Song: Gentle Execution - Battlestar Galactica
"Hello, Agent Coulson." Heart hammering and breath coming in short, Stella slowly backed away from the door, eyes wide with fear and senses working in overload, taking in every possible escape route, every possible means of defense. Expression seemingly set in stone, Director Fury stepped across the threshold of the door, closing the heavy oak behind him as he wiped his feet on the mat on the tiled entryway.
"What - what do you want? How did you find me?" Fury scoffed, looking up at her.
"CCTV, credit card runs, the whole nine yards...you made it hard. In fact, someone's been covering your tracks for you, and I know it hasn't been just your dad. We have people watching Stark like a hawk, so we know it wasn't him either." Stella swallowed, tears on the verge of overflowing in her unblinking eyes. "I think it's safe to assume that you've been in contact with Lily Reichen, Ian Thompson, Alicia Wong, and Simone Herring." Furtively, Stella shook her head, trying to keep herself at some level of calm. "But though that group is good...we're better. We eventually found you about a year after you dropped off the grid through your medical records. Took a bit of prying where we shouldn't have been and Sitwell thought it was a goose chase, but low and behold it was the right route." Stella took in a shaky breath, backing away as the SHIELD leader continued walking towards her. He looked around the house, taking in the different pictures, the books, the furniture, and after finding whatever it was he was looking for, he turned back to face her, gesturing at the air around them. "Domesticity seems to be working well for you then. Never would have thought of it, considering what you were like in your early adulthood." However, the ex-assassin had had enough of his twisting words, and she barely suppressed a sigh of relief as her back hit the bookcase against the wall beside the doorway to the kitchen. Without turning her back on the man before her, she pulled a heavy, leather bound Bible from the top shelf and flipped open the cover, revealing a hollow interior in the shape of a handgun.
"What do you want from me?" she demanded, and Fury eyed the steadily held weapon before him and the scared, yet determined eyes that were fixed on his.
"I see you still have some of your old training," he commented wryly, and Stella laughed, the sound bordering on a sob.
"You think I would get careless? I knew you'd find us eventually. And I knew you wouldn't let us go, you never would!" She cocked the gun and took in a deep steadying breath, blinking to clear the tears from her eyes and mentally kicking herself for showing weakness. "I made a vow to never kill again unless it was necessary. And I made that vow to the man that saved my life in Asgard." She swallowed hard, finger beginning to tighten on the trigger. "And this is the last time I'm gonna break that promise."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," her target cautioned, and she scoffed.
"Why?" Fury slowly began lowering his hands from where he'd had them held at shoulder height.
"Well, maybe I'm not the one you should be worried about. You don't know why I'm here. I may actually be trying to help you." She laughed, feeling borderline hysterical, and shook her head as though he were an idiot.
"What, do you think I'm actually going to fall for that!? Why would you ever want to help me? After everything you did?!"
"How about this. You put the gun back where you had it, and we sit down and talk about why I'm here like civilized people. How about that?" Breathing heavily, Stella looked down at the man's waist, moving the gun to point where her eyes were.
"Disarm yourself, then we'll talk." Looking annoyed, Fury reached down, pulling his handgun from its holster and setting it down on the small table beside the door, the shiny metal reflecting the picture of Stella and her family that was hanging on the wall behind it. "Now step down into the living room. Go!" she barked and, hands back up at shoulder height, he complied, leaving Stella to close the blinds at the front window of their house and put her weapon back in its hiding spot. Fury watched her with his one good eye, feeling the stress and the instability that she still had in her and realized that his plan was either going to work or completely back fire and leave him dead on the floor.
"I take it your husband doesn't know that that's up there," he commented as she sat down in a chair before the fireplace, facing him as he to his position on the sofa, setting the messenger back he was carrying on the floor beside him.
"What do you want from me?" she repeated, voice slower as though to help him get to answering the question faster. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, looking at the woven basket under the coffee table before him. It was filled with toys and blankets, and children's books, mostly Dr. Seuss, but some others.
"Your daughter, Angela...she's what, five years old now?" he asked, picking up Guess How Much I Love You and turning it over in his hands. Unnoticed by him, Stella's hand reached out and into the fireplace, fingers curling around a small scabbard she had glued against the interior, just before the hearth became the chimney, fingers coming back out slightly tinged black with soot, and she slid the slender silver blade up her sleeve, looking back at Fury just as he looked up at her questioningly.
