Ellen stood in front of her father's desk, dumbfounded. She felt like an ice-cold fist had punched through her stomach, and for several moments all she could do was stare at the wall. Regaining control of herself, she looked at him and asked, "Dad…are you sure?"
"Positive."
She sat down in one of the chairs situated in front of the desk. "We're talking about assassinating the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. A move that bold will make it impossible to remain in the shadows for long."
He nodded in understanding. "Believe me, this isn't a decision I've come to lightly. Nick has been a good friend for decades. It'll grieve me to see him go, but we both know that sacrifices must be made for the greater good." He stood up and walked around the desk, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I know how difficult this will be. You've known him since you were little. But I can only trust the best to do this. I trust you more than anyone, you know that, right?"
She took his hand in hers, looking up at him. Her entire life, he'd been her teacher, her role model, an unstoppable titan that showed her the path forward and protected her. In her heart, Ellen knew she would butcher the world if he asked her to. Looking him in the eye, she nodded and said, "I know, dad. You can trust me with anything. I'll get it done."
He smiled, and a warm flush of pride filled the cold void in her chest. Kissing her on the head, he said, "You've never let me down before. I know you won't now. This has to be carried out by the end of the day. Leave nothing to chance."
Standing, she gave him a smile before walking out of his office.
The magnitude of her new task hung over her shoulders like chained boulders. HYDRA was no stranger to assassination and murder, but this would be different. To strike at such a high-profile target was to declare war against S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rest of HYDRA's enemies. The opening salvo before Project Insight swept the board clean of all those who opposed order and peace.
Stepping into the elevator, she took out her phone. Leaning against the glass so her screen would be hidden from the security camera, she sent a text to an encrypted number known to two people on Earth. Requesting Boreas Protocol. Meet at Waystation, 30 minutes.
Less than a minute later, she received a response. Boreas Protocol activated. Asset en route ASAP.
Nick Fury had to be the most paranoid, careful man Ellen had ever known. He must have had at least half a dozen security measures for potential attack. At work, home, or in traffic. Nowhere was he completely vulnerable. For any attempt on his life to succeed, she'd need the Winter Soldier.
Next, she dialed another encrypted number. "Anthony's Delivery Service. How may I help you?"
"I'd like to order an express delivery," she said.
"Password?"
"Emerald."
The man on the other end paused. Ellen guessed he'd give her his full attention, now that he knew who was calling. "Number of recipients?"
"One," she replied.
"And how much would you like to pay?"
Looking out the glass walls at the cityscape, she said, "$20."
"Understood. Your package will be ready for delivery. Where would you like to receive it?"
"My usual P.O. Box. And I'll need the Metro for this one."
Half an hour later, she'd driven from the Triskelion to a professional-looking garage in another part of the city. The Waystation was a disguised HYDRA safehouse, designed and used as storage for munitions and tech as well as a layover for agents being sent on covert ops. Twenty HYDRA agents met her there, wearing DC Metropolitan Police uniforms. Eight wore standard uniforms, while the other twelve wore SWAT gear. Vehicles retrofitted into police patrol cars and tactical vans had been brought out, kept on standby for situations like this.
They stood gathered in the open space, silent with their eyes focused on her. These men hadn't been trained to be infiltrators. They were hammers, specializing in hitting whatever their superiors told them to.
Ellen walked around them to a bare patch of wall. The Winter Soldier stood in a doorway that led to the storage area. He wore a black leather jacket and black pants, as opposed to his usual Kevlar vest and more tactical loadout. Mask and goggles on, he awaited her order. Ellen pressed her thumb on a specific brick. The scanner confirmed her identity, then projected a holographic screen. She keyed for a map of D.C., then turned to address her strike force.
"Pay attention, because I'm not going to repeat myself. Our target is Nick Fury." As she spoke, she brought up an image of him and superimposed it over the screen. The disguised agents looked at each other, professional enough to not start conversing but obviously aware of the magnitude of the operation.
The Soldier said nothing, not even twitching.
