August 17, 2005

"You're leaving?"

Fear shone in the eyes of the preteen Thomas was leaving behind. He wanted with all his heart to take her with him, but… he couldn't. He had to live his own life—escape from his home. His parents had never mistreated him the way they had Samantha, but he still couldn't stand to be around them knowing what they'd done. And he couldn't stand to be around her—she made him feel so, so guilty: a constant reminder that he'd failed her.

"I have to go."

Samantha swallowed thickly. "Can you take me with you?"

Thomas glanced over her shoulder at his parents, who were getting ready to leave for the weekend to move him into college. "No. Sam." He leaned forward and hugged her, his heart breaking at the way her body had begun to tremble. "Go to Jonathan's house." He spoke over her objections, tightening his grip slightly. "Don't come back, Sam. Please. I love you."

She swallowed and closed her burning eyes. She was more afraid to disobey her parents than she was of being alone with them. She had never disobeyed Thomas's orders—until now.

"I love you, too."

May 7, 2012

My back struck the wall, forcing the air from my lungs. I landed on my front, my injured arm trapped beneath me. Screams and blaring alarms tore through the air. Fear paralyzed me. I could barely think—but out of nowhere, I remembered the conversation I'd had with Natasha after I'd failed my Sim.

"You have to get out of your head, Sam." Natasha shook hers, understanding and unrelenting. "You're going to run into fires on your missions, you need to be prepared for it."

"It caught me off guard." I threw the knife at the target, hitting it dead center. Natasha handed me another knife.

"So will a bomb," she retorted smartly, watching as I hurled the blade at the wall and knocked the previous knife out of its place. "You can't let this fear control you."

"I won't be afraid," I whispered. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and lifted my face, trying to see what the damage was.

There was a large hole in the floor where the explosion had torn through the metal grates. Flames licked at a few pieces of furniture, but there was very little to burn. As I watched, Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark stumbled from the room, supporting one another. Natasha and Doctor Banner were gone, as was the blond man whose name I had never heard. I was alone—and then I wasn't.

"Agent Ward, can you stand?" Director Fury grabbed hold of my good arm and hauled me to my feet. With one hand, he kept me balanced, and with the other, he held the scepter.

"Yes, Sir." I stared at the glowing staff with wide eyes and then locked eyes with him. "Sir, what—?"

"We're under attack. Take this." He shoved the scepter into my hand and closed my fingers around it. "Take it back to your quarters, as far away from the prison block as possible. Romanoff showed you the cell, didn't she?"

I nodded numbly, staring down at the scepter. The metal was ice cold. A feeling of dread began to seep into my bones, and it took every bit of discipline I possessed to keep from throwing the weapon back into my Director's face.

"There's a man named Loki locked inside. Do not let him near the scepter, Agent. Do not tell anyone where you are going. You protect this with your life, understand?"

I nodded again. "Yes, Sir."

"Go." He backed out of the room, a hand on his gun. "Go!"

I stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the scepter in my hand, and then tore out of the room as quickly as I could go. My heart thundered in my ears as I ran, and my body shook uncontrollably. Being caught in a firestorm like that… Chills surged up my spine, and I shuddered.

I rounded the corner and ran smack into one of the men who had been in the lab with me. It was the blond one, the one bedecked in armor. He straightened, then looked at me, down at the scepter, and back at me again.

"Where do you think you are going with this?" His meaty hand closed around the staff, and he pulled it—and me—towards him. As difficult as it was to maintain a grip on the thing with only one hand, I refused to let go, letting out an undignified squeak as my shoes skidded against the floor.

"Director Fury told me to hide it," I pulled back, planting my feet against the floor and trying to pull the scepter back towards me. I may as well have tried uprooting a sequoia by hanging from one of its branches. "Let go!"

"You were in the room with us just now," he recalled, refusing to budge. His expression was both stony and amused, an odd combination. "You tried to keep my two companions from quarreling. Were you injured by the explosion?"

I took a breath, discouraged by my lack of progress, and shook my head. "No." This week had been one of the worst in my life—a little explosion couldn't do much to dampen my spirits, not with everything else going on. I could curl into a ball and cry about it later.

"Agent Ward!"

The man and I both turned—both still maintaining a firm grip on the scepter—to see Coulson sprinting down the hall towards us, coat flapping around him.

"Thor, let go of the scepter. Agent Ward is one of mine, she can be trusted."

"Son of Coul, what is the meaning of this?" Thor released his grip, and I took a couple steps back before dropping the butt of the spear to touch the ground and using the weapon as a cane.

"Doctor Banner is wreaking havoc on the lower levels; Thor, I need you to subdue him and then make sure your brother stays in his cell. Can you do that?" Thor nodded in affirmation before turning and heading down a stairwell to his left. "Agent, come with me."

"Sir—" I followed as quickly as I could, using the weapon as a walking stick. The clang of gold on tile announced my presence to anyone within hearing distance. "Sir, where are you going?"

Coulson didn't even look over his shoulder. "Where did Director Fury tell you to go?"