"What. Do. You. Want." He sighed, picking up the strap of the messenger bag and slinging it across the floor so it came to a sliding stop at Stella's feet. Staring at him with distrust, the woman reached forward and knocked the top of the bag back, revealing a dark, glistening fabric that she quickly discerned to be clothing.
Clothing that she had been sure had been destroyed, that Stark had told her had been destroyed. Fury began talking again, but she wasn't really listening. A roaring had filled her ears, something closer to static, and it was suddenly very hard to breathe.
"The Council came to me a few months back, telling me that you were still a loose canon, unpredictable and a massive risk. They felt that you were too dangerous to be out in the public space, and with that I have to agree. The way that you snapped at people in the sanitarium where you were kept was evidence enough, not to mention everything you did to yourself and others when you were under our employment as an assassin." Stella finally managed to wrench her eyes from what was before her, instead focusing on the uncomfortable man before her. "However, I'd been receiving reports that you were doing better for the last several years, and I wanted to give you a chance. You had been going out with someone, you were finally enjoying life again, and everything seemed to be going better. Then, you got a house out here, got married, had a kid, and things have been going smoothly ever since."
"Then why don't you tell your precious Council that and get the hell out of my life," she growled, and Fury shook his head slowly, looking at her with pity.
"They are still afraid that you'll snap. Because of that they want you back, and if you refuse I'm ordered to kill you." Stella pulled her sleeve farther down her hand and let her fingers trace the hilt of the knife as though it offered some sort of small comfort.
"What does that mean? Want me back?"
"Look." And with that word, Stella's heart grew heavy as her stomach dropped out, leaving her feeling even more hollow and sick than before. There was every measure of reluctance and self-loathing possible in that word and it made her eyes well up with tears, forcing her to look down as she tried to imagine what he was about to say to her. "We need you back out on the field. We're redeploying Nightmare." Time seemed to stop, and Stella's breath caught in her throat. Screams of those long silenced teased the edges of her mind, and she could feel her heart rate escalating as she stared at the Nightmare uniform in the messenger bag before her. She shook her head, in denial of what was happening, and stood up, kicking the bag and sending its contents spilling out onto the floor as the pack went crashing into Fury's feet.
"I don't answer to you. Not anymore," she finally managed, words hard and uncompromising. "You can't order me around. Not anymore!" Surprisingly, Fury's face softened with something akin to understanding, and he sighed, meeting her gaze with great pain. And suddenly, Stella felt scared. She felt afraid, dreading why Fury would be sympathetic, why he would be disappointed with what he was doing.
"Everyone has their prices. And the Council is certain that you have one, just like everyone else; as such, they are quite willing to bargain."
"Well, I'm sure that you'll find mine impossibly high," she growled, casting him a dark glare as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair opposite the sofa she was sitting in. He clenched his jaw a few times and when he spoke, he looked up, leaned forward, and braced his elbows against his knees.
"We can file a complaint with child services." Her heart stopped mid-beat, freezing in her chest and voice catching in her throat. If time had seemed slow before, it was utterly non-existent now.
"What?" The word was whispered, disbelieving. Her eyes filled to the brim, glistening with tears as she gaped at the man before her.
"The Council is prepared to send them a statement that you are psychologically unfit to care for a child and there is plenty of reason to believe that Angela would be in danger if she stayed under your care." Chest heaving, Stella stood up, shaking and trembling as the tears slowly slipped down her cheeks. Her mind was reeling, in shock, trying to grasp the enormity of what was happening.
"You - you can't do that." Fury solemnly met her eyes, sorrow etched in the lines of his face. "You can't!"
"You know better than most that we can." His words were not unkind, but no level of compassion could quell the fear and the rage building in her.
"No! My deal was that I work for you, I go on my final mission, and I am done!" she shouted, shakily pointing at him as she cried. "I'm not going back out there! I have a family now. A family, director. And my responsibility is to them. Not you!" Fury sighed, getting to his feet. "And as sure as I'm still breathing, I won't let you touch her. I won't let you near my baby girl, do you hear me?! DO YOU HEAR ME!?" Before Fury could react, Stella vaulted forward, slamming him back into the cushions of the couch and procuring the blade she had hidden in her sleeve. The man nearly stopped breathing, staring at the shining metal lying against this throat with just enough pressure to draw a very thin line of blood.