"This order comes straight from Secretary Pierce," she continued, switching back to the map. Tapping Fury's picture, she drew up his usual route home. "Our best bet is to hit the target en route to his home from the Triskelion. Here," she pointed to a specific intersection, "is where we'll do it. Team 1 will approach in a patrol car to confirm it's actually him in the vehicle. If it is, trigger your siren once to signal us. Teams 2 through 4 will pin him in place. Once that's done, Team 5 will pull up and breach his vehicle. Make sure to grab one of the Electronic Battering Rams from storage. If I know Nick Fury, his car doors are armoured. If all goes according to plan, that's all we'll need."
"Then what's he doing here?" one of the agents asked, jerking a thumb to indicate the Soldier.
"He's here for when things don't go according to plan," Ellen replied. "This will be the most difficult target you've ever come across. He is so paranoid he's made it an art form. He has contingencies for every possibility, no matter how ridiculous or unlikely. He is always expecting an attack, and he's been like this for decades. Under no circumstances can he be allowed to survive, so you hit him with everything you have. Use every bullet, every tool, every tactic you have. Am I clear?"
They all nodded.
"Good. Gear up, because we're moving out in ten."
The agents dispersed into the storage area. While they grabbed weapons and tech, Ellen walked over to one of the secure lockers. Entering her personal passcode, she opened the cage and grabbed a thick black weapons case. Locking the cage, she handed the case to the Soldier, who took it without a word.
"Use this to cripple the target's vehicle."
"Ponyal." ["Understood"]
It didn't take long for Fury to show up.
Ellen sat in the back of a van parked a block away from the ambush site, watching a number of screens that were being fed street camera footage. She wore her green catsuit and Photostatic Veil with black wig. The elements of her Sarkissian alias were kept at numerous safehouses so she could slip into the role at a moment's notice, no matter where she was. Now she watched the screens like a hawk, waiting for her quarry to appear.
Fury drove his usual black SUV, unassuming on the surface. But appearances were often deceiving. As he pulled up to the stoplight, Team 1 pulled up beside him in a patrol car. Ellen watched as the two agents stared at Fury, who snarked at them. They sounded their siren once, then drove as if to turn right.
"Target is confirmed," Ellen spoke into her mic. "We are go."
Fury started driving forward, then Team 2's patrol car smashed into him on the rear driver's side. The SUV buckled as it was forced onto the curb. Team 1's car reversed into Fury's front, while Teams 3 and 4 drove into his rear and passenger side, pinning him in place.
"Target is immobilized. Team 5, move in."
Team 2 backed out of the way, allowing Team 5's black police van to pull up. They stepped out, them and all the other agents aiming their assault rifles. After a terrible moment of silent anticipation, all twenty of them opened fire. They shot at Fury's windshield and driver's side window. The glass remained intact with every bullet impact, suggesting it'd been reinforced.
"Target's vehicle has bulletproof glass," one of the agents reported.
"I can see that. Focus fire on his driver's side window. Weaken its integrity." They did so, spraying bullets and concentrating on a single spot. The window held, but Ellen was willing to bet even it had breaking points. After thirty seconds, she said, "Hold fire. Deploy the battering ram."
The rest of Team 5 hauled the massive ram out of their van. Flipping the activation switch, they lowered its thick trio of legs and placed it on the ground. One of the agents turned a dial, and the legs dug into the asphalt, securing the ram in place. "Ram ready," one of them said.
"Hit him," she ordered.
The ram lurched forward, smashing into Fury's window with enough force to lift the SUV half off the ground. The window showed a massive circular dent. "Window still intact."
Ellen pursed her lips. "Hit him again."
The ram lurched again. Still intact.
"Again."
The ram struck. "Window compromised. Integrity almost gone."
"Move in, prepare to execute." The other agents closed in on the SUV, ready to shoot the second they broke through the window. "On my mark. Three…two…"
Before she could finish, Fury's window shattered as he deployed a miniature turret from his console. He sprayed high-caliber bullets, and half of Ellen's strike force died before her eyes. Men dropped dead like felled trees. A grenade launched from within the SUV, destroying Team 5's van in an impressive explosion that flipped one of the patrol cars onto another.
