May 5th, 2012
New York Harbour—SHIELD helicarrier No. 64, Agent Scott's quarters
Steve found the door to Quinn's quarters open an inch or two when he arrived in the early hours of the morning—he thought she'd shut and locked it when he'd left her there the evening before, but maybe she'd left?
"Quinn?" he said softly, pulling the door open the rest of the way and stepping inside the dim room.
At first there was no response, and Steve was almost sure Quinn wasn't there. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that was the case; being still with nothing to occupy her mind would mean she'd have to face her grief and Steve had seen the marks of her internal struggle to not do that on her face the day before. She didn't want to think about Agent Coulson's death, at least not where her grief could be witnessed. Maybe she'd gone in search of food, or gone back to cataloguing the Phase 2 bins from the base in the desert—anything to keep her mind busy.
Steve was deciding where he would look next when there was a small noise from the bed and Quinn pushed the covers down, exposing her face. He hadn't even noticed her shape beneath the blankets, she'd been so still.
She was paler than normal, the red and black of her stitches a stark contrast to her skin, and her tawny eyes dull and reddened as she peered at him from beneath half-closed lids. The skin beneath her eyes was puffy and purple-blue. The blue glow coming from the screen on the wall in the otherwise unlit room gave her a ghostly quality, and all the light he'd grown accustomed to seeing in her features was gone. She hadn't slept at all.
Quinn said nothing. Just looked at him.
A few heartbeats passed in silence.
"We're heading into the city now," he said quietly. "Somewhere in Central Park, I think. Thor wanted to go somewhere with more space to call the Bifrost, and somewhere we might not attract a crowd."
When Quinn spoke, her voice was rough and unsteady, but her lips still quirked a little when she said, "That sounds really weird coming from you."
"Bifrost?"
She nodded and then slowly rose, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She was dressed in civilian clothing—a baggy t-shirt and jeans, both wrinkled from being crammed in her bag, and no socks—and she hadn't bothered to braid her hair after she'd showered, or put her brace back on her left leg after she'd changed. "What time is it?"
"Just after five. Tony suggested there would be less people in the park if we went early, since it was close to where everything happened yesterday, though I remember the park always being busy, regardless of the time or what else had happened in the city." He leaned against the wall near the door and crossed his arms. "They've got Loki loaded into a transport, still shackled and muzzled. Thor, Dr. Banner, Agents Romanoff and Barton, and the guards who were with Loki overnight are down there as well, ready to go."
A flash of panic crossed Quinn's eyes, but it was duller than it might have been. "They're waiting on me?" She leaned forward and reached for her brace where it was sitting on the floor.
Steve crouched and picked it up when Quinn winced with her movement and helped her line it up along her leg. He watched her fasten it in place. "No. They're waiting on me. Director Fury asked if I would make sure you got home after we saw Loki and Thor off, and it made more sense to see if you wanted to come now, rather than coming all the way back here just to head into the city again. If you would rather stay here though, I will come back."
Quinn finished securing her brace and raised her eyes to Steve's. Another barely-there smile crossed her lips; it never reached her eyes. "No, you're right. That makes more sense. Just give me a minute. I want to see that Loki is gone for myself," she added, a bit of anger working its way into her words.
She pulled on and zipped up her boots and then, without thinking, took the hand Steve offered and let him pull her to her feet. He watched her closely as she gathered her things—she moved stiffly, deliberately, fastening her knives and gun belts in place and holstering her weapons as she headed for where her bag sat in the corner. It was full and waiting, probably packed in the sleepless night before. Steve took it from her hand before she could swing it onto her shoulder. She didn't protest, or even look at him, just headed into the hall, limping as she made her way to the launch bay. Steve followed close, ready to catch her if her leg gave out. Or if she gave out.