"Stella," he whispered, holding his hands up so she could see he wasn't going to try anything. "I'm not on the Council's side. I would much rather just let you be alone, let you live your life, but they have tags on everyone. Your friends, your family, your work, everything. Now, part of the deal is that they give all of that to me if I get you back under SHIELD care and I can promise you that I will destroy it as soon as you give the word that you're back doing missions. I promise you that they'll be small things, local, nothing that will take more than tops two days. I'm not asking you to be Nightmare again, I'm just asking you to do some pruning of the criminal sphere."
"I can't do this. Not again. You saw what happened to me the last time," she growled, and Fury laid down his last card.
"Then I will be forced to take Angela from you. But if you do this, you can stay with your family, you all can remain together, and you will be monetarily reimbursed for each mission. Things will go well for you I promise. I can't make that same assurance if you don't go along with this." Stella slowly backed away, throwing the knife to the side of the room and dropping down into her chair again, putting her hands over her mouth, taking deep breaths to try and steady herself. She didn't know what to do, what to say that would make this better. She didn't know if there was anything she could say to fix it all. Finally though, she nodded, feeling sick and ready to throw up, and she looked up at Fury.
"Fine. Fine, I'll do it." Nodding, Fury got to his feet, pulling an envelope from inside his trench coat and laying it on the coffee table with great reluctance.
"I had a feeling that you would say that. This is your first assignment, and it needs to be done by next week Tuesday." He waited to see if she was going to say anything but soon realized that she wouldn't be saying anything, wouldn't be doing anything, for a while. He nodded once to her, noting her empty stare into nothingness and picked up the messenger bag and the knife from where it was lying by the door, placing both by the woman's feet before opening the door himself. But before he walked out, he paused, resting his hand against the door jam. "There are some other constituents to this deal that you should be aware of, agent. You are not allowed to contact anyone or explain what's happening. It would raise unpleasantry with the Council, and I may be forced to go through with my original orders." She turned her red-rimmed eyes to look at him, feeling drained of everything that made her alive, human.
"Can you take anything else from me?" she asked, voice steady and neutral, and Fury looked down.
"I figured I might make this at least a little easier for you...today is the anniversary of Patrick Demos' death, and I figured - "
"You think I didn't know that? You think I didn't realize that today was the day I lost my best friend? The day I got him killed?! And how is that supposed to make this - any of this - any easier?!" she sobbed, and Fury waited until she had composed herself again, leaning forward in her chair with her head dropped into her hands. "What does it matter to you anyways..."
"If your husband wants to know why you're upset, you can tell him about Agent Demos, put off suspicion. Remember, what we've decided here needs to remain between us, no exceptions." Numbly, she nodded, and soon, she was alone, the muffled revving of an engine coming to life letting her know that she was in fact in solitude once more.
"Oh god...keep it together, Stella...keep it together, don't panic. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic..." She tried to take in deep breaths but found that no matter how much she breathed, nothing seemed to be getting into her lungs. She was drowning while she was surrounded by air, and she quickly got to her feet, sobbing and pacing, turning about her living room as though she had no idea where she was, hands at her head, fingers fluttering at her mouth. She snatched up her home phone, fumbling with the numbers and shaking as she listened to the ringtone of an outgoing call in her ear.
"Please...please..." she begged, still pacing, heart hammering and stomach roiling.
"Hi, if you have this number I don't know who the hell you are and you need to hang up. Now. If I do know you, you're Stella, and yes this is Mary Smith and I will call back as soon as possible. Have a nice day. Evening. Whatever."
"No. Please, please..." She dialed another number, pacing even faster, but going even shorter differences.
"You have reached the voicemail box of Steve Rogers. I'm sorry I can't get to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can. I hope you have a good day."
"Not you too. You have to pick up, pick up!" She bit her lip until she tasted blood, practically spinning in place her pacing was so tight.
"Stella?"
"Dad?" Her voice was shaking, hesitant.
"Stel? What is it, what's wrong?"
"I..." She stopped, looking ahead of herself with tear-filled, vacant eyes. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have called." Her heart was hollow, empty. Her insides felt gutted as though they'd been torn out with claws.
"No, that's nonsense…there's nothing you can't tell me, baby squirrel. What is it?"
You are not allowed to contact anyone or explain what's happening. It would raise unpleasantries with the Council, and I may be forced to go through with my original orders.
