Chapter 18

Lucy dropped the cumbersome bag of takeout onto the kitchen counter, then momentarily closed her eyes, putting a hand to her forehead. She could almost still feel the pain. Should she tell someone about it? Fury, perhaps? If there was something wrong with her, she may not be fit for duty. But she recalled what the doctor had said, back at the training facility—that it shouldn't be a regular occurrence; that she would be just fine—and it gave her some relief. This new flare-up was probably the same thing as before: a temporary side effect from the changes that her body had undergone. Temporary. Uncomfortable, but short-lived, and ultimately nothing to worry about. If she told someone about it, they would probably just conduct another examination before telling her the same thing as before. And she would really prefer to avoid any more medical examinations for a while.

Heaving a sigh, she made up her mind: There was no point in reporting this single incident. If it continued, then she would have to say something, but for all that she knew, it could never happen again, and as long as she was still able to do her job, that's all that really mattered. For now, she would trust the doctor's word.

Feeling a little better, she focused her attention back on the task at hand. Thanks to the unexpected detour, the food was probably cold. Not that she minded, but Steve might wonder about the temperature, considering that they only lived a few short blocks from the restaurant. Still, taking back her dinner offer wasn't an option. She needed to see him. She retrieved her phone and sent him a message before unloading the bag.

She had barely dished up the first carton of General Tso's chicken with rice and started it in the microwave when the knock came at the door. She hurried to answer it, and found Steve standing there with that twinkle in his eye, and no leather jacket this time. She smiled, his presence immediately brightening her mood. "Hi, come on in."

"Why, thank you, Ma'am," he replied with his own, gentle smile and that charming old-world air that she so enjoyed. He stepped into her apartment and closed the door behind himself, just as the microwave signaled with a lengthy beeeeeeep that it had finished reheating the first round of takeout.

Lucy warmed up the rest of the food and laid everything out on the kitchen table—she found the thought of making Steve sit on the couch in front of the TV with her somewhat inappropriate—and she and her dinner guest sat down to the rather elaborate meal. She had splurged a little and ordered a variety of dishes, but the prices weren't as bad as she had been expecting, so she didn't regret it. Especially since she got to share it all with her friend, who did not seem to mind that the food had needed to be reheated. Though, surely he wouldn't express such a concern if he had one.

She quelled her silly, paranoid negative thoughts by taking a bite of a steaming Chinese dumpling.

They ate in pleasant silence for some time, with Lucy making an attempt to not dwell on what had happened less than an hour ago—or, more importantly, yesterday's traumatic incident, which never stopped nagging at her, no matter what she was doing or thinking. But, despite her efforts, her face must have given something away.

"You okay?"

She looked up from her plate, meeting Steve's curious and slightly concerned gaze across the table. She nodded, quickly schooling her features into an expression of mild surprise, hoping that she hadn't looked too worried. "Mm-hm, why?"

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Steve met her gaze, seeming to consider her for a few moments before replying. "Is it the mission?"

Lucy blinked, faltering slightly. "What do you mean?"

From the way that Steve was looking at her, she knew that he had read her very well. And that he knew that she understood what he was talking about. Resigned to the fact that he wasn't likely to let her get out of this without providing him with what he wanted to know, she cast her gaze down to her plate and wondered how exactly to begin. She did not want to appear weak in front of him, especially not after he had looked practically unaffected by what had occurred during their assignment. But this was Steve, the kindest, most understanding person she knew—aside from, perhaps, her parents. It was foolish to think that he would hold any negative effects that she might be suffering from the mission against her.

Looking down at the table, she steeled herself.

"I— . . . shot someone . . ."

The word "killed" had gotten caught in her throat.

Silence followed her admission, and a few moments later, she brought her eyes up to the man sitting across from her. His clear blue gaze met hers, and it seemed that he understood what she had meant to say. However, she was relieved to see that his expression was not one of distaste or criticism.

Nor was it one of pity.

