her lashes. "I also wanted to tell you that Fury's ordered a reconfiguration of Strike Team Delta once all open assignments are complete, which I think means he's making a spot for you."

Steve felt a rush of relief and he was nearly overcome with the desire to hug Quinn. "Thank you, Quinn."

She was watching him closely, and when he thanked her, she smiled, her tongue darting over her bottom lip. "Don't thank me yet. When Fury finishes sorting things out and you actually get the position, you can thank me then."

"You'll keep me updated?"

"Of course I will." Quinn reached forward and squeezed Steve's forearm. "I've gotta get some sleep, Steve, before I fall asleep standing up. Night."

"Good night, Quinn."

He watched her cross the hall, unlock and open her door, and step inside her apartment. She turned around and smiled at him, leaning heavily on the door. They held each other's gaze for a second before she closed the door.

Steve sighed and went back to his book.

July 1, 2012
New York, New York—Quinn's apartment

When she was still living with her biological parents, Quinn had hated her birthday. It was never celebrated and it didn't mark anything for her except that another year of having to act older than she was, of having to help take care of her siblings, of being nothing but a source of income for her parents had passed.

When Jared and Margret had adopted her, it had taken several years for Quinn to warm up to the idea that birthdays should be special. She'd never had anyone cook her her favourite breakfast or give her gifts or write her a heartfelt message inside a funny card. When the Nolans realized the extent of Quinn's apathy and saw that she didn't hate the idea, they started to go all-out. For her tenth birthday, they took the day off work, let her stay home from school for the day and took her to the zoo. They are junk food all day and didn't leave the zoo until it was nearly dark. For her thirteenth birthday, they went to a five-star restaurant where she was serenaded by the owner and presented with a massive chocolate cake with strawberries, lit with sparkling candles. For her sixteenth birthday, they gave her sixteen gifts, all of which were things she wanted. Nothing she needed.

After she'd been accepted into SHIELD, Coulson—who'd loved birthdays—had taken her out for Belgian waffles and hot chocolate every year for breakfast, given her a very nice gift, and decorated her desk with balloons and banners and cupcakes.

So when she woke up on her birthday two months after Coulson had died, it was the first year in a long time she didn't wake up looking forward to what the day would bring. She laid in bed for almost an hour after waking, just staring the ceiling and trying no to cry. Coulson wouldn't have wanted her to be sad on her birthday.

Eventually, she pried herself out of bed, showered, and dressed in leggings and a loose tank top. It was Sunday, so she took her time. After she had affixed her brace and donned her purple Converse, planning to go for a short walk before it got too hot, she checked her phone. Birthday messages from her friends, her parents, her colleagues, all of which made her smile. Clint sent her a picture from the previous year of her, him, Nat, and Coulson at a nearby bar with the message Happy Birthday, Scottie! The Boss would be proud of you, and I am too. Call if you need me. Quinn nearly burst into tears.

She was a little sad there wasn't a message from Steve, but she didn't go hunting for him either. His birthday was in a few days and it was likely he was dealing with his own net of emotions.

After a pleasant walk through the warming city, and breakfast—not at the diner where she and Coulson had gone—she headed back home, stopping at the bookstore to grab a few new releases on the way. She was feeling happier than she had when she awoke by the time she returned home, but everything was replaced by fear when she saw the door to her apartment open a tiny bit.

Quinn switched her grip on the bag with her books in it so she could swing it like a club if she had to, and stepped inside. It was possible she just hadn't pulled the door closed, but she was usually pretty careful about locking her door.

Instead of a burglar or attacker or anything hostile—

There was a small cake sitting on her kitchen island next to a shiny blue bag. Quinn felt a wave of emotion swell inside and tears filled her eyes. She set her purchases on the counter and stepped closer. The cake was iced in white with a red maple leaf on top. Across everything, written in black, was "Happy Canada Day—I mean, Birthday!"

"Oh—I didn't hear you come back."

