April 2nd, 2014
Outside Washington, DC—classified base

Inside the dam, Maria led Quinn down a long concrete hallway filled with chilly air and the sounds of dripping and creaking metal pipes. A couple of the lightbulbs were out, creating odd, foreboding shadows, shadows only exacerbated by half open, heavily riveted metal doors. It was certainly not a location many people would choose to explore even if they could get inside—and finding the door amongst the overgrowth outside was no small task, either. Quinn didn't like being in there one bit, but she knew it was exactly the kind of place Directory Fury liked to choose for his hidden bases; she also knew the main occupied area would be, if not nicer, per say, at least more comfortable.

Sure enough, when Hill pressed her thumb to a concealed panel and opened a door that looked rusted shut, Quinn walked into a small concrete room that was several degrees warmer than the hall, better lit, and stocked with everything an agent might need.

In the centre of the room, there was a round table with a handful of clean plastic chairs; they didn't look very comfortable, but then, Fury had never put comfort ahead of practicality. On the far wall was a kitchenette with a minifridge, microwave, toaster oven, kettle, and coffee maker. Several different kinds of coffee and tea sitting on the counter must have been Maria's doing, as Fury liked his coffee strong and black. A door next to the fridge sat open enough to reveal a very white, very basic bathroom.

To the right of the door sat a U-shaped desk weighed down with an old desktop computer with a dusty monitor, a newer laptop—both of which would be encrypted, impossible to access from the outside, and used for all manor of snooping—a bank of monitors showing security camera footage from around the dam, and a small TV currently tuned to the local news, though it was on mute; they weren't talking about Steve, but whatever was going on would likely be kept under the radar until whoever was behind everything got what they wanted.

The right wall was taken up by a row of alcoves, each holding a cot. On each cot sat a small stack of neatly folded blankets and a pillow. One of the cots, military-neat, had obviously been claimed by Hill, and another, much more rumpled, had to have been claimed by the middle-aged, kind-looking stranger sitting at the table reading a book.

An open door in the left wall revealed a makeshift hospital room setup with a bed, chair, storage cabinet, IV stand hung with several bags, various monitors, and bundles of wires all leading back to the bed.

And sitting in that bed was Director Nicholas J. Fury. His dark skin looked weirdly translucent and kind of grey. His eyelids were heavy, and his good eye, normally bright with intelligence, was dull. His eyepatch was in place over his bad eye and, despite everything, he still managed to rule the room.

"Agent Scott," he said by way of hello. If Quinn hadn't known him as well as she did, she would have missed the hint of pain in his voice. He was very good at hiding it.

Surprised by the tears welling behind her eyes, Quinn went right to the side of his bed, dropping her bag on one of the chairs at the table as she passed. "Hello, sir." Her voice was steady, but she could feel a bit of a waver coming. She tried to stuff it down. "I'm glad you're alive."

"So am I, though it was a near thing."

"With a lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, collapsed lung, perforated liver, a nasty concussion, and a myriad of cuts and bruises," the man from the table said as he approached, "it was definitely a near thing." He lifted a black bag onto the bed and withdrew a stethoscope and thermometer. "Doctor Fine," he said at Quinn's questioning look. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Doctor Fine. Call me Quinn." The introduction was delivered almost on autopilot, as was the small smile, though the insistence on dropping her title as "agent," was new. It felt wrong, but with everything happening at SHIELD, she didn't want it; if Fury noticed, he didn't say anything when Quinn looked at him again. "I don't think I've seen injuries that bad since I was crushed by a building," she said with a smirk. Against her will, a tear slid down Quinn's cheek. "Are you sure you're okay?"

One corner of Fury's mouth twitched in what was almost a matching smirk. "I'm alive and I should stay that way, yes."

"As long as you don't run out of here too soon," Doctor Fine added in a tone that suggested it wasn't the first time he'd had to say as much.

"Thank you for trusting me," Quinn said to Fury. "I know you wouldn't have gone to these lengths if you didn't have to."

The Director made a noise somewhere between a huff and a laugh that turned into a cough. "Even if I didn't trust you with the truth, I'm sure Hill would have told you. She said you were just about bursting to get down here."

Quinn felt her cheeks flush and heard Maria chuckling from somewhere else in the room. "You could say that… But I mean it. Whatever's going on, your trust means a lot, and I want to do what I can to help."

"Don't say that yet, Scott. We don't know what's going on, beyond someone wanting me gone."

Fury shifted like he was going to try and get up, but Doctor Fine gently pushed him back down with a hand on his chest. "You need to rest," he said in a voice that was much more authoritative than Quinn would have expected from the kind-looking doctor; it also sounded like it wasn't the first time the doctor had to force Fury back to bed. "You can fill Quinn in later."

"I'll get Maria to give me the details, sir," Quinn said. "We don't need you killing yourself."

They shared a small smile, and then Quinn walked to the table, wiping a couple more tears away when she was sure no one would see. There was a strange mix of worry, relief, and frustration brewing in her stomach, all made worse by the fact that she couldn't do anything. She was, until further notice, stuck in the dam with Director Fury and Hill. She dropped heavily into one of the chairs, folded her arms on the table, put her head down, and sighed.

"Are you ready for the bad news?" Maria asked from somewhere deeper in the space; Quinn thought she was over by the kitchenette.

"What was the good news?"

There was a mirthless laugh followed by footsteps, but when Maria spoke, her voice was as gentle as she could make it. "We still haven't been able to find Steve and Nat," she said, sitting beside Quinn and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Not since he escaped from the Triskelion."

Quinn sat up. Maria had made tea, and a steaming mug sat in front of Quinn. She wrapped her hands around it, savouring the comforting feeling of the heat leaching into her skin. "What the hell happened, Maria?" she asked, voice quiet.