After a few moments, he dropped his gaze to his plate, as if in thought. Lucy once again wondered about his own experiences as a new member of an organized military force, decades prior. Had he done what she had done? Somehow it seemed out of character for the World War II-era Captain America. But who knew how much the media might have sugar-coated things? And how much were they kept ignorant about? She couldn't imagine accomplishing what he had without taking at least one life. But she wasn't sure if it made her feel better to imagine that he had. She didn't want anyone to have to feel what she had felt after seeing that man lying dead in the cargo hold and knowing that she was the reason for it—even if it was self-defense. Especially not Steve Rogers.

Then, he looked up again, and his solemn words and gaze told Lucy that, whether or not he had done the same as she had, he understood exactly how she felt. "I'm sorry."

She looked down at her plate, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

"I wish it didn't have to come to that," he continued.

"It's part of the job, right?" Lucy replied, forcing a tiny smile. "I'll be fine."

Steve cracked a small smile of his own. There was so much wisdom in those eyes. "I know you will."

Though hardly anything had been said, Lucy felt like a burden had been removed from her. Like she was able to move on from the traumatic event, and perhaps face the next mission with less apprehension than she would have if she hadn't opened up to her friend.

They resumed their meal, the atmosphere feeling lighter now. Lucy smiled to herself. She even thought that the food tasted better this time around.


"Two minutes," Natasha announced from the pilot's chair before letting the autopilot take over and getting up to join the rest of the team.

Steve pulled on his mask, and Lucy moved to stand beside him near the hatch as the other members of STRIKE checked their weapons. This time, it was night, and the interior of the Quinjet was dark, aside from the glow of the monitors and some minor backlighting. She braced herself with one hand on the wall as the jet began to slow.

"You ready?"

She looked up at the sound of Steve's voice amid the noise of the engine and the gear checks going on behind them. A week ago, she hadn't thought that she would be able to handle another mission so soon, but here she was, and as she met the captain's inquisitive yet serious gaze, she nodded and replied, with more confidence than she had felt her first time boarding the Quinjet with her team, "Yeah. I'm ready."

The jet touched down. STRIKE lined up behind Steve and Natasha. Lucy took one last moment to prepare herself.

The ramp lowered.

They moved into the surrounding trees and traversed the dark woods at a steady pace. Lucy's eyes adjusted quickly, and she recalled the nighttime training missions that she had run with her fellow recruits. She may not be familiar with this forest, but the process of navigating it was the same. This alone gave her a good amount of confidence. Keeping mental tabs on her teammates, she reviewed the mission specs in her mind as they drew nearer to the warehouse with each step.

The trees ended at an overgrown dirt road. The team followed it, but kept to the grass on either side, for the sake of a quick duck-and-cover if they were spotted. Finally, they came to a chain-link fence. They skirted the property line, and the large building loomed up before them. Security lights cut harshly through the thick darkness. There was one truck parked near the entrance, and Lucy spotted a couple of men loitering by the door. She could not tell if they were armed, but it was only safe to assume that they were.

Before reaching the first pool of light, Steve leapt over the fence like it was barely there, and took off running across the grass, toward the truck and the guards. Lucy kept an eye on him, while moving swiftly toward the driveway with the rest of the team.

The unprotected gate was easy enough to get through: A couple of rounds from Natasha's handgun did the trick, and the team breached the perimeter. The unmistakable sound of a man getting hit by something blunt reached Lucy's ears, and as they rounded the truck seconds later, she saw the captain securing his shield back onto his arm, both of the guards lying unconscious at his feet.

"Nice work, Cap," Natasha quipped, moving past him, to the warehouse door, without a second glance. As Lucy followed, she looked up and spotted two small devices, each hanging from the wall in a mess of wires and cracked metal. It seemed that Steve had done a number on the security cameras just as quickly as he had taken out the guards. If the rest of the mission shaped up to be this easy, they were golden—

Click.