He was surprised how worried he was about Quinn. He'd known her for such a short time, only a few weeks. But he knew what it was like to lose someone you loved, and while he hadn't watched the life leave Bucky's eyes or the eyes of either of his parents the way she'd watched Agent Coulson pass, he had watched Bucky fall from a speeding train and vanish into the mountain valley below, and his mother waste away because of tuberculosis. He had seen more than his fair share of death in the war and knew how it could affect people. His father had died in World War I, before Steve even knew him. If he could help Quinn handle her loss in any way, he would, regardless of how long he'd known her. She'd been there for him since he'd woken up, and he knew she'd done things for him she probably shouldn't have.
Being there for her was the least he could do.
They finished the trip to the launch bay in silence, though Steve was acutely aware of the grimaces Quinn tried to keep him from seeing. Three vehicles were positioned facing the ramp leading down to the dock. Steve helped Quinn up into the backseat of the truck that would drive ahead of Loki's transport, and then climbed in after her. Quinn's gaze was stuck over her shoulder. At first, Steve thought she was looking at the transport, but then he realized it was the motorcycle secured in the back that had her attention.
"Director Fury requisitioned it for me," he said. It was a beautiful motorcycle: new, but made with care to look similar to the model Steve had ridden during the war, a touch Steve was grateful for. Another piece of his past life to make adjusting easier. "Though driving in the city traffic is not something I'm looking forward to."
"It's nice."
Unsure what to say, Steve fell silent.
Their truck started and headed down the ramp, the transport and the trailing vehicle following, and headed into the city. The agent driving didn't say anything, but Steve caught a few glances he threw in Quinn's direction via the rearview mirror; he stopped when he realized Steve was watching him.
New York City was never quiet, but that morning a solemn quality hung in the air, depriving the city of its usual life and vibrance. People were waking up after a tragedy, stunned to find it hadn't been a nightmare, that their homes, places of work, favourite places were destroyed, that their friends and family and the strangers they saw every day would never be coming back. That aliens had invaded Earth with hostile, destructive intent, and there was little left where they had been. The caravan didn't drive past the battleground, but Steve knew there would be SHIELD agents—and homeland security, coast guard, army, navy, whoever they could get to help—crawling through the rubble to retrieve all the alien bodies and machines in order to keep them from falling into the wrong hands. They would be working quick, to try and get repairs started and the city back to normal ASAP. There would be no stillness over the battleground.
Steve remembered the same feelings from the years before he'd flown to Europe. Hearing the incredible death tolls on both sides, and seeing it in person, left a mark, one a new generation of people in New York City, and likely the world, would share.
He looked over at Quinn. Her head was resting against the window, heedless of the vibration no doubt rattling her skull, her eyes staring out at the city without really seeing anything. Steve reached across the back seat to take her hand from where it rested on the leather and hold it in his own. She was short and had a small stature, but he'd never really thought of her as small before, not until then, when her hand seemed to disappear when he wrapped his around it.
She dragged her eyes across the seats to look at him, one corner of her mouth twitching as her fingers flexed against his in a weak squeeze. "Thank you," she said, her voice rough with withheld emotion.
"For what?"
Quinn just shrugged with one shoulder and dropped her head back against the glass, but didn't pull her hand from Steve's. Her fingers flexed against his again. Steve shifted so he could sit more comfortably and still hold her hand. He thought that maybe she'd thanked him for not letting her feel alone. Bucky had done it for Steve after his mother had passed, and Steve was glad to pay it forward.
May 5th, 2012
New York, New York—Central Park
The spot Thor had chosen to call the Bifrost was a sort of courtyard, set away from the main path and blocked by the larger areas of the park by thin tree cover. The SHIELD agents who had driven the car Steve and Quinn had ridden in and Loki's transport had set up a perimeter to keep curious civilians at bay and were currently patrolling it. Loki's four guards stood in a large square around the Asgardian, two back by the low railing and two in front, all of them facing the prisoner.