Quinn turned and smiled at Steve. His cheeks flushed and his eyes dropped, but then he looked up and he was smiling too. He passed her a card sealed in a bright blue envelope. "You didn't have to do this, Steve."

He shrugged and took a seat on one of the stools, putting him more at eye-level with Quinn. "You told me about the traditions you and Coulson had, and I thought you might feel a bit… sad today."

"I was." Smiling, Quinn wiped the tears out of her eyes and opened the card. Steve had written a kind message, thanking her for helping him adjust and getting him to see Peggy. She stood the card open on the countertop and then pulled the gift bag into her lap as she sat on the stool in front of the cake. "I like the cake."

"Bucky made that joke on my birthday every year."

"I think Bucky and I would have gotten along." She paused as the words left her mouth, and looked up at Steve. "Shit, I'm—"

He waved away her concern. "I think you would have too." Then, to ward off any awkwardness, he gestured at her gift.

Quinn unwrapped three books, all older titles missing from her existing collection. She was touched that he'd paid that much attention when browsing through her books for something to read. "These are perfect!" She put the books in the bag, and the bag on the island, and then slid off the stool to hug Steve before she thought too much about why she shouldn't. "Thank you, Steve."

He returned the hug, and his lips brushed her cheek before she pulled back, the barest of touches. She knew her cheeks were pink, but Quinn smiled at him, and then retrieved two forks from the drawer. She offered one to Steve.

"Cake?"

July 4, 2012
New York, New York—Avengers Tower, top floor

"Did he have to make this a formal event?"

"I'm not sure he knows another kind, Scottie," Maria Hill said as she stepped into the elevator.

Quinn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as the elevator started to head up to the top floor. Avengers Tower was still under construction, but the top floors were complete and, to help raise money for the rebuilding efforts after the Battle of the New York, Tony was holding a July 4th party with five of the six Avengers, a handful of SHIELD agents, a few of New York's richest, and a smattering of media to cover everything in detail. He'd sent the invitations a couple weeks ago and Quinn hadn't really thought about it too much until that morning, when she had to get dressed.

She wasn't fond of parties.

"I just hate dressing up. Sleek as my brace is, it doesn't do much for formal wear." She stuck her leg out of the slit in her navy dress, showing the gunmetal brace, stark against her pale, scarred skin. "I just feel silly."

"Well, you look great."

Quinn snorted. "Thanks."

"This is where you're supposed to say 'oh, you look great too, Hill.'"

Fury's right-hand woman certainly did look great in her magenta gown with her dark hair pinned back from her face. It wasn't often Maria dressed up, but she never half-assed anything. Around a chuckle, Quinn said, "Pink's not your colour."

Maria elbowed Quinn in the ribs as the elevator doors opened onto a beautiful glass and metal multi-tiered living room. The two SHIELD agents sighed at the same time and shared a look that set them both back to laughing.

"Only Tony Stark," Maria said under her breath. She nudged Quinn's arm as she walked by, headed for the bar. "Looks like your captain is already here."

"He's not—"

One of Hill's eyebrows rose.

Quinn felt herself blush as she looked away from where Steve was leaning on the bar, cursed her inability to suppress the response, and then said, "Shut up," and headed in the opposite direction, to where she saw Nat perched on the edge of a couch, holding a glass of amber liquid in each hand. She winked when Quinn made eye contact. "Is everyone just going to try and predict my actions tonight?" she asked, taking one of the glasses as she dropped onto the couch. With her other hand, she clutched the small gift box.

"You're easy to predict when you get flustered, Scottie."

"Did you tell Maria to provoke me?"

Nat smirked into her whiskey. "Maybe."

"Nat—"

She raised her free hand in surrender.

In truth, Quinn didn't actually mind the teasing all that much; she liked feeling like she had brothers and sisters, ones who actually wanted to be around her and liked having her around. What she was worried about was how Steve would take it if he overheard, and how it would affect their friendship. She was trying to stuff her feelings down so they didn't get out of control or get in the way, and getting teased about them was not helping her win that battle.

You're being ridiculous, she told herself. Just relax.