"Hit him now!" Ellen barked. The remaining agents resumed shooting, even as the SUV reversed to wiggle itself free. From what she could see, Fury wasn't even at the wheel. The vehicle must have been equipped with some type of self-pilot function. It angled left, then peeled away from the site as Fury kept shooting his turret, killing two more men. "Anyone still alive, get back in your cars and chase him down!" Ellen turned to look at the driver and said, "Get us moving and keep us close."
As the van's engine turned on and they drove down a parallel street, she kept her eyes focused on the screens. The Soldier sat beside her, case in his lap as he waited for orders. A small part of her felt relieved that Fury was getting away, the sentimental part that had been friends with the man for years. The other part of her quickly smothered that part, knowing this had to be done.
This was the mission.
Ellen watched Fury speed down the road, Teams 2 and 3 in pursuit. They weaved in between civilian traffic, until Fury deliberately crashed into a truck before bumping between a pair of grey minivans, creating a block for the patrol cars. "Pursue on foot. Do not let him out of your sight." She watched two of the agents get out and sprint after their target as the black SUV halted at a traffic jam. One of them jumped onto the hood of a car and started shooting, while the other ran past.
Fury forced his way through the stopped cars, parting them like Moses with the Red Sea. The other agent kept parallel, shooting through the windows of a stopped bus. Fury reversed and smacked the first agent into another car. Then, he drove forward into another car, causing it to smash the other agent through the glass bus stop. He sped down the street.
The two patrol cars chased after him. All three vehicles were dented and ridden with bullet holes. One agent leaned out the passenger window of his car with an Uzi and started shooting, pausing whenever a vehicle passed between them. Fury drove into the patrol car, grabbing the man by the arm. The second patrol car forced itself against his other side, squeezing the SUV.
Ellen looked ahead, noting the changing lights as cars started driving down the intersecting road. "Pull off! You're approaching an intersection." Fury came to a sudden stop, while the patrol cars kept moving forward. "Pull off!"
It was too late, and they both got rammed by a moving truck.
"Shit!" she hissed. "Pull over here," she told the driver. They were on the adjacent road from where Fury was, since Ellen had calculated the likeliest routes Fury could have taken. She looked at the Soldier, then nodded and said, "Cripple his vehicle. Kill him."
He nodded, opening the case and taking out the prototype Disc Grenade Launcher. Stepping out of the van's side door, he crossed the street and stood in the middle of the crosswalk. Cars blared their horns at him, but he paid them no heed. Sure enough, Fury's battered SUV came zooming around the corner straight at them.
The Soldier took aim, then fired. The hand-sized metal disc flew forward, sliding along the asphalt until it magnetically attached itself to the SUV's undercarriage. It detonated a moment later, launching the vehicle end over end with a spectacular explosion. The Soldier stepped away at the last second as the SUV scraped along the ground before stopping as it hit a street light.
He calmly approached the ruined vehicle, walking through the smoke as bystanders ran from the carnage. Ellen watched him grab the driver's side door with his metal arm, tearing from its hinges and throwing it aside. He peered inside, then turned around and started walking back to the van.
"Tsel' sbezhala," ["The target escaped"] he reported.
Ellen tore off her mic and smashed it into the floor.
The aftermath of the ambush was chaos.
Emergency crews, as well as actual D.C. Metro police, showed up not long after Fury managed to escape. Ellen had no choice but to call her father and report her failure. Being only a few miles from the Triskelion, it took all of nine minutes before a SHIELD containment team arrived and secured the sight. All evidence, including the bodies of her strike team, would be removed and disposed of in due course.
He never actually said the words, but Ellen knew her father was disappointed. This operation would be crucial to ensuring HYDRA's survival and the success of its ultimate goal. "I'll keep searching, dad," she'd said over the phone. "I promise, I won't let you down."
"Of course you won't," he'd replied before hanging up.
So, she'd left the ambush site and got to work. She only had the Soldier to work with for the moment, but that would be enough. The two of them were worth entire teams of analysts and assassins, and thus far no target had ever escaped them. Ellen spent every waking minute of the next few hours watching CCTV footage, combing through cellphone audio, and triangulating every S.H.I.E.L.D. frequency Fury had access to.
