Song: The Plot - Torchwood
Stella took in a deep breath and sat up slowly in her bed and looked around herself. The room was neat and tidy and some familiar objects adorned the once bare shelves on the wall across from her. Her iPod was plugged into the wall and she couldn't help but smile as she saw the final touch to the room that clearly said that this was her mother's final touch before the adult had left the night before. She smiled and swung herself out of bed, walking over to the small stool in the corner of the room:
A small plate of cookies.
Stella sighed and pulled back the ceran-wrap, pulling out one of the cookies, absentmindedly nibbling at it as she walked over to her iPod, scrolling through the music.
"Oh what the hell," she muttered and clicked on the title. "Your fault that I listen to this stuff, dad," she muttered as she walked into her bathroom to start cleaning up in there. Blood splotches on the floor and counters were not appealing to anyone.
Launching loony thoughts into the bending of your mind. Reach for something higher but a mountain's all you find!
~'*'~
Romanoff was perched up in the ventilation shaft, watching the passing people, though her eyes were fixated on the door to Fury's office. He hadn't left there since he entered this morning, and according to her observations over the past few weeks, he should be leaving any moment. At that exact thought, the door opened and Fury, looking even more worn than he had been the last few times she had seen him, began walking down the hall, suspiciously looking about himself before typing in a code. The Black Widow tapped a few times on her mic in her ear. Barton stepped out of his quarters with a very questionable stagger in his step.
"'Ello, Director," he slurred and Fury gave him a very worried, dubious look.
"Agent," he said and Clint gave a very sloppy salute. "Something wrong?"
"Never...challenge a Russian to a drinking contest," he proclaimed loudly, drawing looks from throughout the hallway. He did a strange about face and then raised a hand in thought. "Wasn't really a drinking contest though...more of a...prolonged, shared salute." He stopped and swallowed, turning back to face Fury. Even Romanoff was momentarily fooled by his performance and nearly forgot to glance down at the small screen in her hands that held the passcode that her superior had been typing in. 12489A6PJC. All it was waiting for was an enter. A send.
"You are drunk, agent," Fury said with severity. "Report back to your quarters until you are called for or until you can get a grip." Clint gave a sad smile and began in the direction of his room.
"Not gonna ask what we drank to?" he asked, voice tripping over itself, turning around to face his superior again. Romanoff looked through the camera on the inside of Clint's collar: Fury had added more numbers and letters. 007TESS. Tess. Tesseract. Romanoff felt a hot anger burn into her but pushed it aside. Fury had hit enter. That was the password then. 12489A6PJC007TESS. She tapped a few more times on her mic and Clint gave an exaggerated, theatrical shrug.
"Doesn' matter anymore. All gone. Even the whiskey we were drinking. Whiskey and rye. Bye, bye Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry..." the archer began singing, still with that burr of drunken stupor in his voice, as he walked down the hall, tapping on the walls in rhythm with the song. "THEM GOOD OL' BOYS WERE DRINKING WHISKEY AND RYE SINGING THIS'LL BE THE DAY THAT I DIE!" People were balking from him in the halls, appalled and worried for their safety as he violently gesticulated and stumbled about. "SUPPOSED TO SING THAT AT HIS FUNERAL, YOU KNOW, I PROMISED HIM! WE DRANK TO HIM!" Clint shouted and Fury's expression grew stony. "BYE-BYE, MISS AMERICAN PIE. DROVE MY CHEVY TO THE LEVEE BUT THE LEVEE WAS DRY!"
~'*'~
"I have wasted so much time!" Stella sang and was startled out of her music as she heard a rather nice voice outside singing a familiar song.
"So, bye-bye Miss American Pie...drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry..." She turned off her music and walked over to her door and opened it to have Barton fall face first into her.
"WHOA! Agent Barton are you...you're drunk," she trailed off and Clint pushed himself to his feet and staggered farther into her room, still gesticulating wildly.
"Shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have hesitated. Should have ran. Should have killed myself," he muttered and Stella immediately closed the door.
"Hey, Clint. What's going on here?" she asked softly, leading him over to sit on the bed. "Just sit there. What's up? Do you want anything?"
"I was faking, Coulson. Or, was suppos'd to," he hiccuped and ground the heels of his hands into his forehead. "I couldn't help it. Getting drunk suddenly seemed like a good idea."
"Why were you faking?" she asked, bringing him some water and a damp towel.
"Tasha thinks that she's onto something that Fury's hiding. She needed a distraction. And an eyeball. No, no...no eyeballs, no distractions," he whispered and slammed his forehead a couple times on his hands. He gave a bitter laugh and looked up. "I"m not a mean drunk, you don't have to look so scared." Stella shook herself out of her paranoid mind set and gave a smile.
