Chapter Five

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."

-William Shakespeare

The table had fallen silent, all of their eyes turned towards the kitchen. It wasn't a shocked silence, though, but the quiet of people who had experienced similar situations many times over and yet it still scared them. They all seemed to be plastered to their seats, each teen petrified at the noises coming from the kitchen. It almost sounded like Hannah was being murdered.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs and Bali stopped at their base to meet Steve's gaze, the man's silver eyes wide in horror. He pushed past Steve with enough force to send the soldier stumbling into the wall. Steve managed to right himself a second later, though there was now a hand-shaped hole in the drywall, and followed Bali back to the kitchen.

Hannah was still on the floor, pressed against the cabinets as if trying to make herself smaller. But she was no longer screaming. Her eyes were screwed shut and her arms were wrapped around her legs. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she muttered under her breath. Nikki kneeled before her, her hand outstretched towards her sister but not quite touching as if afraid to do so. The sight brought Steve to a stop in the doorway and his heart seemed to be caught in his throat.

Nikki looked up at Bali, helplessness clear in her eyes, "I can't get her out of it."

Bali kneeled down in front of Hannah and Nikki backed away. Steve continued to watch on the sidelines as she pressed her lips into a hard line and clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Her whole stance was rigid and afraid. Bali, on the other hand, remained relatively calm as he reached out tentatively for the younger sister.

"Hannah," he crooned. "Can you hear me, sweetheart?"

She barely moved in response. Her head shook as if trying to shake away whatever she was seeing. But Bali took one of her hands and gripped it tightly.

"I know where you think you are," he whispered. "But you're safe here. It's May twelfth, two thousand fourteen and you're safe with me, Nanna."

When Hannah nodded her head slowly, refusing to open her eyes, Steve noticed Nikki's hands seemed to shake ever so slightly. She looked so worried as she watched over the two. And when Bali made a wrong move and Hannah gave a startled shriek, the room seemed to stir as if the air itself was condensing. Steve jumped as a hand towel by the sink burst suddenly into flames. It was that phenomena which seemed to propel Nikki into action at last. She rushed to put out the flames, her hands still shaking.

Bali's attention snapped towards her, his stormy silver eyes stern, "Nikki, out."

She refused to acknowledge his gaze, her hands gripping the countertop as if she might fall if she let go. Her shoulders tensed like she was in pain. Bali, giving up on her, turned to look at Steve.

"Get her out of here."

The words were hard and commanding, but they were far from harsh. He returned his attention to Hannah the second Steve nodded his understanding. The super soldier walked briskly over to Nikki, putting a hand on her shoulder gently. But the touch seemed to snap her back into the present and she turned sharply on the balls of her feet before all but running from the room. As Steve made to follow her, he could still hear Bali trying to talk Hannah down from her hysteria.

"I need you to do something for me, Nanna," he said, tone much kinder. "I need you to look around and tell me what you see. Can you do that for me?"

The kids were still at the table as Steve walked out to follow Nikki, many of them shifting uncomfortably in their seats. She went almost entirely unhindered as she hurried out the room. Tandy reached out to her with an earnest expression, her hand falling just short of her surrogate mother's arm.

"Nikki?"

But the brunette ignored her, stomping up the stairs as if something was chasing after her. Steve followed tentatively, unsure if it was really such a good idea to follow her now. He had succeeded in getting her out of the kitchen. That was all Bali had asked of him. And yet a part of him argued that she looked upset, that he should try to help. So he found himself following her to a room upstairs on the far end of the house.

The door was left ajar in her haste to escape, but that didn't mean Steve would barge in entirely. Instead, he hovered in the doorframe as she paced blindly in the sparse bedroom. She turned without warning and gave an angered cry as she struck the wall hard enough to dent the drywall. It was as if all the strength had suddenly left her. She collapsed onto the bed in the next second, running her hands through her hair as she hung her head.