She chatted with Natasha while finishing her drink—mostly about where Clint was, which was at home, and how much he was missing out, though they wouldn't mind being on a farm in the middle of nowhere right then—and then headed across the room to the bar. Steve was talking to an familiar and overeager reporter who was furiously writing down everything Steve said in a tiny notepad. Steve's brow was furrowed, his shoulders tense. The reporter leaned closer as Quinn approached.

"Captain Rogers, what would you say to those—"

"Mr. Bransen," Quinn said, inserting herself physically between the reporter and Steve. The reporter had a good six inches of height on Quinn, but he started and took a step back. "If you wish to interview Captain Rogers, you should go through my office or Stark Enterprises. You know that."

"I've been trying—"

"You and about a thousand others, Mr. Bransen. If you want to ask about the funds being raised, or about the party, or the Stark Foundation, I believe I saw Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts over by the window—" she gestured with her empty glass towards the massive wall of glass overlooking New York "—and if you want to get some information on the construction efforts, the head of The Department of Damage Control is over there, at the other end of the bar." She plastered a bright, fake smile on her face before turning her back on the reporter and looking up at Steve.

Bransen sputtered for a moment, then stalked away.

Steve exhaled, his shoulders dropping. "Thank you."

"The media is relentless. You can't give them anything, especially at events like this."

"Have you been to many fundraisers?"

Quinn shrugged with one shoulder as she accepted a fresh drink from the bartender. "No, but I've been to enough." She handed the gift to Steve. "This is— I meant to give this to you earlier, but you weren't home when I knocked." His fingers brushed hers when he took it and a shiver went up her arm, down her spine. "Happy birthday," she said quietly.

Steve unwrapped it quickly—Quinn wasn't great at wrapping presents—took it in, and then looked up at Quinn. "Quinn… This is too much."

"No it isn't." She rapped one knuckle against the sleek white iPod box. "You liked mine, and you've got a lot of music to listen to on that list of yours, so…" Quinn shrugged. "Now you can do it while you run or work out or something."

Steve smiled. "Thank you."

Quinn returned the smile, and she wanted to hug him again, but she was feeling exposed, like everyone at the party was watching—she knew Natasha was at least. She chewed on her bottom lip. "I'm heading home as soon as the fireworks are done and I say hi to Stark; I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't. We could watch The Empire Strikes Back if you want to escape," she added with a smirk.

They'd watched A New Hope after devouring a good portion of her birthday cake and Steve was pretty much hooked. Beyond enjoying spending time with Steve, Quinn got a huge kick out of watching him watch movies, and would much rather be at home in leggings and a t-shirt rather than fake smiling her way through the party.

"You think we can get out of here before they sing 'Happy Birthday'?"

Quinn laughed in surprise. "We can certainly try, although I wouldn't mind trying to get out of here with some more cake." Steve gave her a look and Quinn laughed again. "I ate the rest of mine for breakfast."

July 6th, 2012
New York, New York—Quinn's apartment

"Your leg is shaking. Are you sure?"

"Yes, Steve."

Thunder rumbled outside as Steve gently pushed Quinn's left knee towards the ground on the opposite side of her right hip. She winced as her muscles protested the stretch, but it did feel good; her bad leg always tightened when the weather turned. He helped her hold the stretch for about thirty seconds before guiding her left leg back to centre slowly. It was the last stretch in the routine Mike had sent her, a routine that never failed to make her feel weak. Quinn remained lying on her floor, her eyes watching the storm outside, for another minute.

She'd been in a funk all day, and she could tell Steve was aware of it. She wanted to say something funny or sarcastic to lighten the mood, but she just didn't have it in her.

Coulson's birthday was in two days. He would have been forty-eight. Instead, he was dead.

Quinn shook her head. Focus on work. That always helps.

"The Department of Education called me again today, this time with an actual plan" she said, climbing carefully onto the couch. She propped her legs up on a footstool and slumped down until she was comfortable. "They really want some PSAs from Captain America to show to high schoolers."