"Not scared. Just...disconcerted."
"Huh. I guess the unflappable me being drunk and bemoaning the killing of one of his best friends is a bit disconcerting. PHIL, DAMN YOU!" he suddenly shouted and stood up violently. "WHY'D YOU DO IT?!" Stella stopped mid word and closed her mouth. This torn up, degrading shouting was familiar. Unfortunately so.
"I ask him that every night," she whispered and Clint looked up from where he had fallen on his knees, staring at his hands.
"But I led the strike. I'm the reason he's dead." Stella sat down beside him and the two of them leaned against the side of her bed.
"Loki is the only one to blame. If I could put a shotgun bullet between his eyes, I would sleep much better at night," Stella said gently, but with a dangerous steely flame in her eyes and voice as she said the last sentence. "It's not your fault and never say it is. I lost enough tears and hours of my life screaming those same words at my wall. It never made me feel any better." Clint nodded and pulled a face. "You okay?"
In response, he pushed himself to his feet and staggered off to the bathroom from where the ungodly sound of vomiting was heard.
"Now I am," came Clint's weak voice. "What the hell did Nat put in her vodka?"
"She's a Russian assassin, what do you think she put in her vodka?" Stella asked, reentering with the towel and glass of water. "You might want to just lay down and sleep off your hangover."
"Since when does an underage know so much about drinking?" he asked as he flopped down on her bed. She looked down and shrugged.
"Dad's death hit mum pretty hard. I got good at this for a few weeks. Then she just snapped out of it. Played out her sorrows on the cello instead of in the bottle." Clint nodded and sighed.
"I hope Nat got what she needed."
~'*'~
Romanoff dropped down into the security office, the agent monitoring the camera's completely oblivious to the fact that she was in the same room as him. She raised a fist and slammed it forward into his side and with a brief cry of pain, he fell to the ground, downed by her taser. She quickly dumped him unceremoniously on the ground and took his seat, typing rapidly. She had to follow him. The cameras swiveled around, locking on Fury as he walked down halls and stopped at doors. Quickly hitting a few keys, she zoomed in on the key pads, recording the pass codes he used. He was slipping, she noted. He would normally be so much more cautious about something like this. She repeated the procedure and saw that he entered a medical facility. Strange...she thought to herself and set all the cameras back to their normal position, numbers and sequences running through her head. It was time to lay these ghosts of thoughts, theories, and lies to rest.
~'*'~
Fury walked into the darkened room, noting the worried Jones beside the patient.
"How is he?"
"This time I have an update for you, but it isn't good. He just fell into a deeper coma." Fury came to a stop beside her and the blonde looked up at him. "He's worse. Much worse than he was before."
"What's worse than already being in a coma and falling farther into one?" he asked tersely.
"Well, his heart is still strong sir, we're surprised at that. Stark tech apparently still works up to its claims. Does he know - "
"No," he answered quickly. "I don't want any of them to know. What's worse about him?"
"Well, just look at him sir. He's paler, the malnutrition is higher - "
"How, you're intravenously giving him what he needs," the tall man accused and she looked at him seriously.
"That's the strange part. His body dropped several degrees in the severity of his condition. He needed more nutrition than before, which makes no sense. Unless he's trying to get better and we're just not noticing it. There's no way for him to be using this much nutrition unless it's just to stay alive. If that's the case, then he's still in there somewhere." Fury shook his head.
"If he was in there I would know. He would have made a sign of some sort."
"Sir, he's way gone, I don't know if - "
"He would have," Fury interrupted, almost angry. "I know him. He would have let us know." He paused in thought, looking down at the still form. "What if it isn't him keeping him alive? What if it's something else?"
"You mean, what if the dips in his condition are him...letting go, and something else is pulling him back together?"
"You did say that the Tesseract was a possible component in this. And as far as we can tell, that thing is virtually a living organism."
"I said it was improbable, but yes," the doctor corrected. "Sir, as of right now, there is nothing good coming of keeping him alive. I think you should consider - "
"Not an option."
"Sir, we can't keep him alive forever! We could be causing him agony right now keeping him alive, and we wouldn't even know it! We're going to need to make the right decision for this patient, whether you like it or not. If you were him, would you want to be stuck in who knows where. You have to let him go sir. Just think about it." She took a few notes and walked out, leaving them alone.
Fury walked over to the bedside and picked up the thin, bony hand in his and looked down at the gaunt face, still staring eyes. He leaned into the man's line of vision and took in a shaky breath.