Thor stood beside his brother, and Erik Selvig—Quinn hadn't even realized he'd be around for this, but he'd stepped out of the transport and given her a small smile as he'd expressed his condolences—stood nearby, the silver case holding the Tesseract in one hand. Natasha and Clint were standing a ways back, their arms crossed over their chests, and Dr. Banner and Tony stood near the sleek burgundy sports car Stark had driven in from the city. Steve had remained near Quinn since they'd climbed out of the truck and his motorcycle had been unloaded, and he was now just off her left shoulder as she leaned against the transport, trying to take some weight off her bad leg.
They'd been standing in that arrangement for only a few seconds, but it felt like ages to Quinn; she'd even remained in the truck while the agents had set up. Her body was heavy and sore and she was exhausted and she just wanted to lay down, but she wanted—needed—to see Loki taken from Earth.
She needed to know she would never have to see him again.
"He will be taken to Asgard and imprisoned," Thor said. Dr. Selvig opened the case, displaying the Tesseract in a glass device Quinn had never seen before. A device for tapping into the Tesseract's power maybe? Or transporting it safely? "I must thank you all once more for your help in stopping him, and for allowing me to take him home."
"It's not like Earth is equipped to handle you guys," Tony said. "Yet."
"I can assure you he will face appropriate punishment."
Tony snorted. "Sure."
The tension escalated for a few seconds, but dissipated quickly. Tony might not have liked relinquishing control, but everyone wanted Loki gone. Thor cleared his throat and took the encased Tesseract, pulling Loki closer. The god of mischief's eyes scanned those assembled, briefly making eye contact with those who didn't look away. Quinn felt a shiver crawl down her spine when he met her gaze, the skin around his muzzle pulling as he no doubt smiled, and she leaned heavier against the transport, fighting the urge to slide out of view.
Thor cast one more look around, nodded, and extended one end of the glass case to Loki, who took it, probably because he knew he had no other choice. There was a shift in the wind, and then a pillar of rainbow light slammed into the spot at the centre of the stone courtyard, engulfing Thor and Loki and burning a beautiful, twisting pattern into the stone of the courtyard.
And then they were gone.
The Bifrost disappeared, momentarily taking all sound and air with it. Quinn was stunned, much as she'd been when she had first seen Thor use his powers. She'd spent a lot of time reading about Norse mythology and to see it come to life… It was still almost unbelievable.
The air whipped around, blowing up leaves and bits of garbage and pulling at everyone's hair and clothing. Quinn stumbled a little as the area returned to normalcy. Steve's hand closed around her upper arm, steadying her.
"Thanks," she mumbled. Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away, but it had sounded like that all morning. "That was something…"
"It really was," Steve agreed.
Quinn looked over to where the rest of the Avengers were saying their goodbyes. "You better get over there."
Steve looked from her to the group, squeezed her arm, and then went to join the others. Quinn leaned against the transport again and watched the Avengers shake hands, hug, slap each other on the back… A pang of loneliness shot through Quinn's chest, which was ridiculous, since she knew she wasn't alone, but her brain was stuck on the hole left by Coulson. He should have been there to see the Initiative come to fruition, to see a project he'd been so passionate about turn into a success. He should have been there to see the Avengers off. He should have been there to continue to act as the liaison between SHIELD and the Avengers.
He should have been there.
A sob built in Quinn's chest, but she managed to keep it in despite the burn of tears in her eyes.
She could see him standing next to her, arms crossed and that knowing smirk on his face, like he'd known the outcome the whole time, like his faith had never wavered once. She could imagine the look in his eyes when he turned his head to look at her, one eyebrow slightly cocked.
We did it, Kid. They did it. Look at them—the Avengers.
Quinn looked back at the Avengers, her friends. She could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks. Coulson should have been there.
