Terri saved Vera from getting shot in the store. Something much, much worse happens.

-.-.-

'Cause I am done with my graceless heart,
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart.

Florence and The Machine – Shake It Out

1. The End and the Beginning

Blood.

On her hands, her t-shirt, her jeans, everywhere. So much blood. Smeared over his face when she was holding him and staring into his empty dead whiskey-coloured eyes. In a puddle under his body. On the handprints on his chest as she had tried CPR even when it had been obviously too late.

"We'll get you out of this, I promise," said firmly despite his glassy eyes. The attorney Franklin Nelson making a promise he wouldn't be possibly able to keep. A strong man he was, defending a woman who supposedly killed his best friend.

Blood.

On her belly as a concerned and outraged citizen stabbed her twice in the courtroom for killing her own husband, for killing such a great man who had nothing but a good heart and helped those in need. On the ceramic knife. On her hands once again as she was clutching her stomach and prayed the baby would survive, herself be damned.

God hadn't been listening. The sheets were snow-white when she woke up, learning that the merciful God fucked up and she was still alive, while her unborn daughter Jackie joined her father, in heaven no doubt. Selfish, selfish God, wanted them both for himself and punished her for never trusting in Him enough.

The walls were grey and battered. It was the same, every day. Reliving the horror of life in the nightmare, touching her now flat belly with tears in her eyes, gaze lowered all the time, tasteless food, supposedly comforting visit of one or two of the variety of her friends she didn't quite register, cleaning or a different meaningless work to do, disgusting food and sleep with the nightmare to keep her tortured.

Rise, rinse, repeat.

Murderer. Killed her husband in cold blood. For an affair, supposedly.

The sheets on the examining table were grey too, maybe once the same bright colour as the hospital ones. The doctor left for a minute, learning they ran out of pain meds. The minute was more than enough and leaving the med cabinet unlocked was as if he was asking her to take whatever she wanted. So she did. She left the examining room with a syringe and a vial of morphine, wondering if God was giving her an out, navigating her to hell, because suicide was sure not a ticket to heaven. At this point, she didn't care.

Hell couldn't be worse than this.

-.-.-

She saw Foggy Nelson's amiable and sorrowful eyes as he was promising again, when someone shook her awake. She blinked her eyes open into the shadows.

"Hey. Get to the visitor's room. Now."

She ran her hand through her messy bed-hair, putting on her glasses and following the guard. She didn't check on the vial under her pillow, one she had stored that day, not wanting to give it away. But was this about it? Why would she be coming to the visitor's room in the middle of the night?

She squinted at the person sitting at the table, only illuminated by the poor light from one weak fluorescent tube. She didn't remember seeing them before. Not that it mattered, but she actually was concerned about a man in a suit having the right to… call her out of bed at night. He must have been powerful.

Her lips parted. Maybe… maybe he had something to do with Matt's murder. Hell, maybe he had done it himself and now he was coming for her. The emotion that hit her at the thought was confusing – it was relief, because someone had decided to put her out of her misery; it was anger, because she was face to face with the killer of her loved one; it was utter confusion, because the man smiled at her, but not meanly, not mockingly, not quite compassionate, somehow.

He wasn't the murderer. He seemed nice, a little strained, but not in the way a super-villain would be. She would know. She had met a few.

"Please, Mrs. Murdock. Sit down," he invited her, beckoning to the chair at the table opposite to him.

There was one more guard standing at the door out, otherwise they were alone. If someone wanted to murder her on spot, this would be a perfect opportunity. Instead, the man in his late forties met her eyes, endless kindness in his own. It was like getting stabbed again. The addressing didn't help – every time she heard it, it was like someone was either mocking her or accusing her; this man didn't sound like doing either though.

She gulped, obediently lowering herself on the chair, her gaze aimed low as usual. When the man said nothing more, she glanced at him hesitantly; he was watching her, attentive, observant.

"I understand you found yourself in a sticky situation," he said and Vera swallowed the 'you have no fucking idea' that was on her tongue. She remained silent. "I might be able to help out."

I found a way to help myself, thanks, she thought, her mind on the vial under her pillow.

"You've been charged with murder of your husband, found in your apartment above his dead body, covered in blood, after you called 911, claiming you found him like that and tried to save him. You have no alibi, the murder weapon had your prints on it and despite your lawyer's efforts, you'll be convicted, because lack of motive sounded like a joke given your connections to a known vigilante, who might be interested in a romantic relationship with you, just like you might be with him; a motive offers itself," he listed, voice calm and methodical.