Steve sat down beside her. "What kind of PSAs?"

"The importance of exercise, the danger of smoking, puberty—pretty standard stuff these days. They seem to think the information will have more of an impact with kids if it comes from you. In the suit."

"Of course in the suit."

"You can say no, you know." It came out a little more snappish than she'd intended, but she didn't bother to correct it. Quinn queued up the movie they'd chosen for that night—Terminator—and shifted a bit so she could see the TV and Steve at the same time. "You've only been out of the ice for a few months and you've already helped saved the world once. No one would blame you if you wanted to take it easy."

Steve shrugged. "Might as well do it. I've got nothing else to do."

"Steve—"

"It's okay, Quinn. I know you're working on it, but I'm…"

"Bored. I get it. I guess on Monday I'll tell the DoE to go ahead with the planning and to pick some dates for filming. And I'll make sure your suit's repaired and ready. And don't worry. I won't tell Tony why we need it."

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. Quinn turned away. "Are you okay?"

Quinn sighed, pushing back the rush of annoyance and anger and sadness. Her issues weren't with Steve. Not when it came to this issue anyway. She also knew he wouldn't judge her. "Coulson's birthday is on the eighth," she said after a moment. "I'm just… missing him more than usual." She shook her head, trying to shake away the emotions. None of that would bring Coulson back or help her move on. None of that would help anyone.

Steve said nothing. Condolences and platitudes would have only made Quinn angrier though, so she was glad when he stood up and asked, "Do you want some popcorn?"

"Sure."

Quinn watched the storm outside while the DVD menu looped. The rain was lashing the window, blurring her view of New York as lightning split the sky at nearly the same time thunder boomed. The storm was overhead. Steve returned a couple minutes later, steaming popcorn in a bowl. He placed it between them as Quinn started the movie and, for the next couple hours, Quinn tried to think only of the movie and the storm.

Around the middle of the movie, Quinn grabbed Steve's notebook from its spot on the coffee table and jotted down some of Coulson's favourite movies—mostly early James Bond and heist flicks. Steve took no notice; he'd check the additions later. This was just another part of their routine.

She fell asleep at some point after that, lulled unconscious by the sound of the rain and the comfort of Steve's undemanding presence. It was hours later, near 2:00 am, when she woke up again, her living room dark and quiet. She was alone, but she was tucked under a blanket, her head propped on a pillow, neither of which had been there earlier.

Quinn smiled to herself, rolled onto her side, and went back to sleep.

July 13th, 2012
New York, New York—The Starlight Café

"I thought SHIELD cleaned up the area after the battle."

"They did," Quinn said, keeping her voice low. "But stuff still gets lost. Taken. Stolen. Sold."

Quinn and Steve were sitting at an outdoor cafe in downtown New York, about twenty blocks from where the Battle had taken place. Word of a Chitauri neural link up for sale on the black market had reached SHIELD and Quinn had taken the mission for herself. Well, she'd actually taken the mission for Steve, since she could see how restless he was getting without anything to do. The mission was classified as a low-level threat, but Quinn still had a small support team nearby to handle custody and to assist if things somehow got out of control. The sale was supposed to take place at The Starlight Café at 12:30pm, when it was busy with the lunch crowd.

Steve adjusted the aviator sunglasses he was wearing under a ball cap and scanned the crowd again. "Some things never change."

Quinn took a sip from her chai latte and leaned back in her chair to smile at Steve. They weren't playing at anything other than two people chatting over coffee, and Quinn was enjoying herself far more than she'd expected. Steve was relaxed and in his element, and Quinn hadn't been in the field since Puente Antiguo. She was almost… giddy.

"Eyes on the seller. Man with a metal briefcase at three o'clock," Quinn said, catching sight of the stiff-backed man strolling through the crowd towards the café.

Steve straightened and took a drink of his coffee, his eyes tracking the man. Together they watched him approach a table in the shade of the café's awning, the farthest from the street, where another man sat, dressed all in black and hiding beneath the brim of a ballcap. Quinn and Steve have watched the buyer arrive on feet five minutes ago. The buyer took a sip from a mug as the seller began to talk, the metal briefcase on the ground beneath the table.