"It's - " She broke off, expression becoming stony. "It's nothing. Patrick died today, that's all. Sorry to bother you." She hung up, ignoring how her father was trying to talk to her and threw the phone across the room, relishing how it broke apart upon impact, back falling off and battery skittering along the floor as the screen splintered. Her pacing became erratic, like a caged lion, and she sobbed, Fury's words playing over and over again in her head. Angela - Nightmare - redeployment - Child Services - Council -
"God...oh god..." She felt as though she were about to throw up, about to explode. Finally, she screamed, striking out and sending a vase tumbling to the ground, the racket of smashing ceramic much like the noise of shattering glass. Shattering glass. She gasped, crying out in pain and holding her head in her hands as memories flashed behind her eyes.
The bomb in the filing cabinet, the hollow clang of the door locking behind her, Patrick's scared yet stoic face behind the glass. The keypad over the lock. The access code. Running. No time. Explosion. Glass shattering on office building windows as concrete and rebar sliced through the air, as fire consumed her best friend locked away in the stairwell.
"STOP IT! I DON'T WANT TO SEE IT ANYMORE, STOP IT!" she shrieked, lashing out and flipping the coffee table onto its side, the glass top cracking and breaking, and she screamed in wordless pain and anger as more images poured into her mind.
~'*'~
When Will got home, Angela was asleep in his arms, tired out after talking the whole way home from school about her new friends she'd made. He'd been looking forward to getting to spend time with his wife, maybe watch an old Disney movie with his family, and eat a nice, quiet meal with Stella and Angela. He'd wanted to have a normal evening for once. But when the door opened to reveal a flipped over chair, his heart dropped, and he quickly opened the door completely and looked around the trashed living room, eyes finally fixing on Stella who was standing in the middle of the wreckage, broom half-heartedly held in her hands. She looked up at him wearily, eyes red-rimmed and sunken.
"Holy crap." Without hesitation, he quickly came inside, closed the door with his foot, and ran upstairs with Angela still asleep in his arms, putting her safely in her bed and making sure she was truly asleep before coming back downstairs feeling shaken and unsettled. "What the hell happened? Did someone break in, are you hurt?" Stella broke down into tears in response, shaking her head, and Will quickly took the broom from her and set it aside, pulling her in close.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, pressing her face into her husband's shoulder and holding him tight. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, it just happened and I'm sorry - "
"Stella, what set you off?" he asked gently. "What was the trigger, tell me and we can make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Today - today..." Today, Fury showed up and ruined everything. He blackmailed me. He was going to take Angela away. "One of my best friends died today, several years back. I - I just..." She didn't have to muddle through the half-truth though, words cut off as he held her tightly again, leading her to the sofa which was miraculously still in its same position. He did have to brush off bits of ceramic from the fabric though, and winced as a sharp edge nicked his finger.
"It's alright. Just settle down and I'll get you some tea. It's all going to be okay, I swear." But as Stella sat there, feeling drained and washed out, she couldn't help but notice that her husband kept throwing glances at her over her shoulder. She hadn't had a fit like this since Angela had been four years old, and that was only because she'd been skimping on her medication. To him, it must seem like she was beginning a downward spiral again. A few minutes of tense silence passed until she couldn't hold it in any longer.
"I'm not losing it," she called, barely registering that she'd spoken, and she looked up at Will as he came over with her tea, broom in his free hand.
"I know you're not," he responded softly, sweeping up the debris on the floor without looking at her.
"No. You think I am; I know that expression. Don't try to hide things from me. I was an assassin; I know all the tricks." Will just sighed, looking up at her with eyes just as tired as hers.
"I don't think you're losing it, Stel. I know you're taking your meds, I know that things are actually going better for you. That's why I don't believe that this was just because of your friend." Her eyes glinted like cold steel, and she stood up, anger building in her chest.
"You don't know what happened with us. You don't know what happened with Patrick, so don't even begin to assume that I wouldn't react this way."
"Stella. I'm not an idiot." She stopped, looking at his serious eyes. "We've been married six years...and you've never acted like this before. Not today, not ever. I'm not going to pry, but if there's anything that I need to know, you need to tell me. Right now."
Fury came by a few hours ago and said that if I don't go back to fighting on the streets as Nightmare, he'll take our daughter away.
"No. There's nothing," she whispered, looking down at her hands, at the once brutal fingers that were wrapped around a steaming mug instead of a man's neck or the handle of a gun. "There's nothing to tell you."
The next evening, Stella wasn't home.