The courtyard stayed quiet as everyone began to disperse. Quinn could hear faint snatches of exchanged words, but didn't bother to try and hear what was being said; she was more interested in just taking it all in. For her, and for Coulson's memory. Dr. Banner got into the car with Tony, and the pair of them drove off towards the city, probably back to Stark Tower; the roar of the engine startled Quinn slightly. Dr. Selvig climbed back into the transport with the SHIELD agents after they'd taken down the perimeter, and Natasha and Clint got back into the black trailing car. The redheaded assassin cast Quinn a look over her shoulder, but whether it was because she knew Quinn wouldn't want to talk at that moment, or because she needed to get in the car and drive, Natasha didn't say anything or approach. Or maybe it was because Steve was returning to Quinn's side and Natasha knew she wouldn't be alone.
Steve stopped in front of her. "Are you ready to go?"
Quinn wiped her cheeks again, and then looked up at Steve and nodded; it felt like she was moving through molasses. "Yeah." More tears leaked from her eyes. She wiped them angrily away. "Damn it…" Quinn turned and walked the short distance to Steve's motorcycle.
He touched her back before he climbed onto the bike, released the kickstand, and got it balanced. Quinn used Steve to keep herself from falling over as she somewhat awkwardly climbed onto the small seat behind him and wrapped her arms around Steve's torso. He started the bike and took off in the same direction the other vehicles had gone, branching off from them as soon as they hit the city proper. Quinn pressed her face into Steve's back and focused on the smell of his leather jacket.
May 5th, 2012
New York, New York—Agent Scott's apartment
"Quinn?"
Steve's voice sounded far away. She didn't turn to look at him. Her eyes stayed glued to the dark maw of her apartment. She was afraid to go inside because once she did, once she was alone, she would fall apart, and she'd been holding it in for so long. She was afraid of what would happen to her when she let go. Steve was standing to one side, her keys in his hand and her bag on his shoulder, waiting for her to cross the threshold.
But she couldn't.
Her throat was already tight, and she could feel more tears waiting to fall. She'd balled her hands into fists almost immediately after climbing off Steve's motorcycle and had yet to release them; her fingernails, short as they were, had started to cut into her palms. Only her sheer determination not to fall apart in front of anyone was keeping her together.
Steve reached out to touch her shoulder again and she took a step back. "Please don't touch me," she whispered. "I don't think I can keep it together if you touch me."
He raised his hands like he was showing her he was unarmed. "I understand," he said.
Of course he did. He'd lost people. Quinn stepped closer to him again and faced her door once more. Steve didn't say anything else or push her to go inside. He just stood there and waited, just in case.
After another thirty seconds or so, Quinn inhaled and walked inside and stopped in the hall. Her chest constricted, like her heart was being squeezed, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Steve followed and, keeping out of touching distance, put her bag on the floor inside her bedroom, her keys on the table in the hallway. Then he stood in front of her, his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
"Let me know if you need anything." His voice was quiet, but Quinn could see he wanted to say more.
She tried to answer, but her voice cracked. After she swallowed, cleared her throat, she tried again. "I will. Thanks again, Steve. It's…"
"You don't have to say anything else, Quinn." He gave her a small smile.
Her lip began to quiver, so she drew it between her teeth and tried to smile back at Steve. She wanted to hug him, or take his hand in hers, or something, but she didn't want him to see any more of her emotional state than he already had. Steve walked back out into the hall and, with another look at her over his shoulder, he shut her door.
The click boomed in the silence. A sob escaped Quinn almost as soon as the darkness closed over her, the first drop through a breaking dam.
She unclenched her fists only to ball them up again around her shirt, tightening her grip on herself. The pressure felt good, anchoring, but it wasn't enough to keep the torrent inside from rushing out. Quinn sobbed again and fell back against the wall and slid down to her butt, pressing her chest against knees as tears soaked her cheeks and her nose began to run. Her bad leg screamed but she didn't care. Her fingers began to tingle from lack of blood flow but she move them. Her head started pounding in time with her heartbeat but she barely felt it.
All that mattered was that Coulson was gone.