"Subtle," Steve said.

Quinn shifted closer to Steve and raised her phone in front of them, like she was taking a selfie, but instead took a few pics of the suspicious men. Steve helped Quinn rise from her chair and together, they approached the men, moving calmly, Steve a half-step behind Quinn. The men didn't even give them a second look, not until their destination was clear.

"Gentlemen," Quinn said, moving to stand beside the table. She leaned forward, putting a hand on either side of the case. "I don't think that's yours."

"You let the fucking cops track you?" the buyer hissed, shooting to his feet and knocking his metal chair over backwards. His leg hit the table and knocked his coffee cup over. Steve grabbed his arm, preventing him from running, though he did try—and fail—to break free.

The café had gone silent around them, watching. A few patrons left hurriedly.

Quinn swept the case off the table and stepped back, her other hand dipping beneath her loose shirt to where her throwing knives and gun were belted. "We're not the cops."

The seller pulled a gun out and pointed it at Quinn. "Give me the case," he said, extending his other hand. At the same time, the man Steve was restraining went bug-eyed. "Fuck. Are you SHIELD?" His exclamation was cut off when Steve squeezed his arm in warning.

Quinn indulged herself and grinned at the buyer.

Moving as fast as she could, Quinn stepped inside his range and smacked the case into the seller's shoulder, knocking him off balance. She twisted the gun out of his hand and, keeping hold of his wrist, spun his arm behind his back and drove him to the ground by throwing her weight forward. Her bad leg screamed as she drove her right knee into his lower back, but she kept her balance. With both men pinned and Steve alert for any trouble, Quinn let go of the case to secure the seller's wrists with a zip tie. Steve secured the buyer's wrists; he was forced to give him a punch to the kidneys when he tried once again to escape.

Quinn pressed the button on the microphone around her throat. "Heller, this is Scott. Both targets secure."

"Sending agents in for pickup now, but Scott? We've got eyes on the seller's driver, parked down the block, in front of a Starbucks. Silver SUV. He's getting antsy. Keeps looking at his watch."

Quinn looked up at Steve, who gave her a barely perceptible nod. "Keep eyes on and pursue if he leaves. Backup's on its way." She let go of the mic button as the other SHIELD agents arrived from their position behind the café, and Quinn turned to Steve. Even though he probably would have been able to hear the conversation, she said, "Starbucks down the street a few blocks. Silver SUV. Be careful."

She watched Steve run off at was, for him, a jog, and then turned to make sure the agents had everything under control. The buyer and seller were being led away by one agent each, and the case was in the hands of another agent, who was currently checking the Chitauri neural link was in one piece. Quinn followed the agents to where their vehicle was parked.

"Agent Scott."

"Agent Heller," Quinn said, giving the younger agent a smile. Heller was tall and willowy with long black hair in braids, bright brown eyes, and a wicked right hook. "Thanks for the support."

"Not a problem." She nodded at something over Quinn's shoulder and Quinn didn't even need to turn to know what she was seeing. "This has been fun."

Steve arrived a moment later and dropped an unconscious and restrained man into the back of the waiting SHIELD car. He handed Heller a cell phone, wallet, and set of keys. "That's everything he had on him."

"Perfect. Thanks, Captain Rogers."

Heller bid them both goodbye and the SHIELD agents drove off, headed for headquarters. Steve and Quinn started for where he'd parked his motorcycle.

"How was that?" Quinn asked.

"It felt… good to have something to do."

"I'd be lying if I said that wasn't what I was hoping for when I took this mission." Quinn tripped on the curb, her bad leg locking, and Steve reached out to stabilize her. "Thanks. I did exactly what Mike warned me about and stressed it too much."

"You don't sound too worried."

"I'm not," she said with a grin. "It's been too long since I was active in the field like this. It was fun. I'll worry about my leg later."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "It was kinda fun."