Lucy's attention moved to the door, in time to see Natasha stand up from a crouch in front of it. "Thank you, Nick," she murmured with an audible smirk, hooking her electronic lock-cracking device back onto her belt before grasping the door's handle. Lucy, Steve, and the rest of STRIKE prepared themselves for the breach.

The captain took the lead as they rushed in, weapons at the ready, and fanned out, covering every possible blind spot. The room was vast. It was your standard warehouse in structure—but not in contents. Lucy had almost hoped that this would be the wrong place, that they wouldn't find what they were looking for. That the threat wasn't real. But as soon as she laid eyes on the waist-high cylindrical object standing in the midst of the group of men and women in the center of the room, the gravity of the situation was driven home. Her determination intensified, as did her adrenaline.

As soon as they realized that their operation had been discovered, the group surrounding the bomb jumped into action. Some made a run for it, while others drew guns and fired at the intruders. Lucy, Natasha and STRIKE scattered, taking cover behind the nearest available stack of crates, while Steve rushed into the oncoming fire, ducked behind his shield, to thwart the spray of bullets. They tinged off of the vibranium, and as he neared the remaining members of the group, many of them had begun to back away or retreat altogether. Those who didn't were quickly taken out of the equation as the super soldier slammed into one with his shield, as if it were a battering ram, sending him flying, then disarmed the other two in such rapid succession that they had no time to react.

Lucy's attention was suddenly pulled from Steve's impressive display when hurried footsteps from off to one side caught her ear. She looked past the crates, into the shadows near the wall, and saw two of the fleeing terrorists coming her way. Without hesitation, she stepped into their path, taking them off guard and using their momentary surprise to her advantage. She quickly immobilized them, laying them flat out on the concrete. She withdrew two pairs of thin but effective restraints from her belt and secured both the man's and the woman's hands behind their backs, as they groaned softly in mild pain and discomfort.

As soon as she finished, she cast her gaze around the immediate area, and when she saw no more movement, she circled around to where she had last seen Steve. Most of STRIKE was now gathered near the bomb, the captain standing in their midst as one of the agents crouched beside the device, inspecting its various components.

Realizing that Natasha was not present, Lucy glanced around until she caught sight of her up on a catwalk. The redhead swung her legs over the railing, and Lucy's stomach dropped as she landed on the ground floor as if it were nothing, leaving three terrorists cuffed to the railing, and seemingly unconscious, up on the second level. She strode over to the group, in her confident, nonchalant manner, coming to stand next to Steve.

"So? What are we looking at?"

"Doesn't seem like anything major," replied the man examining the bomb. "Shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes to disarm it. But . . ."

Natasha almost groaned. "Oh, not a but . . ."

"What is it?" Steve prompted.

"There's no timer . . . not that I can find . . ."

"Shit," Rumlow cursed under his breath. "Spread out; search the terrorists. One of them has to have a detonator."

Adrenaline spiked in Lucy's system. A timed detonation was intimidating enough, but when a manual detonator was involved, the bomb could be set off at any time. It was a good thing that everyone had been taken care of. The three that Steve had disarmed had been cuffed just like the others, and with them, Lucy's two, and Natasha's apparent three, that made seven. There had appeared to be more than seven when the team had entered the warehouse, but they had likely been dealt with by Rumlow and the others while Lucy had been busy.

She crouched down beside the nearest of the three who had held their ground against Captain America, and began to dig through the pockets of his jacket and jeans as quickly and thoroughly as possible, while trying to ignore how strange it felt to be doing such a thing to someone—especially while that someone was unconscious.

Just as she was about to move on to the next man, motion caught her eye. Her head snapped up, focused intensely on the other side of the warehouse. She could hear hurried footsteps.

Before she knew it, she was up and running.

"Lucy?!" Steve called after her.

She only had time to yell back, "Someone's getting away!" before she dashed around a stack of crates then through an open door, into a narrow hallway. The figure shoved his way through an external door up ahead, disappearing from view, and Lucy picked up her speed. All that she could think of was the missing detonator. If this person had it, and they got clear of the warehouse . . .