Vera looked away, tears in her eyes. She knew all these things and she wasn't stupid, she knew exactly how it sounded. She had nothing to defend herself with. No one had. People hated her, speculated of her romance with Daredevil because of her past connections to him and some of them even suspected that the baby she had been expecting wasn't her husband's. The irony wasn't lost on her, neither on some people who knew better. No one was laughing at it though.

"Of course, if you would be willing to provide an alibi, a witness, it could save you. But you wouldn't, because you wouldn't want to bring trouble to Mr. Potter or admit you were running an errand for Daredevil, who you not only wouldn't want on a witness stand, but also physically couldn't get there, because he's not alive anymore."

Vera clenched her trembling hands into fists, tears of helplessness and hate running down her cheeks. She was used to the knot in her stomach, to numbness, to permanent pain, but this was like someone was probing the gaping hole in her. She looked at the mystery man who knew too much with hard cold eyes. He was still stoically calm, his face almost soft. It was irritating.

"Who the hell are you and what do you want?" she asked simply, aiming for a firm voice and missing by miles. Are you here to kill me?

"I understand the difficultness of situation you are in and I want to offer you an alternative to the little solution you snatched from the medical cabinet during your last check-up."

Her breath hitched.

No.

No, no, no, no, no. That was her out. Her out. They couldn't— they couldn't take that from her-

"You don't need to look so scared; we are not here to kill you and we won't confiscate it from you. But we might switch it," he offered with a gentle smile and Vera was utterly lost.

"What are you talking about?" she asked dully, bits of the desperation she felt showing themselves. "Who are you? What is this?"

"I would introduce myself, but I'm afraid that's classified." Classified? Who the hell was this guy? "But I'm with Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"The what now?" she choked out, shocked. She hadn't been feeling much lately, but this was definitely shock. So he was with some… government organization? With a terrible long name?

"S.H.I.E.L.D., Veronika. I'm with SHIELD. Which is a government organization that specializes in… unusual occurrences, for example. I worked with Natasha Romanoff or Clint Barton before – they are both members."

She would appreciate he had switched to the first name basis to avoid calling her her last name, probably noticing she wasn't comfortable with it, but she was too astonished at what he had just told her.

"Spies?" she huffed a humourless laugh. "You… are a spy? And you want what exactly with me?"

"You asked who I am and what this is. I am a man who is putting together a team. And this is a recruitment for the said team."

Vera stared at his small but confident smile, herself currently confused and ultimately questioning his sanity.

"You… you want to recruit me… for a spy team?"

"Yes."

"That's absurd. Absolutely ridiculous," she scoffed, no trace of humour in her voice.

"I'm not laughing. Of course, you would have to receive some training, after we evaluate what you have already learned. Like I said, I worked with agent Romanoff and Barton, I have met Captain America and the rest of the Avengers. I haven't… spoken to them lately, not about you, but I know what's up when something is up. You contacted them. We got a report from your… rescue mission. We know you went undercover to take down a cult of wannabe Satanist vigilantes – a quite bold move for a civilian. You might not have all the skills yet, even though I have to admit the way you took down the robber visiting your café was impressive, but you have what it takes to be an agent. I can value personal differences. I believe every member of the team can be an asset, especially when brining something which other people don't have. So. Here's my offer; join SHIELD, be a member of my team. Help us to keep people safe from the threats they don't understand, that they can't protect themselves from."

Vera's head was spinning from the insane amount of information. From the message this man was trying to get through. What- how—why-

"Why?" she choked out, not having either the energy or imagination to come up with an answer by herself.

Why would he be possibly offering this to her? Sure enough, he had said why, but it didn't make any sense.

Then again, nothing did these days, days wrapped in a fog of pain meds, numbness and soul-crushing agony.

"I just told you. You have a potential. You were a victim of unfortunate events. You were framed, we both know that," he stated, clearly convinced. Vera didn't even feel relief at that. He must be a madman. "I'm sure your friends are working hard to prove the opposite, but you decided to end your life anyway. I'm offering you a chance to take the life you think doesn't matter anymore and turn it into something that has a meaning, maybe even in your eyes. You can start over."

"Why? Why give me that chance?"

The mystery man – the Agent – shifted in his seat and looked somewhere behind her before meeting her gaze.

"…I flat-lined, Veronika. For forty seconds, I died. I got a second chance. Everyone deserves it."

They were quiet for a long time. Vera had no idea what to think. She trusted this man, she trusted him he was telling the truth, god knew why. Maybe it was because this was too crazy to just… make it up. And what would he gain if he was lying?

