[Quinn]
The next few days were relatively quiet. Fury returned the next morning after he was attacked, a bandage on his face from where the claw of a demon had shot out and sliced him. Other than that, he was indifferent, going about business like usual, giving orders and conducting research on Vermont based on the new information Captain America and I had gathered. Well, mostly me.
For the past three days, I had been staying as far away from Captain Rogers as I could. I had said as little as I could to him, opting to talk to Stark or Banner instead and sometimes Thor. We still went hunting every night, but little to no communication was passed between us as I opted to nod or grunt when he asked questions. He was slightly frustrated with my lack of response, judging by the glances he kept shooting me out of the corner of his eye and the expression between anger and confusion that would sometimes appear on his face.
Crowe hadn't bothered me again since the last time I had seen him, but I still had the distinct feeling he was watching me with beady eyes, peeking around every corner and observing my every move. Honestly, I was starting to get nervous. Fury hadn't mentioned anything about my identity lately, but I know he didn't stop searching, even if Steve did talk to him. S.H.I.E.L.D is a high intelligence agency, I'll be damned if they ever actually gave up on me.
"So then, as we were facing down the fearsome best five men tall and six in width, we heard a peculiar sound, like a herd of bilgesnipe trampling the ground. The Warriors Three, Sif and I didn't know what to make of it when suddenly the creature dropped dead!" Thor boomed enthusiastically, banging on the cafeteria table for extra emphasis.
Silverware clattered and glasses tinkled as the whole table shook. "It turns out that it had eaten the mutton Volstagg had dropped previously in the battle that we had gotten from the tribe the day before as a gift for rescuing them. Apparently, the meat had been poisoned in a foolish attempt to kill us out of spite of accidentally destroying their temple." The god laughed.
He had been telling stories for the past hour and a half now during dinner to a table that consisted of Stark, Banner, Barton, and Captain Rogers. It was a welcome break from the onslaught of questions Tony had been throwing at me earlier, none of which I answered.
Agent Barton chuckled slightly as he pointed a french fry at Thor before popping it into his mouth.
"Well, you did send your hammer through it earlier during a strength challenge." He pointed out.
"Still no reason to poison them." Tony added.
I sat there, zoning out the conversation as I got lost in my own thoughts. Suddenly, white hot, scorching pain shot through my core, close to my heart. My knuckles whitened as they clutched the side of the plastic chair, my teeth gritting to keep me from crying out. I shut my eyes so hard against the pain that tiny dots danced behind my eyelids, swimming in and out of the darkness.
No, please, not now. Not here.
Tony was in the middle of commenting on something that one of the Avengers had said when he happened to glance over at me.
:"Twinkletoes? You alright?" He asked, noticing my gray tinged pallor.
My eyes shot open as I forced my body to act natural despite the agony shooting through my veins. All of the Avengers were now staring at me in mixtures of concern and suspicion.
"Yeah." I replied. "Fine,"
"You look ill." Banner observed, tilting his head to the side slightly as he examined me. "Maybe it would be best if you didn't go out hunting."
"I said I'm fine." I snapped, my voice cold. "Isn't it time that we got going, anyway?" I directed the questions towards Steve, not daring to make eye contact with him.
"Yeah," His eyes were still trained on me, feeling as if they were piercing my facade. Rising from my chair, I cleaned off my tray and stalked out of the door as the pain ebbed slightly but didn't diminish completely.
Cap opened his mouth to say something, probably ask how I felt, but I cut the question off short by shooting him a sharp, icy glare, silencing him. A wave of pain rocked my body again and my surroundings blurred and tilted. The tip of my boot scuffed the floor as I nearly stumbled but regained my balance quickly. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Steve's look of concern and felt a warm hand on my elbow, guiding me to the side of the hallway, just around a corner.
"Quinn. Tell me what's wrong, now."
I looked away, jaw set as I stared past his head and into the distance, not acknowledging him. He firmly held my shoulders and swiveled me to face him, staring me in the eyes as if searching for something.
"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice not as demanding as before, a soft note of worry hidden in them. For a second, all we did was stand there, neither of us saying a word or making a move to pull away. I felt my guard slowly slipping, my mask of numb emotionless cracking slightly.
Inhaling sharply, I jerked back as I came to my senses and his hands fell as I growled, "None of your damn business. You may be able to order around your little team and get them to tell you whatever you want them to, but you have no power over me, Captain Rogers." Swiveling on my heel, I turned and spat behind me, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have demons to kill."
While we were hunting, I made it a point to stay as far away from Steve and talk as little as I could to him, icily ignoring him. Sometimes I would catch his wounded look when he was deep in thought and let his guard slip, his expression looking like that of a kicked puppy.
You're not here to make friends, Quinn. I reminded myself scathingly. You have to kill Vermont and bring down the League with him. Besides, you won't be around long enough to have a lasting friendship.
There was a small pang of pain as I mused over the last statement, staring out at the scenery out of the window of the helicopter, a dark, indigo blanket speckled with tiny pinpricks of lights as we flew over the city. We had already hunted and were now returning to the S.H.I.E.L.D compound to sleep.
The random bursts of anguish I had experienced earlier had quieted down to a faint ache close to my heart. I knew it would be back, though. When your soul is ripping apart it doesn't just magically heal all by itself. There is no cure.
A longing to be soaring over the velvet landscape hit me as I realized I hadn't gone for a fly in awhile. Sure, I flew a little while I was hunting, but it was nothing compared to the freedom that cut me straight to my core when I flew for fun, the wind ruffling my sleek feathers and tangling my hair. My definition of pure, mind clearing bliss (well, as close as I could get to it considering I'm not the type of person to take a lot of time off for hobbies) was diving and swirling in the air, nothing separating me from the sky except for the cool air and clouds that mist me with water vapor as I shoot though them.