"He told me not to say." I stopped walking. When the resounding click went silent, Coulson stopped as well.

"Samantha, listen to me." I was startled by the use of my first name, so startled that I actually listened. He put his hands on my upper arms and looked me straight in the eye. "Go to wherever Fury ordered you to go—but do not stay there, do you understand? You hide that thing and then you get out."

"But he told me to protect—"

"Agent, you have more potential than half the men and women on board this Helicarrier. I've seen you spar. You took out Agent Romanoff—that's something even Agent May was never able to do."

I didn't know that name. "Who?"

"That's not important." Coulson shook his head impatiently and then fixed me with his piercing stare. "What is important is that you, at your best, couldn't beat Clint in a fair fight. You're lucky to be alive, and you're nowhere near your best right now. If he finds you with the scepter, the fight that followed would be short and brutal, and we'd have lost one of our most promising agents." He squeezed my arms. "Hide it, Agent. Meet me in the cell block afterwards."

"Coulson!" He didn't look back, and soon he was gone from view. I turned and hurried off towards my quarters, praying that I would complete my mission without difficulty.

I didn't make it back to my quarters.

Several agents, all dressed in black but only some with burning blue eyes, jumped me. I managed to take out a couple of them with well-aimed knives and a stolen gun, but, in the end, I lost the battle. The rogue agents beat me nearly to death—I blacked out at least twice without losing my grip on the scepter. One of them tried to stab me with my own knife, but ended up with it in his eye. They wrenched the scepter from my grip and left me for dead in the middle of the hallway.

"Do not let him near the scepter, Agent."

I rolled over, whimpering, and placed my palms flat against the slick floor. Stark had explained the scepter to me: it was controlling Clint. If Loki got it back, then Clint would be back under his control.

"You protect this with your life, understand?"

"I understand, Sir," I gasped, pulling myself forward and up.

The ground bucked and rolled beneath me, and I vomited, spilling half-digested blueberries over the body of one of the men I had killed.

Oh, God.

I threw myself forward than back, trying to get away from the agents I had killed. Agents. These were men who I worked with, men I might have met before. Why hadn't I remembered? Why hadn't I done what Natasha had said—Cognitive Recalibration? Why had my first instinct been to fight to kill?

I stumbled down the hallway, leaving bloody hand and footprints in my wake. My heart was heavy, but my eyes were dry. Only one thing was on my mind: I had to get the scepter back. Coulson said to meet him at the cell—that's what I would do.

I limped forward, going deeper and deeper into the heart of the Helicarrier while terrifying explosions echoed all around me. More than once, the ship lurched, throwing me forward down the hall or against the wall. I made it to the prison block, and I glimpsed a suit from where I stood. "Coulson!" my voice came out a hoarse whimper, but before I could try again, I spotted Thor standing behind him, hands pressed against the thick windows of the cell. I moved forward until I was almost in the room but still hidden in the shadows of the hallway.

"Move away, please." Coulson spoke quickly. He carried an enormous weapon in his arms. It was made of dark metal, and its mouth glowed with an eerie yellow light—I had never seen anything like it before.

Thor locked eyes with me, shook his head, and then glanced away. A man in green and gold armor froze beside the control panel. He had sallow skin and long, dark hair that was combed back back in greasy waves from his face. He looked like he had just been tortured.

"You like this?" Coulson hefted the weapon, and I pulled a knife from my belt, only to find that my hands were shaking horribly. The man in green moved away from the control panels, his hands slightly lifted in surrender. "We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer."

Coulson continued to advance on the man—Loki. Behind Loki's back, Thor motioned to me with his hammer, trying to get me to move away to safety. I couldn't move.

"Even I don't know what it does." He did something to activate it, and it hummed to life, glowing menacingly. I watched the interaction nervously, but noted that Loki did not have his scepter—yet. As long as he didn't have it, Clint was safe, and no one else could be controlled or hut. "Do you want to find out?"

Something tore through Coulson's shirt, and a strangled cry of pain tore from his lips as the tip of a silver spear protruded from his chest. Loki was behind him, scepter in hand—but he also was in front of him—and now his image was fading, melting away as though it had never been—because I suppose it never had. I was too shocked and hurt to bother wondering how he had done it.

"NO!" Thor screamed, slamming his fist against the glass. I covered my mouth to keep from screaming. My knife fell and would have clattered to the floor—I caught it at the last second, blade against my palm, and was too shocked to realize that the razor-sharp blade was cutting through my hand.

Coulson fell to the ground, back against the wall, fighting for breath. His weapon lay in his lap, and one arm was still curved protectively around it. He glanced my way, locking eyes with me, and shook his head minutely. Loki stood calmly back to the control panel while Thor looked on, grief etched in every line of his face. For the first time, I noticed a crack in the glass about at eye level with Thor, and I found myself praying that he would find a way to escape.

Loki chuckled as he lifted the cover off one of the panels. The floor below the pod unfolded, and deafening wind whistled into the room. Thor looked right at me, then backed away into the center of the cell. A moment later, the cell dropped, taking Thor with it, sending him hurtling to earth at a speed that no one, not even a god, could survive. I covered my mouth with my hand and swallowed a sob as the floor panels closed once more.