She managed to catch a glimpse of him climbing out a sewer grate half a mile from the ambush site, but he'd quickly disappeared after that. Her father had kept the incident quiet from the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D., so no general alerts or search parties were sent out. After hours of fruitless searching, Ellen rested her head against a wall and closed her eyes. She'd been checking every known safehouse and substation in the city, but Fury hadn't turned up at any of them. By now, he likely suspected everyone of being a potential threat, so he'd go somewhere off-grid, or…
She opened her eyes, brow creasing in thought. Or maybe not. A man like that tended to move two steps forward and three to the side to keep his opponents confused and off-balance. So, Ellen started looking at places no one would expect him to turn up. Reaching the bottom of her new list, she paused. A knot of unease twisted in her stomach as she stared at the address. In a way, it made sense. Where was the last place anyone would expect Director Nick Fury to show up? Who was the least likely person to take him in?
Mounting her motorcycle, she directed the Soldier to climb on behind her. He'd equipped himself with a high-powered rifle, disassembled, in a rucksack strapped across his back. With grim determination, Ellen sped off as the sun began setting past the horizon.
Later, she stood by her motorcycle, which was parked by the curb half a block north of the apartment building. The Soldier had scaled the row of buildings across the street, setting up his rifle at a vantage point on the roof. She watched through a set of thermal binoculars. Two heat signatures registered in the apartment. One of them limped and hunched. Fury. The other stood tall, wary of the other.
Steve.
Amongst all her feelings of trepidation and nervous anticipation of the coming storm, she fervently hoped she'd have a chance to explain everything to him. He needed to understand. All this was necessary. It had to be. She chose the long-range option to finish Fury off instead of going into the apartment for two reasons. First, she had no idea what kind of security measures or surveillance had been put in place. Second, she wasn't prepared for Steve to see her like this.
But enough of that. She had a task, and now would be her only opportunity to finish it. This was the mission.
"Soldat?" ["Soldier"?]
"Gotovyy." ["Ready"]
"Target in southwest corner," she said, forgetting to speak in Russian as nervous butterflies fluttered in her gut. "Take him."
Three shots rang out, shattering the relative silence of night. She watched the one heat signature, Fury, drop to the floor. Ellen watched Steve drag him further into the apartment, and Fury's heat signature grew dimmer as the seconds passed. Someone else forced their way into the apartment. Probably an agent assigned to watch over Steve.
"Tsel' vniz. Vyydi." ["Target down. Move out."]
The Soldier slung the rifle over his back and started moving away from the edge of the roof. Ellen put her binoculars away just as she heard glass shattering. She had just enough time to see Steve, shield raised, flying between buildings before he crashed into the building across the street.
"Hostile in pursuit! Move to northwest roof for extraction."
Steve Rogers watched the shooter jump down onto the roof ahead of him, rolling with the impact. Clenching his jaw tight, he smashed through the window, rolled, then hurled his shield.
The shooter turned, then caught the shield with what looked like a metal arm.
Steve stood there, flabbergasted. No one had ever managed to do that before. Clearly, this man was no ordinary assassin. He wore a black mask over the lower half of his face, while black camouflage paint bordered his cold, emotionless eyes. The shooter regarded him for a moment, then with the whirring of mechanical gears, threw the shield back. Steve caught it with both hands, the impact jarring even his superior bones as he slid back a few feet.
When he looked up, the shooter was gone. He ran to the edge of the roof and peered down at the street below, but saw nothing.
Among the wail of approaching sirens, a motorcycle revved in the distance.
New York…
Tony stood in the far corner of the gym, watching the tail end of his daughter's gymnastics class with the other parents. She and the other kids were taking turns on the balance beam. Most stumbled, and two kids even fell off partway across. Their footwork needed improving. A dark-haired girl approached the beam, fingers twitching. Tony turned to the girl's mother who stood beside him. "She looks nervous."
"Yeah," Eleanor Bishop replied with a chuckle. "She's been practising for weeks. Hasn't made it across yet."
He crossed his arms. "Sometimes the most important thing is to keep trying, even if you fail."