She was tired. She was tired of everything and all she truly wanted was the misery to end. But what he was offering… it got to her for some reason, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. She was seventy percent sure it was the man's fault (the 30 remaining percent she blamed herself being a vigilante magnet, the influence of all the do-gooders she had met too strong to ignore); he had charisma, an aura of someone who could be trusted, an aura of a truly good man with the best intentions, of someone who genuinely cared about people.

She could see his team not being a group of robotic merciless marksmen. Maybe… maybe it was something to take into consideration. He was right of course. Even if she was proven not guilty, her life was nothing. It was the reason she wanted to just… end it.

But what if she could just disappear instead? Maybe even win some… sort of a redemption? She knew her biggest sin. She should have been dead already.

"It should have been me. Dying back then," she whispered to the silent room. Her words were followed by a shrug from the man.

"Maybe. We'll never know."

It didn't even surprise her he possibly knew what she was talking about. About her friend saving her life when stopping her from going shopping. Look where it got us.

"What would I have to do? You said I could start over, what does that even mean?" she whispered hoarsely, closing her eyes.

The man sounded a little like he was smiling. "What you wanted to do."

She snapped her eyes open, confused. What?

"We would switch the vials to something less lethal, the description of the medical supply remaining the same. It would only look like you committed suicide. All you have to do is to die."

It was terrifying.

It was relieving.

She would die. The whole world would think she was dead. Her family. Her friends… Matt's friends. A clean cut. Easier to dismiss than her inexplicably vanishing from the prison. These people were no fools. It was smarter that way.

It was better for everyone.

Vera stared at the mysterious man for a full minute at least, but it was hard to tell. Time had lost its meaning a while ago.

"The… the team you're talking about. Would they… would they know who I am? Who I was?"

The man smiled at her. "No. No if you wouldn't want them to. Like I said. Starting over."

Vera took a deep breath, shaky. Did she really want this to happen? She thought of all the people who she would cause grief, but she was about to do that either way. This was just… in this case, it would be a white lie. She didn't know how they would feel about her… disappearance. She didn't like the idea of them hoping for better. God forbid them theorizing, starting with trafficking rings ending with some sort of a conspiracy. Hope. Hell, for all she knew, they might even think she was abducted by aliens, because that shit apparently happened these days.

What was even her life anymore?

Not hers, apparently.

But she could choose to end it.

"You don't need to say yes, you sure don't have to do it now. Take your time. Agent Henrick will keep an eye on you, you can communicate with him. I would appreciate if you didn't tell anyone about this. See you soon, Veronika. Or not."

She stumbled up, nodding. She followed the guard who had brought her in this room – Agent Henrick, apparently – back to her cell. They had met no one on their way.

Coincidence? With an agency that had Black Widow and Hawkeye in their rows?

Vera had been grown up from naivety for some time now.

For long hours, she laid in her bed, staring to the ceiling, toying with the vial in her hand, her mind frantic and blank at the same time.

Sleep didn't come to her that night.

-.-.-

Few nights later, few towns over, the annoying sound of an alarm from a phone woke up a man from his insanely needed sleep. They had been working their asses off, looking for evidence, questioning the false ones presented. And now he couldn't even get a proper sleep for once?

He whined, punching the phone so it would shut up at least. He ran his hand down his face, scratching his nape, his fingers catching on the knots in his shoulder-long hair. He squinted at his poster of Matrix, confirming he was at home and hadn't fallen asleep in S.T.A.R. Labs, which was a normal occurrence.

He wasn't sure if he wasn't in a movie like Matrix sometimes, it would make so much more sense, all the craziness – kinda cool craziness – around, which was just… well, crazy.

He sighed, reaching for the phone, squinting at the screen.

What he saw on it woke him up more effectively than a bucket of icy water. He sat up sharply, staring at the screen in horror, clutching his soft longish hair.

"No, no, no, no, that can't be right! No, no, no. No! This must be some kind of a mistake-" he rasped, reading the alert over and over, throwing the covers away and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.

It was a report. An incident report from a prison. About a prisoner committing suicide. And not just any prisoner. The prisoner. The prisoner they were trying to prove innocent, because they knew for sure she wasn't guilty, not to mention they knew her and she was a friend and—and-

"Oh my god," Cisco breathed, his throat tight, knot in his stomach tight as never before. "Oh my god."

She was dead. Vera was dead.

-.-.-

A week from the unfortunate incident in prison, a woman with bright orange hair was still crying in her boyfriend's arms. The woman was special, which very few people knew, special in a way that wasn't safe to share with random strangers. She had the ability to see the future.

"It's my fault."