"If you can hear me or see me, do anything. Make your eye twitch or something. Do anything to let me know you're still in there." No movement at all, no acknowledgement, not the slightest muscle movement. "We'll get you out of this. I promise. And...and everything will go back to normal. I promise. We'll fix everything. We'll get rid of all of the hate that's going around here about what happened to you, we'll fix it all. Just get your ass back in the world of the living. You get that? God damn it, just one sign. One sign." Defeated, the Director took a few steps back and sat in the chair, back to the door and hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands. Almost as if he were in prayer.
~'*'~
Romanoff stormed forward, eyes practically glowing as she proceeded forward with an air of almost vindictive nature. She came up before the first door and entered the first code.
12489A6PJC007TESS
The door lock beeped and turned green and she walked in, pushing by the startled medical intern who was about to leave.
"Uh, excuse me, I don't think you're supposed to be in here!" he called, but she didn't respond. "Hey! Dr. Jones, this is Intern ICU nurse Brand, Agent Romanoff just broke in."
"Change all the codes," the assassin heard a female voice order and she started running. She had to get there before the others were changed.
1009GHn87Rt95VictorVictor2
Beep. Ding.
She continued running, turning corners, sprinting right into a security squad.
"Stop right there or we'll shoot!" came one panicked, small voice and she gave a mirthless smirk.
Moments later she was stepping between a tangle of arms and legs with complete ease and an alarm was going off in the corridors, probably alerting the rest of the unit of her presence. Once she was clear, she began running again, meeting no resistance at all. The next four codes and four stops, down flights of stairs and through several narrow hallways, were easy.
987000SINDUSTRY00148
09238AVENGERS887B9823001
09834BWPROGRAM82555552100000
AlphaClearance00000
The last door hissed open and she found herself standing before a large assortment of nurses, doctors, and security guards.
"Agent Romanoff, I'm Doctor Jones. We understand that - " a shorter, blonde doctor said, stepping forward, but Romanoff held up a hand to stop her.
"I'm here for one thing and one thing only," she said simply, pushing by the woman rather roughly.
"Wait, stop! You aren't allowed back there!" Jones shouted and pressed an intercom on the wall.
In the room, Fury sighed. He knew what was happening. Had known since the incident with Barton in the hall. Jones had been right: it had only been a matter of time before they connected the dots.
"Sir, Agent Romanoff is approaching you. She doesn't seem to be in the mood for anymore lies."
"Understood," he said lowly and didn't bother moving. The game of lies, of dodging shadows was over. Best just wait for his doom to come to him. Especially if it came in the form of a PO'd assassin.
The silence stretched on, and in the drone of nothingness, he thought he would have heard the door open and close. But he didn't.
~'*'~
Romanoff softly opened the door and stepped in, taking care not to make a single sound as she entered and closed the door behind her. The image before her made her gut churn in the most unpleasant way and the heavy severity that the air was saturated with made her feel like joining the Director in his defeated posture by the side of the bed. The bed. Her anger flared sky high again.
"How long," she asked, though it was more of a statement that trembled with the intensity of her anger and sadness and betrayal. Fury didn't make any move to respond to her, just stared straight at the deteriorating, decrepit form on the bed. "How long were you going to hide him?" Still no answer. And then her anger snapped. Fury felt himself grabbed violently from behind and slammed against the wall, an angry face close to his.
"HOW LONG?!" she shouted. "HOW LONG WAS HE GOING TO SIT IN HERE WITHOUT US KNOWING?" At this point, Fury broke too.
"I never was going to tell you," he growled and she tightened her grip.
"HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU KEEP HIM LOCKED AWAY LIKE THIS?!"
"ROMANOFF, LOOK AT HIM!" Fury shouted, seeing as it was the only language she was understanding right now. "LOOK AT HIM! THAT'S NOT HIM, NATASHA! THAT'S NOT HIM!" Both of them fell into a dead silence filled with heavy breathing and Romanoff looked close to tears. "I don't know what that is. But that's not the man you and I knew." She released her death grip and backed away, looking over at the skeleton of her mentor.
"Can - " she whispered, voice trembling.
"We don't know," he answered. "We don't anything. We don't know if he can see us, if he can hear us. We don't know what's killing him, we don't know what's keeping him alive. That's why I wasn't going to tell you. I don't know if he'll even be here tomorrow." Romanoff looked broken, far from the fighting tiger that had barged in.
"Has he said..."
"Nothing. He's been like that for months. Ever since Loki stabbed him." She walked over to the bed and sat carefully on the mattress beside him.
"When will you tell the others?" she asked softly, as though out of deference.
"I'm won't. There is nothing left to see." Her head whipped around to face him.
"You have to," she protested. Fury shook his head.
"I can't. To have lied this long...they've already said goodbye, agent. They've put themselves to rest and they've put Phil to rest - "
"They wanted to say goodbye in person," she interrupted. "They all did. Tony's still beating himself up about it. So's Rogers. And Thor. And Clint as sure as hell is. If you'd allow them to say goodbye...I know I'd want to."
