April 1st, 2014
New York, New York—Avengers Tower, 75th floor, Quinn's apartment
"Your message sounded a little frantic—what's happening?"
Quinn tossed her bag—packed early that morning in an optimistic burst of energy and hope that she could leave early—onto the foot of her bed and then dropped herself down near her pillows, flopping backwards so she was staring at the ceiling. "I was all set to leave, but apparently there was some big problem with the files documenting the battle in Greenwich last year, and it's clean up, and with a bunch of other Avengers-related stuff and—" Feeling herself getting worked up again, Quinn paused and took a deep breath, attempting to banish the disappointment and anger. It didn't really work. "Long story short, I have to go into the New York SHIELD office this afternoon and tomorrow and deal with it because apparently, I'm the only one who can."
There was silence at the other end of the line for almost thirty seconds, and Quinn could almost feel the matching disappointment from Steve; she had to admit, she liked that he was also bummed out by yet another delay to their reunion. "You can't handle it in DC?"
"Apparently not. I asked. Director Fury himself said no."
Steve huffed. "When do you think you'll be finished?"
Quinn sighed. "Hopefully I can finish it all up this afternoon or tonight, so I can leave first thing tomorrow morning. From the sounds of it, I'm going to be doing a lot of reading, which means I will be exhausted and driving would be a bad idea. I'm sorry, Steve." Something had happened after Strike Team Delta had returned from their mission that morning, during Steve's debrief with Directory Fury, and, though he hadn't been able to tell Quinn any details, she knew it was weighing on him and she wanted to be there to try and cheer him up.
"It's not your fault, Quinn, and there's no need for you to apologize. You'll be here tomorrow."
"Come hell or high water."
Steve gave her a small laugh. "Come hell or high water," he agreed. "Do you think more alien artifacts were stolen from the site of the battle?"
"I honestly wouldn't be surprised." Quinn sat up and repositioned herself so she was sitting with her back against the mound of pillows. "I know they boosted security and added in a bunch of new protocols for the collection, sorting, processing, study, and storage of everything collected at alien- and/or Avengers-related sites, but that doesn't mean things still don't go missing."
"SHIELD sure has a hard time keeping track of their things."
Quinn snorted. "I'm not sure any organization could stand in the way of human greed."
"You're probably right."
"I'm sure there was stuff stolen when Tony had the tower under construction too. I have to admit, if I wasn't in the position I am, and I had the opportunity to snag some piece from the Battle of New York, I'd probably take something too."
"Are you telling me you didn't?"
"After everything that happened? No." She paused and chewed her bottom lip. "Unless you count an outrageous crush on a certain star-spangled man."
"I don't think you picked that up during the Battle of New York," Steve said in a voice that betrayed his blush; Quinn could picture the small smile on his lips and the way his eyes dipped to the ground.
"Hmm, I guess I had that before, didn't I…" She shifted against the pillows, wishing she could curl up against Steve's side like she had on movie nights. "I've never taken anything from a site, though I would have taken Mjolnir if I could have. It was against the rules, and that wasn't a rule worth breaking."
"Did you try to pick up Mjolnir?"
She snorted. "No. Not sure I want to know the answer to that question. Maybe one day."
"Make sure I'm there when you do."
"Of course."After a few seconds of silence, Quinn asked, "Are you really not going to tell me what happened this morning?"
"Quinn—"
"I know I said I wouldn't pry, but I'm so curious. SHIELD stuff doesn't normally rattle you so much."
"I would tell you, but it was high clearance—Alpha level. It was a separate elevator and Director Fury had to override permission for me to be allowed access."
"Okay," Quinn said, "I really won't pry then. Out of respect for your respect of SHIELD's security protocols and for no other reason."
"You really do want to know."
"Don't sound so surprised." The truth was, since she'd taken over Phil Coulson's job and become the SHIELD liaison to the Avengers, she'd grown more and more tired of the secrecy and division present in SHIELD. She knew Tony's insistence on uncovering secrets, and Steve's reaction to finding HYDRA weapons from World War II in the cargo bay of the helicarrier, had a lot to do with her burgeoning disillusionment. "I've been working for SHIELD since I was eighteen." She paused, surprised by the words on the tip of her tongue. "Maybe I'm ready for a change. For less secrets."