They watched Kate mount the beam. She and Samantha had become fast friends in the wake of the Chitauri invasion. Barely a week went by without one girl visiting the other, and they spoke on the phone constantly. They'd supported each other through every gymnastics class, and Kate had even convinced Samantha to join her in learning martial arts. Tony noted Kate's movements as she slowly crossed the beam, stumbling a few times. Eleanor held her breath. When her daughter successfully made it to the other side, she cheered.
Then came Samantha's turn. Tony watched her take a deep breath. He'd observed several olympic-level athletes over the years, adding to his repertoire of skills. His daughter had the same dedication as they did, the same laser focus.
Taking one step forward, Samantha grabbed the balance beam then rolled forward until she balanced herself via handstand on the beam. The other kids stared in amazement, while the parents couldn't help but clap. Tony crossed his arms, a grin forming on his face as Samantha moved, one hand after the other, across the beam. She wobbled a bit, and her technique could use work, but she managed to reach the end and dismount.
The other parents applauded, while Tony stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle. Samantha looked in his direction and waved with a surprised smile on her face. Kate ran up and hugged her tight, while Eleanor congratulated Tony on her progress.
The class finished soon after, and Tony waited for her by the doors. Bag in hand, she said goodbye to Kate and Eleanor, then ran over to him as he wrapped her in a tight hug. "Hey, dad!"
Kissing her cheek, he said, "That was fantastic, baby girl!"
"Thanks. I've been practicing that move all week."
He opened the door and led her out. "Hey, where'd you learn that? One of your teachers?"
She rolled her eyes. "No, dad. You taught me that two weeks ago, right after Christmas."
Tony blinked. "Huh."
"Did you forget?"
He unlocked his car, then held the back door open for her. "Nah. I probably drank too much eggnog, that's all. Take it from a professional: you were amazing back there."
"Thanks." As he buckled in the driver's seat, she asked, "Where's mom? She said she was gonna pick me up today."
"She got called in to work," he explained as he drove out of the parking lot. In truth, he could only speculate as to what happened. She'd called him out of the blue, said she was going dark and asked him to take Samantha home from her class. The last time she'd done something like this, the Chitauri had invaded New York and they had been a hair's breadth away from nuclear annihilation. He shuddered to think what other crisis was about to break. But, as usual, she did not deign to give him details.
Turning at an intersection, he said, "So, first semester at the new school. How's that going?"
Samantha shrugged. "Okay."
"Just 'okay'? It must be a big adjustment."
In addition to showing early talent as a gymnast, Samantha had been doing quite well in school. So well, in fact, her teachers had recommended she be moved up several grades to better suit her academic ability. She seemed to possess a flawless eidetic memory, which did wonders for her academic ability.
Maria had been hesitant, worried their daughter might become ostracized by her older classmates due to her advanced skills. Tony argued that Samantha was a strong kid who'd overcome every challenge so far. That night, he'd gone to her room, tucked her in, and when she'd asked him about it, said, "You're always gonna face challenges, baby girl. Some easy, some hard. The only thing stopping you from beating them is you. No matter what other people tell you, you're the one in control of your life. So how far do you want to go?"
She'd signed up the next day.
"Do you like your classmates?" he asked, glancing at her from the rear view mirror.
"Yeah. Most of them."
"Anyone giving you problems?"
She looked out the window. "This one kid, Trevor, was being really mean to this girl in my class. I asked him to stop during recess, but he pushed me."
Tony gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. He'd have to look up this 'Trevor'. "What'd you do?"
"I did that leg sweep you showed me. He landed on his butt in front of the whole school."
He smirked. That's what he wanted to hear. "That's my girl. Did he tell the teachers?"
She shook her head, grinning. "No. He was too embarrassed a girl half his size did that to him."
"Now remember our deal, about me showing you moves like that?" he prompted.
She nodded.
"Don't tell mom," they spoke at the same time.
They shared a chuckle. "Exactly." He pulled up to a red light, then felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Taking it out, he kept one eye on the light and one eye on the screen. It was a general alert to all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, worldwide.