With her heart pounding dangerously hard, the adrenaline and rising panic sent her racing out into the night.

The rust-orange glow from the nearest security light illuminated the figure—a woman—as she sprinted across the grass. Lucy ran harder. She wanted to yell for her to stop, but she didn't want to waste breath on something that would be pointless. She had to catch her. She wasn't too far away . . .

She heard the door behind her slam open once again.

Suddenly, without slowing to turn around, the woman held up her right hand and shouted, "Stop!"

Lucy's blood ran cold when she saw the object in the woman's grip.

"Let me go, or I'll—"

Almost without thought, Lucy leapt at the terrorist's back, reaching with everything that she had. Her fingers caught the woman's jacket, and her momentum brought them both to the ground in a painful tumble. In a moment of horror, she realized that her sudden action may have been the wrong one, and that she may have just caused the bomb to go off at any second, but as she scrambled to get her bearings, no explosion filled the air.

She grabbed the woman's arm and and found her hand empty. Almost frantically she started to scan the surrounding grass. Too dark—I need more light!

Then, Steve was beside her.

"The detonator!" she cried. "It's here somewhere—!"

The terrorist growled in frustration and perhaps her own measure of desperation, and grabbed at Lucy, attempting to stop her from getting to the device first. The two women grappled, and it took almost no effort or time for Lucy to pin the other down.

"Got it," Steve announced from a few meters away, and Lucy felt the fear leaving her body, along with a good deal of tension. She reached for another pair of restraints and secured the woman's hands in place behind her back.

"Good work, Artemis."

Lucy looked up and met Steve's eyes. Despite being out of the security lights' range, she could still make out the appreciation in his gaze. She smiled.

"Thanks, Cap."

Suddenly, Natasha's voice came from a short distance behind them. "You're lucky it didn't go off. And that it wasn't a dead-man's switch."

Lucy looked over her shoulder as the redhead strode across the grass. She stopped a few feet from them. She was right, of course. And Lucy probably should have considered that before tackling the woman who had practically had her finger on the trigger. But her reflexes had kicked into gear, and everything had happened too quickly. Then, she realized that Steve had probably thought about the possibility of a dead-man's switch as well, and he had chosen to focus on her accomplishment rather than her oversight. But it was indeed rash, and she would have to be more careful in the future. Like tonight, people's lives would depend on it.

"I know," Lucy replied, getting to her feet and pulling the suspect up with her. "As soon as I saw the detonator, I just reacted. I'll try to do it differently next time." If I get the chance next time . . .

Natasha eyed her, but didn't actually look all that annoyed. After a brief glance at Steve, she looked back to Lucy and shook her head slightly, nearly rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Kids." Then, she turned and began to lead the way back to the warehouse.

A strong hand was suddenly laid on Lucy's shoulder. She looked up at the captain. The silver star and stripes emblazoned across his chest stood out in the near-darkness. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, a small encouraging smile on his lips, before setting off after Natasha, allowing Lucy to handle the suspect on her own.

Lucy smiled at the man's broad back, then forced the woman to walk, keeping a secure hold on her, in case she thought that it would be a good idea to be foolish and try to run.

As they crossed the yard, Lucy replayed the chase in her mind. She may have acted rashly, but no harm had been done, and for all that she knew, if she hadn't reacted when she did, the warehouse could have been reduced to an inferno of rubble, and they would have had a team of dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on their hands. But they had accomplished what they had set out to do, and there had been no casualties in the process.

In addition, her head wasn't splitting open with pain, and she hadn't needed to use her gun. Those two things alone were good enough for her.


Note: Thank you, again, for your patience! Sorry that I'm still so slow. x~x Hopefully the next chapter will finally deal with something that I've been looking forward to for a while, but we'll see how it works out. :) You can, of course, still check the status of each upcoming chapter on my profile. Thank you for reading~ I really appreciate your continued interest. 3 Take care~