"I'm tired of secrets too."
Silence settled between them again. And it might have kept on, had Quinn's phone not buzzed against her cheek, informing her of an incoming text from Agent Thompson at the New York SHIELD office.
"I've gotta go, Steve. The sooner I get this work started, the sooner I can leave."
"Let me know when you're on your way."
"I will."
New York, New York—SHIELD Headquarters, archives
Quinn frowned at her phone as she fought off another sneeze. The text message notification from Maria Hill still floated on her screen, waiting for her to do something with it.
Called to DC by DF. Deep shdw. U hold down fort in NY. Will call if needed.
She had to reply, but she didn't know what to say because she found she was angry. Between this message, Steve's unsettling debrief with Fury that morning, and the sudden redirection of Quinn to what was turning out to be a tedious task one of the agents under her could have done, something was going on and it was being kept from her. Or, more precisely, she was being kept from it. And she had no idea why.
After a minute and giving into the sneeze—the amount of dust in the archives was shocking—Quinn picked up her phone. She typed and deleted several more heated responses before settling on, Fine, but you have to tell me what's going on as soon as you can.
Maria sent a thumbs-up emoji in response.
Quinn resisted the urge to throw her phone across the room, knowing the screen would probably crack when it hit either the shelves or the concrete floor. And she needed her phone. After the wave of anger and frustration passed, she checked her text messages, hoping for something from Steve or Natasha. Or someone telling her what was going on.
But there was nothing.
For a while, Quinn turned her attention to her task, trying to lose herself in the repetitiveness of cross-checking, fixing, and digitizing files. It worked for a little while, mostly because reading about the battle in Greenwich meant she could easily think about her time in Asgard and how much she would like to go back when there wasn't danger of an attack. She wondered what Steve would think of Asgard. Wondered if he'd ever get to see it in more than just the pictures she'd managed to snap.
After forcing herself through most of the stack of files, Quinn looked at her phone again. There were still no messages, and it was nearing 12:00 am. Deciding she could finish the last dozen or so files in the morning before she left for DC, Quinn gathered her stuff and headed up to ground level and an extremely tense SHIELD lobby.
"What happened?" Quinn asked as she approached the reception desk.
The night receptionist on duty was a youngish man named Jackson Hale. He was one of two receptionists who traded night shifts. Quinn didn't know him very well, but they'd spoken a few times, particularly when she and Coulson would work late and Quinn stumbled out long after most of the other agents had gone home. When he looked up at her, his brown eyes were wide. Shocked.
"Uh… Director Fury was shot," he managed.
Quinn's stomach dropped and her heart leapt into her throat. "When?"
"I… I don't have any details, Agent Scott. Agent 13 radioed in to the Triskelion and a report went out to all SHIELD offices. Along with the order for all agents to stay put and go on high alert." He clicked the mouse a few times and then spun his computer monitor around to show Quinn the brief dispatch.
Foxtrot shot by unknown assailant. All agents remain in place until further notice.
No details or useful information. Typical SHIELD. "Thanks, Jackson," she muttered before she left the building. Jackson called out something as she left, but the words didn't register.
Outside, the night air had turned cool. Quinn headed in the direction of Avengers Tower, alternating between looking for a cab to hail and looking down at her phone as she fired off several text messages.
To Steve: Are you okay? Fury was shot. Were you with him? Do you know what happened? Call me when you can.
To Natasha: Call or text when you can and tell me you're okay and what happened. Tell me he's alive.
To Maria: What the fuck is happening?
She wanted to say she was going to drive to DC that night, but it was hard to break the habit of following orders after so many years, despite how tired she was of all the secrets. A direct order to stay in place—which she'd already technically broken by leaving the SHIELD offices—was hard to ignore. Knowing she would get no sleep, Quinn promised herself she'd wait until morning before she left. Maybe by then there would be more information.