"What did you say?" her boyfriend asked gently, genuinely not understanding her as she was clinging to him, face hidden in his chest, clutching his sleepshirt.

The woman swallowed a sob that was about to break her for once silent tears, withdrew a fraction and repeated herself, elaborating. "It's all my fault. That they are both dead. Well, all three-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" the man demanded, outraged and horrified she would even think such thing.

He tried to shift her body in his lap, but she shook her head in protest, her fingers gripping the cloth tighter. He sighed, but didn't force her to look at him, For the moment.

"My powers-" she started, instantly interrupted.

"So you didn't see it, that's not-"

"I did!" she exploded, pulling away, leaving her hide-out to stare into his eyes, so he would believe her, so he would understand how much she fucked up. " I saw them die before, Vic! And I changed it – I made it even worse."

"Terri, what are— you saved Vera's life," Victor swiftly protested, frown twisting his face; sadness and anger melting one into other, mirroring the within his mind; should he comfort her first, or disprove her ridiculous claim? Should he be gentle, or should he be firm? She had been torturing herself for so long… "We stopped her from going to the store and dying-"

"What difference does it make?! I changed the future and now they are all dead anyway, sooner, and people hate Vera's guts! They think she murdered Matt! Danny is playing Daredevil so we don't have to deal with the whole secret identity revelation, Foggy hates himself because he thinks he should have tried harder to get her out and it was all for nothing!"

Her fingers found their way into her hair as she clutched it in despair and she moved to stand up from the bed; Victor wouldn't let her, gripping her shoulder tight, trying to meet her gaze.

"Terri. Calm down. That's not on you. You saved her life, for Christ's sake."

"No, I didn't," she whispered, voice breaking, tears flooding down her cheeks again.

"You did. And then you couldn't. No one could."

As if someone flipped a switch, she indeed froze in her hysterics, apparently considering his words… or perhaps figuring out why the fit had come, truly.

"…I won't even be at her funeral. Christ, I won't even get to say goodbye, because they are— they are moving the body to Czechia. Jesus- I- I miss her. Vic, I miss her so much…"

His heart breaking for his usually so chipper woman, he wrapped his arms around her to pull her back into a proper embrace; thankfully, she let him, his chin resting on the top of her head. He cradled her in his arms, tenderly rocking back and forth.

"I know, Ter. I know. But blaming yourself isn't gonna make it better. Not to mention it's a complete nonsense."

"Is it, though?" she questioned with a sigh. He could feel her head moving in negative.

"No, we haven't. Everything I saw came true."

"Vera didn't die in her apartment by that ninja's hand. Matt didn't die in the crushed building. You made so much good-" he started naming, once more not quite following her train of thoughts.

"I didn't, Vic. All I saw was Vera getting impaled, not dying. All I saw was Vera crying – which she was, when the building went down. Now, I wasn't there, but she told me… she told me she did think he was dead when she saw the building explode. That's all I ever saw.," Terri explained, voice trembling with grief and something that was hard to grasp. "I've never changed anything. Until recently. And I shouldn't have. I broke the laws of the fucking universe and this is the punishment. And they paid the price."

Fear. The other emotion going so strongly in her voice was fear. She was afraid that whatever she had done was... cosmic. Which was a legitimately terrifying thought.

Occupied with that idea, wondering if there was an ounce of truth in her theory, he stayed silent for a long time and so did she. But she stopped crying at least.

Victor sighed, placing a determined kiss on the top of her head.

"Maybe," he considered out loud. "Maybe you pissed off the universe. Hell if we'll ever know. But you still did the right thing. Like I said, blaming won't help anyone."

"And what will?" she asked lowly, honestly desperate for an answer.

"Time?"

Terri laughed, the sound so uncharacteristically bitter for her that it made Victor's ribcage constrict, his stomach tying in knots. "Of course."

"Sorry, got nothing better," he admitted sheepishly and she kissed his collarbone over the fabric of his sleepshirt, showing her appreciation despite the venom in her words.

"I take what I can get, I guess. But… I'm not using my powers ever again. They are no good. It's not like I saw any of this coming."

She didn't say anything else and neither did he. Afterall, it wasn't his decision to make.

-.-.-.-.-
Notes:
Time to shout YAY for for her excellent observation of Terri's powers during the Damned series :)

Also, oops I did it again. I killed Matt and Jackie :( And sort of killed Vera. I'm sorry? This fic will not have much Matt as you can probably guess…

Thanks for reading and I apologize in advance for the slow update to come; I feel like you get the idea since it's been two months since I posted the prequel O:-)