"Phil wouldn't want people to see him like this," Fury protested weakly and that was when Romanoff knew she'd won. She shook her head.
"You're wrong. He'd want people to see him like this. He's used to seeing all of us at our worst, it's about time we saw him at his. Make us appreciate what we have when we have it. He'd want us to see him if he...if he didn't..." She put a hand over her mouth and bowed her head, shoulders trembling as she tried to suppress her tears. "If he didn't wake up tomorrow, but could hear us, he'd want to know his team was with him," she said in a rush of words that tumbled over each other. Coupled with the tears it was like a babbling river. Fury walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, relieved when she pulled herself together in an instant. "Are you going to tell his daughter?"
"Stella can't know. Not right now," he responded immediately. "His wife can't either. I know it sounds heartless, but...that's the way of things right now. He can't be revealed immediately. You and Barton are okay for now, but - "
"I understand. I'll make plans for the others coming in."
"Do you want a moment with him?" he asked, moving towards the door.
"Yes please," she answered and waited for the door to click shut. She reached out to put a hand on her friend's hand, but hesitated, palm hovering above his. She gently grabbed it and leaned forward to gently place a kiss on his forehead. It was cold and clammy, a feeling that made her feel sick. She sat by his side with his hand in hers for a long time.
~'*'~
"He going to be okay?" came a sudden voice and Stella jumped, turning around to see Romanoff standing there in the doorway.
"Uh, yeah. Just a hangover, nothing I can't handle," she responded and gave a smile. "He's been drinking water and throwing up basically all of your vodka - "
"Hangover?" the assassin asked, taken aback. "Barton!" she snapped and Clint's eyes opened and he quickly sat up, blinking rapidly.
"What?" he asked, rubbing his sore eyes. "What'd I do, what'd I miss?"
"You were supposed to fake it," she said accusingly. "And not drink all my vodka in the process. I said enough to make it convincing."
"Well, I figured we needed to make it as foolproof as possible. And I thought it was pretty convincing. It work?" he asked in an aside. She nodded, grave.
"It worked." Clint nodded and stood up.
"Well, glad it did. I wouldn't have wanted to have this bloody headache for nothing," he joked and walked out the door without a second glance.
"You're welcome?" Stella asked, play affronted and Romanoff smirked.
"He's never really been one for saying thanks unless it was necessary or fit the mood," she explained. Then, she too turned to depart. But before she did, she reached out and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, squeezing gently.
"You're pretty strong, Coulson. Keep that strength up and you might just survive this. You're like you dad. You just fight in more ways than we can really understand. Keep that up." Stella felt a blush creeping up in her cheeks and she nodded, looking down.
"Thanks."
"And for that," Romanoff stated in a way that was a warning and Stella's hands flew to intercept the forearm that was swinging for her chest to knock her over. Natasha raised an eyebrow in surprise as her hard swing was stopped by an iron grip right in front of her intended target. "You're getting faster."
"Thanks Romanoff," she said again that shy person and Romanoff smiled again at her. The second time in the space of a few minutes that she full on smiled at the girl. Something was up.
"Just call me Tasha. Your dad did," the woman offered, but Stella shook her head.
"You're my mentor, and well, I'm not my dad. I think for now, I should still call you Agent Romanoff." Said agent shrugged.
"Fine by me, but it'll get to be a mouthful, trust me," she warned and left the room, immediately beelining for Barton who was waiting farther down the hall.
"How is he?" he asked softly and Romanoff didn't answer until she pulled him into her room.
"He's...he's sick, Clint. He's really, really sick," she said simply and Clint swore softly.
"But he's alive?" he asked, hopeful. She shook her head.
"Not really. He breaths and his heart beats but...Clint, don't make me describe it. This is Phil we're talking about and he's...he's just sick." She allowed Clint to pull her into a hug and closed her eyes. "Really sick."
~'*'~
Stella opened her door and walked down the hallway, looking around almost fearfully. This was the first time that she was leaving her room on her won and her feet lead her to the memorial room. It was strange, she thought, as she stood there in the pristine white room. She felt as though she was in the presence of the dead, although they were all simply digital information, binary and technical stuff like that. She copied what she had seen Barton do and asked for one name.
"Veronica Rodriguez. Retired due to accident in service as a junior agent."
"Voice lock of Stella Coulson recognized," the computer said and the holographic image flickered into existence before her. "Say continue to play the message."
Message. How many of the dead had messages for her? Feeling sick and trapped, Stella stammered out some order to end the program and ran out of the room, blending into the flow of agents in the hall. She needed to run. To escape.
Run on a circular track, forever and ever. Just run.
And she did.