As Quinn rode the elevator up to her apartment, she tried to process the idea of her world without Nicholas J. Fury. Quinn had found a purpose at SHIELD, and much of that was due to the trust Fury placed in her—that trust had begun because Coulson vouched for her, but she liked to think she'd since earned it on her own as well—and the opportunities he gave her when many others would have just fired her or shuffled her to some forgotten corner in the organization. Without Fury, she would have never been assigned to Steve's case as his handler or given Coulson's job when he died.
Director Fury wasn't a man who got close to people, but Quinn was pretty sure he liked her as much as he was able to, and she would miss him if he died.
And she didn't even want to think about the ramifications in the intelligence community and within SHIELD itself. Not that many would ever know the truth. She didn't even know the truth.
The elevator doors opened and, as Quinn walked to her apartment, she checked her phone. No responses. No notifications. Nothing.
Once she was inside with the doors locked, she showered and changed into her pyjamas on autopilot, and then sat on her bed and stared at her phone, unbrushed and unbraided hair dripping onto the comforter and her bad leg stretched out in front of her. Her brace was in its spot on her bedside table, though she kept thinking about putting it back on, going upstairs, and flying one of the quinjets Tony had modified to DC.
Her phone buzzed, drawing her out of her thoughts. It was a text from Natasha.
Fury's dead.
For a heartbeat or two, it felt like everything stopped.
It couldn't be true, could it? It had to be part of a plan. Fury always had a plan. He was always working at least two angles no one else could see. This had to be part of a plan. He couldn't be dead.
What happened? she managed to text back, though the words were far too calm and simple for the thoughts spinning through her head. Her eyes were beginning to burn too, but she hadn't started crying yet. Are you and Steve and Maria okay?
We're fine. Maria wants you to stay in NY for now.
Like hell. Where are you? I'll be there asap.
She says go to SHIELD tomorrow like planned. Wants you to pay attention.
Pay attention? To what?
But there was no response. Quinn waited, hoping Natasha had paused to say something to someone else or she was walking or driving somewhere, but the minutes ticked away and no response came. She tried texting Maria to get clarification, but her messages sat unread.
Please tell me you're okay, she messaged Steve. He had read her earlier text, but she assumed he hadn't had time to text her back yet.
Instead of a text response, her phone rang. "Steve?"
"I'm okay, Quinn. In one piece, anyway."
"What happened?"
"Fury was shot. Through the wall of my apartment. I've never seen shots like that…'' Steve paused and cleared his throat. His voice was thick, and a little rough, like he hadn't had a drink of water or spoken in some time. "I chased the assassin. Threw my shield at him when I had a clear shot. Quinn…" Steve paused again, the mounting tension and something that sounded almost like fear evident. "He caught it. He caught my shield. His arm was made of metal."
"What…" Quinn struggled to find something more eloquent to say, but words were escaping her. "Does anyone know who he is?"
"No. I don't know. I haven't had a lot of time to look into it."
Quinn felt stupid. "Of course not. Sorry."
Steve sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. This is just… There's something going on, Quinn."
"I know. Something I'm being kept from. Maria ordered me to stay in New York."
"And you're going to listen?"
"At least until tomorrow morning. She wants me to pay attention. To what, I don't know, but I'll do this for her, and then I'll head to DC, regardless of who orders me to do what." It was Quinn's turn to sigh as the first tears slid down her cheeks. "Once I'm there, you can tell me about whatever it was Fury showed you and we can figure out what's going on."
"Nat and I will see what we can find out here. Fury gave me something that might have some information on it. Maria might know something too."
"I can almost promise you she does. Whether or not she tells you is another matter." Quinn wiped the tears from her cheeks, but more took their place. "Besides, she'll want to stay with… with Fury."
"You're right. She hasn't left his side since they called time of death."
"Whatever you do, just… be careful, Steve."
"You too. See you tomorrow? Or, later today, I guess."
"See you soon."
Reluctantly, they hung up, and Quinn once more set her phone on the bed in front of her, eyes glued to the screen. She didn't really expect anyone else to text or call before a more reasonable hour, but she still couldn't go to sleep. The fear of missing something important or devastating was too much to close her eyes.
Regardless, an hour or so later, Quinn fell back against her pillows, unconscious and with tears on her cheeks.