We landed outside of the S.H.I.E.L.D compound and I quickly made my way inside, leaving the Captain to catch up with me. I slid my access card into the slot in my door, entering silently and shutting the door behind me. My eyes automatically scanned the room, carefully sweeping over the corners of the room. Since the demon attack, I've been jumpier, more cautious.
I quickly changed for bed, throwing on an oversized, emerald green tee that had seen better days, its edges were frayed and multiple holes scattered the soft fabric. Pulling on some cut off sweatpant shorts that hit a few inches above my knee, I crawled into bed. On my nightstand I placed my daggers, opting to slide my switchblade under my pillow.
The reason I didn't keep the daggers with me in bed was because I toss and turn fitfully when I sleep because of my recurring nightmares. I learned my lesson about sleeping with my daggers when during a nightmare I rolled on top of a dagger and sliced my leg. Something I don't want to happen again because I don't fancy stabbing myself in the stomach while I sleep. Personal preference, I guess.
The lights turned off as I slid under the cool, white sheets, my dark hair splaying against the pillow as exhaustion washed over me. I hadn't slept more than three hours a night for the past three days and it didn't help that I could gradually feel myself becoming weaker and weaker, my soul taking a toll on me.
2:13 the clock on the nightstand burned in obnoxiously vivid, red numbers, the time cutting through the darkness. We would usually have gotten back later if Captain America hadn't called off the hunt early. I guessed it had something to do with me. But then again, there had been little to no demons prowling the streets, which was unusual. My sleep deprived mind couldn't focus on my thoughts as I snuggled deeper into the pillow, the fabric soothing my cheek.
I faded into sleep slowly, my thoughts hazing as I was dragged down into peaceful slumber.
Until a hand clamped down on my mouth, something sharp pricking my arm. Struggling, I kicked and bucked, but an arm held me down by my waist, an elbow digging into my stomach as they also covered my mouth with that hand. An icy stinging radiated from my arm and I fought harder as panic gripped me. A needle. Something was being injected into my arm.
The person, a man, judging by the broad shoulders and stench of cologne, chuckled as I let out a muffled, angry string of curses, biting their hand hard. Metallic blood coated my tongue but I didn't let up. Neither did the man.
My arm broke free, shooting for my switchblade before my wrist was harshly pinned down to the mattress. The cold needle slid from my arm as the person stepped back enough to where I could see their face but they still had a tight grip on me, trapping me.
"Why, hello there little birdy." Vincent Crowe smiled, the grin unnatural and twisting his face sickly.
I jerked forwards as claustrophobia and the fear of being chained fueled me. I didn't move. Icy panic gripped me as a heavy weight settled in my veins, keeping me from moving. Trapped. Paralyzed. Chained in my own body.
"Do you like it? I injected you with a little something to make sure you didn't kick up too much of a fuss." He let go of me and turned on the lamp, a victorious glint in his eye as he slowly paced around my bed, the light vesting a long, distorted shadow of his figure that flitted across the floor.
I glared at him, his grin widening as he saw the burning, withering expression in my eyes. Threats would be streaming from my mouth if I could move my jaw.
"What say we go for a little stroll, shall we?" The black suit he wore blended him into the dim hallway as he opened the door, peeking around the corners to make sure the coast was clear before he advanced towards me. Leather loafers clicked the floor as Crowe advanced towards me with long, menacing strides.
I knew something was off with him from the start, from the moment I met him in the elevator. Why didn't I do something about it earlier? What does he want with me? My mind whirled. The clock on my bedside table told me it was only three a.m. Nobody in the hallway was awake to help me. I bet that Crowe blocked or hacked the security cameras, meaning no one would see me.
Of course he was able to hack into the security cameras, he was the one who installed them in the first place. I thought back to the conversation I'd overheard around the time I first arrived. Crowe was against me from the start, plotting.
Vincent hauled me up by my waist, dragging me out of bed. During the process of untangling my stiff legs from my sheets, my fingers brushed against my switchblade,
Move, damn it! I growled as I tried to move my fingers. One of them twitched. Come on! Using all of the strength I had, I slowly wrapped my fingers around the smooth handle as I was roughly dropped on the floor before being picked up again. I leaned against Crowe as he lugged me out of the room, my feet sliding against the cold floor in the hallway.
My eyes flitted to Steve's door, the interior pitch black. Steve, please, help. I was pressed against the wall of the hallway as Vincent glanced down the hallway, gripping me with unnecessary roughness as he deemed the hallway clear, shuffling around the corner down a hallway to the left.
This was my last chance. Forcing my leaden hand to move, nearly grunting with effort, I flicked my wrist and the switchblade skittered across the floor, lightly tapping the base of the door to Steve's room. My view was blocked as I was pulled around the corner, the room hidden by the wall.
Suffocating panic rose in my throat, choking me. I needed help. I was useless, worthless. Fighting back an anxiety attack, I kept my energy at bay. I could feel the familiar power tingling under my hands, wanting to be released. But if I did, what then? There was a pretty good chance I would end up losing control, killing innocent people. A shudder ran though my body as Crowe's clammy hand stroked my face.
"Nat far now, darling. Just wait till you see the surprise I have just for you." His vicious, wolfish eyes glinted in the dark, his voice laced with something foreboding.
The only hope I had now was Captain America. I focused on the memory of his deep, endlessly blue eyes to calm myself, keep the fear at bay, keep me from falling apart.
Please, find me. Help me. Save me from him, from myself. I need you.