"You're going to lose."

Loki froze and turned to stare at Coulson, who was lying weakly against the wall, looking up at his murderer. I had seen death before. No one could survive this sort of wound, not without immediate treatment.

"Am I?" His voice was softer than I expected it to be.

"It's in your nature."

The man tipped his head like a curious child. "Your heroes are scattered. Your floating fortress falls from the sky—" His brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. "Where is my disadvantage?"

Coulson's lips parted. "You lack conviction."

Loki's face twisted into an expression I couldn't identify. "I don't think I—"

A flash of yellow light cut him off and sent him crashing through the wall to my right. I watched in awe, then looked back to Coulson. A faint smile pulled at the corner of his bloodied lips.

"So that's what it does."

I scrambled to my feet, fell, and then crawled to his side. I fumbled for my comms and fought to keep my voice steady.

"I have an Agent down—does anyone copy?" My voice cracked. "Agent Coulson is down, I repeat, Agent Coulson is down."

"Copy. What is your location?"

"The cell block—Loki's cell. Please hurry," I choked out. Tears blurred my vision as I tugged off my vest and pressed it to the bleeding wound in his chest. There was nothing I could do. He had been skewered—I couldn't stop the bleeding from one side, much less two—and from the way the wound was positioned, I had to assume that Coulson had been stabbed through the heart. "Sir, I'm so sorry. I tried to keep them from it, but—"

"It's not your fault, Agent."

"I killed them," I whispered, looking up to meet his fading gaze. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay. It's war, Agent." He shook his head, and I pushed the weapon off him. He grunted in pain, and a tear dripped down my nose.

"Just keep talking." I shifted gears, trying to remember that he was hurt, that I had to focus on him, not me. "Keep talking. Help is coming, Agent Coulson, I promise."

"Phil."

I glanced between his eyes, confused. "What?"

"My name… it's Phil."

I nodded quickly. "Okay, okay, okay—Phil. Help is coming, okay? You're going to be fine. You're going to see this through to the end. I promise you, Loki is going to be taken down—" Tears burned the back of my throat, and I took a deep breath. "And you're going to be there when that happens."

"I picked you, you know."

"What?" I was trying to hold back tears, but I couldn't. Everything from the past few weeks was coming down on me all at once—killing for the first time, the second. Fighting my S.O. and losing. Killing those agents in the hall. Failing my mission—and, through my failure, causing the death of my handler.

"When you were… taken in for questioning. I asked that you be placed… in Shield's Academy of Operations. I thought… you might prove yourself." His breathing grew labored.

"But I didn't. I didn't, Coulson—"

"You did. You—" he took a deep breath as the stains on his shirt grew larger. "—proved your loyalty to Shield. You would've died to keep that scepter away from Loki, to protect Barton. You couldn't even walk over here."

"I failed," I whispered, swiping at my eyes. For the first time, I noticed the blood dripping down my fingers from my palm. I had smeared blood all across my already bloodied face without realizing it.

"You tried," he whispered back. He closed his eyes, letting his head drop back against the wall. "I'm so tired."

I panicked and grabbed his hand, hissing as the cut on my palm stretched. "Coulson—Phil—look at me, please. Please, don't go."

"I'm here," he whispered. His next words broke my heart. "I don't want to die."

Other Shield operatives flooded the room, Director Fury among them. He knelt down beside me, giving me a concerned look, but his main focus was on Coulson. The agent's eyes fluttered open. His voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Boss. The guy rabbited."

Fury shook his head. "Just stay awake." He gripped Phil's chin gently but firmly, turning his face to look at him. "Eyes on me."

Coulson's head moved weakly from side to side. "No—I'm clocked out, here."

Fury's face hardened. "Not an option."

"It's okay, Boss," Coulson breathed. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. "This was never gonna work—if they didn't have something—" he took a shuddering breath, then another. "—to—" he took another breath, then looked at me, and then he was gone. I saw the instant he died, saw his eyes turn vacant in an instant.

I sat there, legs crumpled under me, stunned. Fury didn't move. There were tears in his remaining eye. After a long time, he stood, and the medics I had called in so long ago finally arrived on the scene. I pushed myself backwards to lean my head against the railing, unable to use my legs. Now, I knew why—there was a long gash from my lower thigh down, across my knee and shin, to my calf. One of the agents I'd fought had managed to cut me after all.

"Agent—" Fury's voice cracked, and then the Director's voice was in my ear and also beside me. I heard his voice and then an echo of it, so I had to hear his words twice.

"Agent Coulson is down." He closed his eye. "Paramedics are on the scene."

I watched everything with an odd sense of detachment. My vest was still in Coulson's lap. His eyes were still open. I scooted over to him as the medics cleared away, and with my unbloodied hand, I shut them. Director Fury gripped me under the arms and lifted me up. He looked like he'd aged twenty years in the span of a few minutes. He handed me off to another medic after nodding once to me, acknowledging my sacrifice.

"They called it."