"I've pretty much told you all we know," she said. Quinn didn't think she was going to stay anything else, but then Maria ran down the list. "Someone hired an assassin to take out Fury. It had to be someone pretty high up at SHIELD. Best guess is Pierce. As little sense as that makes, Pierce would pretty much be the only one with access to all—or most—of Fury's data. Fury was in a car accident caused by the assassin, who then tracked him to Steve's apartment and shot him through the wall. We don't know who the assassin was. Facial recognition failed and the MO returned no hits. Steve was declared a fugitive and based on this—" Hill pulled out her phone and, after a minute of typing, handed it to Quinn "—it doesn't look like they care whether or not he's brought in alive."

After taking a too-hot sip of tea that burned her tongue, Quinn accepted the phone, worry taking control of the emotional turmoil. Maria had brought up a Triskelion security video of what looked like an elevator; how she had it, Quinn couldn't begin to guess. Maria's statement ringing in her ears, and a flutter of nerves raging in her stomach, Quinn hit play.

She watched Steve enter the elevator. He said something, but there was no sound. A second later, Agent Rumlow, who was on Strike Team Delta with Steve and Natasha, entered the elevator, along with a handful of other agents; Quinn only recognized three of them, including Rumlow. They filled the elevator around Steve, and it didn't take a genius to spot the tension riding Steve's shoulders. A heartbeat before the fight broke out, Quinn saw it coming, and she held her breath. She knew Steve could hold his own, even against ten highly-trained agents, but they had magnetic cuffs and stun batons, which they weren't shy about using, and more than a few hits reached their target. After a failed attempt at escaping out the doors—probably because agents had filled the hallways—Steve, shield up to protect him, launched himself out the glass wall and into open air.

Then, as Steve was no longer in the elevator, the video ended.

Quinn dropped the phone on the table, and balled her hands into fists. "What the fuck—"

Maria held up her hand, cutting off Quinn's freak out. "He landed in the lobby—"

"From like, two hundred feet up!"

"Quinn, he's fine."

"Just because—"

"No, he's fine. One—that was hours ago—"

"So? He could have gotten away injured and be hiding something in pain—"

Maria reached over and grabbed Quinn's arm with a firm grip. "Two—They sent a quinjet out to the bridge to stop him after the fight, a jet which he took down with his motorcycle and the shield." Hill sounded more than a little impressed, though she didn't dwell, just kept on filling Quinn in. "There was a report that he was seen at the hospital where Fury 'died,' but after that, he vanished."

Quinn huffed loudly, got to her feet and started pacing, trying to work through some of the frustration building inside. She hated feeling useless, but what could she do? Run around DC calling their names? Steve would have found Nat—Quinn didn't think he'd trust anyone else, if he even trusted Nat—and the spy would keep them away from all the obvious places. They would be nearly impossible to find. "Nat's obviously been teaching him some tricks," she said finally, idly rubbing her side where she'd taken a punch in her escape from SHIELD's New York headquarters.

"Do you need the doctor to take a look?" Hill asked.

"No. It's just a bruise." She came to stop behind one of the chairs and crossed her arms tightly. "What the hell is happening, Maria? It feels like everything is falling apart."

"I wish I knew."

After finishing her tea and eating a sandwich she didn't really want, Quinn relented to repeated prodding from Maria and let Doctor Fine take a look at the minor wounds she'd sustained. As she'd thought, her ribs were bruised, her lip and cheek were split—both got butterfly bandages, since stitches weren't needed—and the headache plaguing her was likely a result of her clenched jaw. She took a couple ipbrofun, picked a cot, and laid down to read, hoping she could pass the time lost in a book, but not really believing it.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Maria was shaking her awake.

"Quinn, get up. You need to see this."

Bleary-eyed and bad leg aching, Quinn pushed herself up off the cot and followed Maria over to the computer desk. Out of habit, her eyes scanned the security monitors. Nothing looked strange or out-of-the-ordinary, so whatever she was supposed to be looking at wasn't there.

"It's here," Maria said.

Quinn squinted at the laptop screen, which came into focus after a second—she really hated being woken up from a dead sleep. "A missile strike? In the city?"

"Not DC. It's headed for—"

"Camp Lehigh." Quinn didn't need to be told why that was relevant. Camp Lehigh in New Jersey was a joint US Army and Strategic Scientific Reserve base where Steve had done his training before taking the super soldier serum. After the war, much of SHIELD's early formation was done on that base. "But it was shut down not long after the war… Why would anyone want to hit it with a missile?"

"Not just anyone. The missile has a SHIELD signature."

"What?"

"I'm guessing Steve and/or Natasha are at Camp Lehigh and whoever is pulling the strings tracked them there. There would be no other reason to target the camp."

Quinn felt like she was ready to burst. Or run all the way to New Jersey. "Can we get to them?"

"Not in time."

"But—"

Maria stood up and put her hands on Quinn's shoulders. Quinn looked up the six inches separating them and tried not to let her mind run away with her. "Quinn, we can't do anything," she said seriously. "There's no way to beat the missile there. Besides, if they are there, you know not even a missile is going to sneak up on Natasha."

The last was meant to lighten the mood, but levity had never been Maria Hill's strong suit. And while, rationally, she knew everything Maria was saying was true, Quinn couldn't calm her mind down. She pulled away from Hill and started walking a circuit around the room, hoping for a text or some other sign from Steve telling her he was alive.

As she passed the TV for the third time, the news coverage had switched to Camp Lehigh, New Jersey, which was engulfed in flames. Quinn felt her body go cold as the camera panned over the ruined expanse of land. There was no way anyone could have survived that; all that was left now was to hope Steve and Natasha had left before the missile struck.