How was it possible that she could have been aloof and poised not an hour ago when he found her in the rec room? It was her armor, he realized. Here before him was a woman who was vulnerable and wanted to come off strong. A member of her makeshift family was hurt, though, and that armor revealed her through the cracks. She looked dejected and hurt, her eyes staring determinedly at the floor.

Unable to wait in silence any longer, Steve knocked on the door softly. There was a look of shame in her expression when she met his gaze. She had never meant for anyone to see her like that. That much was clear in her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug, "I'm fine."

"No one is ever 'fine'," he answered, remembering when Pepper had taught him that. "May I come in?"

"I suppose."

She didn't look at him as he approached. Nor did she so much as move when he sat down a foot beside her. She simply stared down at her feet as she wrung her wrists. Steve tried to think of something he could say,

"Have you ever felt like you have all the strength in the world, and yet you're still not strong enough to help those that matter?"

Her words rang through him like ripples in a pond. His mind was forced back to 1944, to Bucky as he plummeted to the ravine. He knew that feeling all too well. But, before he could say anything in reply, she gave a shaky laugh of disbelief.

"Why am I even telling you this?" she asked, though the words sounded like they were directed more towards herself than him. "I've only known you for – what? – a couple hours? And here I am, telling you things I shouldn't."

She ran a hand through her dark hair, a weary expression of disbelief on her face, "I guess it's because I can't really tell the others. What's that saying? 'It's easier to confide in a stranger because they cannot judge us on what we've done'? And there I go again. I really should stop…"

"Yes."

Nikki's eyes flew up to his, shock clear in her expression as she misunderstood his meaning. But Steve wouldn't lie to her. She had seemed so distant and cold upon first meeting him. But she was just trying to protect both herself and her family, he realized. Her mask broke under pressure and stress that he immediately recognized as something that had built up over the years. And, for some reason he could not explain, he felt like she shouldn't feel as lonely as she looked.

"I've felt that way before," he explained, blue eyes meeting brown. "More often recently."

"Who was it? If you don't mind my asking."

He made to object, but she gave him a wan smile.

"Don't deny it," she muttered. "I know that look."

"Their names were Timothy Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, James Falsworth, Jacques Dernier, Gilmore Hodge, Peggy Carter, and Bucky Barnes."

It took more of his strength than he had thought to keep his voice steady as he thought of the people he had lost. There was a horrified shock in her eyes as she listened to him list the Howling Commandos he had fought alongside so long ago. He didn't look away from her gaze as he spoke.

"I lost my parents, too, but that was a very long time ago."

Her voice was so small when she spoke again, "What happened?"

"Time," he answered with a shrug. "You've lost someone, too, haven't you?"

She stood up, walking to the desk to pull a manila folder out of the top drawer. Tossing it on the bed next to him, she leaned against the desk to watch him.

"Too many," she replied. "I suppose that's why I worry so much for Hannah and the kids. I'm afraid that, one day, something will put them in danger and I won't be enough to protect them."

Was this really the family S.H.I.E.L.D. thought was allied to HYDRA? The very notion seemed ridiculous now. They were a ragtag bunch of teenagers and almost a handful of adults. But they were also a group of people with strange powers and no obvious source. As if that wasn't enough, Coulson had obviously thought it important enough to warrant a search.

But watching Nikki sheepishly meet his gaze as if ashamed of what she was telling him, bearing her weaknesses for him to see and understand, made him think twice. It made Steve wonder what had happened to her that she was worried about losing the little family she had seemingly created. But he was afraid that if he pushed too hard for answers, that she would close up and become cold once more. Clint, Natasha, and Fury were counting on the answers he could provide. They needed him to determine whether or not the remains of HYDRA had ties to anyone in the house and how much of a threat they were. So he chose a much safer line of questioning.

"What was that? What Hannah was going through?"

"Hannah has post-traumatic stress disorder. Sometimes, she suffers from flashbacks and disassociation. Bali should tell you about her triggers when she calms down," Nikki explained. "A lot of us have scars, Steve. Many of them simply can't be seen."

"What about yours?" he asked. "Are your scars visible?"

Nikki gave him an amused smile, though she looked too weary for it to be effective, "Some of them. But the scars don't concern me as much as the demons."

"The demons?"

Her eyes turned towards the clock on the wall and she cursed under her breath, "I'm going to be late for work. Remy's going to have to work today, as Bali's not going to leave Hannah's side now. That actually may be luckier for you. Remy's liable to trick you a few times."

She pulled a vest from her open closet and slipped it on as she spoke. With the vest on over the button-down blouse and dress slacks, she looked as if she might work as a receptionist or secretary. Steve wondered how much she actually made. From the state of the house and some of the kids' clothes, it was obvious that none of the adults within made enough to live comfortably.

"Do me a favor and put those up when you're done," she said, gesturing towards the manila folder beside him.

He watched as she stopped right at the door, throwing him one last glance over her shoulder, "Oh, and Steve, I know you're new here, but try not to let the house burn down while I'm gone. It may not look like much of anything, but all we have. And it's home."

She walked out without waiting for his reply. And though he felt as if she had left him with more questions than answers, Steve couldn't help but smile at her words. It certainly felt like home despite the place being a little on the dilapidated side.

His eyes suddenly turned to the folder she had tossed him. It looked rather like one of the many hard copies of files S.H.I.E.L.D. had in their databases, without the typed title, of course. But, when he opened it, he found papers filled with sketches inside. They ranged from pen and ink to colored pencil in medium. Between each sketch was a piece of thin tracing paper to keep them from smudging. The only thing which linked them all was that the subjects were all people.

The first one was of a family of four: two young girls standing proudly before their parents. Each and every one had dark hair and eyes, their clothing distinctly western European. The style was off, though, at least compared to what he had studied since waking up from the ice. It reminded him of what he had seen when he was still a soldier. The word Eisenhardt was scrawled in the bottom corner. If he was being fully truthful with himself, Steve could have sworn the eldest girl looked a bit like a younger Nikki.

The next was of a young boy with fair hair and sad eyes. He looked no older than ten, but his shoulders were hunched as if he had carried a heavy burden for too long.

Another was off a man who could have been the same boy on the prior page. But he stood tall and proud in this one. His face was graced by hard lines and strong definition and hair cropped short. Only his eyes were colored in a green-tinged grey. The detail put into the man was much more pronounced than the family.

The fourth was a colored sketch of a young man with a fairly messy crop of mousy brown hair that brushed against his shoulders. He was practically polar opposites of the first man. Where the blonde had been all sharp angles and bold lines, this man had much softer, more delicate features. Parts of the strange white chair he seemed to be sitting in were visible behind him. His right hand was lifted towards his face, his forefinger and middle finger pressing into his temple. The man's blue eyes were narrowed in concentration.

Steve flipped back and forth between the two men. He could tell a lot from an artist's work, and the way Nikki had portrayed these two was surprising. The family sketch was out of focus and heavily shadowed as if she couldn't quite remember what they all looked like. But there were incredible, almost loving, details on the men. The amount of time and focus she had obviously put into them marked how much they had meant to her.

As he shifted the papers to look at the next sketch, something much smaller fell from between the pages. Steve's eyebrows rose as he peered over the edge of the manila file to see what it was that he dropped. It was an old photograph. Not the stiff-edged, digital picture of this new age he had woken up in, but a black and white 1940's photograph with faded edges. He hadn't seen one in what felt like forever. Most he came across were either preserved on the internet, worn, or faded past hope.

Picking up the photograph, he was pleasantly surprised to find it in pristine condition. Had Nikki kept this picture so carefully? Turning it over, Steve nearly froze in shock at the subjects.

The fair-haired man was there, but there was a broad smile on his face as he looked towards the camera. There was a little girl maybe eight years old was in his arms, a gap-toothed smile brightening her expression as she waved happily at whoever had been holding the camera at the time. But what caused Steve to pause was the woman beside the man, who was drawn towards him by a hand at her waist. In an embroidered shirt and patchwork skirt that Steve had seen occasionally back in his day, looking perhaps ten years younger, was Nikki.