At 9:27 EST, Director Fury sustained bullet wounds after an attack from an unknown shooter. He is currently in critical condition. The identity and location of the shooter is being investigated at the highest level. Any agents with relevant information are ordered to report to their nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. base without delay.
"Sweet baby Jesus…" Tony muttered, not believing what he saw displayed on his phone.
"Dad? Dad, the light's green," Samantha said from the back.
Focusing on the road, Tony saw the green light and just then heard the horn from behind him. Driving forward, he tried to process the new information. Nick Fury, at death's door? He always thought the old bastard would outlive everyone. This had to be related to Maria going dark all of a sudden, he realized. As they neared his apartment, he started running through the possibilities. Anyone capable of taking out Nick Fury had to be well-funded, skilled, and therefore dangerous.
He felt a terrible, gnawing sensation inside as a thought popped in his head. What if this was HYDRA making a power play?
January 10th, Triskelion…
"Understood," Ellen said, hanging up. She looked at her father, who stared out the office window with both hands in his pockets. "That was the hospital. They called it." The trauma surgeons at the hospital had performed better than anyone expected, fighting to save the director's life through the night. But in the end, the injuries from the street ambush and three bullet wounds from a high-powered rifle had done the impossible. They killed Nick Fury.
He nodded gravely, sighing. "Rumlow's en route with Captain Rogers. They should be here shortly."
She nodded absently, staring at the floor with her arms crossed. He stepped over to her and touched her shoulders. "I know this was difficult. Believe me, I'll have no end of sleepless nights over this. But we have to acknowledge that it had to be done."
Ellen nodded. "I know, dad."
"With Nick out of the way, that's one less potential leak. Now all we have to do is learn if he shared anything with Rogers."
Ellen's unease only deepened. "Isn't there some way we can bring him into the fold? To make him see things from our perspective?"
He pursed his lips as he strolled behind the padded furniture. "I know we've talked about this, but what happens in the next few hours will be determined by him. If he tells us everything, then there's no worry. But if he decides to withhold information, then we can't afford to let word get out."
She leaned against the back of a chair, hands clasped. She knew he spoke the truth, yet this all felt…wrong. So much time had been spent lying to Steve about who she was, what she really fought for, and she didn't want to compound the problem. Ellen wanted to tell him everything, but underneath that desire lurked a soul-retching terror. If she told him the truth, he'd most likely view her as a monster. A twisted, perverted demoness who had betrayed everything he stood for.
She grimaced as a headache bloomed, causing her to close her eyes for a moment. In the course of completing their quest, truth was a liability. Concealment had been HYDRA's saving grace and greatest weapon.
This was the mission.
Her father stared at her for a moment. Then his phone beeped. He answered by saying, "Yes?" A moment, then, "Excellent. Send him up. I should be done soon." He looked at her and said, "He's here."
Taking a deep breath, Ellen exhaled and straightened. "Okay. I'd better get set up." Kissing him on the cheek, she stepped outside his office. Standing in the hall waiting was an attractive blonde woman in a professional suit with a black file folder in hand. "Agent 13," Ellen greeted, shaking the woman's hand.
"Agent Pierce."
"Heard you were first on-scene."
Sharon Carter, niece of the great Margaret 'Peggy' Carter, gave a heavy nod. "I was. Medics got there as fast as they could, but they were too late. I'm sorry for your loss. I understand you knew the director quite well."
Ellen nodded, pushing down the renewed stab of guilt. "Yeah. Met him for the first time after my eleventh birthday. I'll miss him."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. won't be the same without him. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to be debriefed by the Secretary."
"Good luck," Ellen said, watching the woman enter her father's office. Dropping the friendly smile, she strolled down the hall and took an elevator down one floor. From there, she made her way to the executive command centre. Access was only granted to Level 8 agents or above by the director himself. She knocked two times, then three, then one, then three again. The door slid open to reveal Jasper Sitwell, no worse for wear after his stint as a hostage on the Lemurian Star.
"Ma'am," he greeted, stepping to the side and gesturing her in. She walked over to the row of monitors, sitting down in the lone chair. Sitwell stood behind her.
They watched the feeds from her father's office as he debriefed Agent 13, though they already knew she wouldn't know anything of importance. Like the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D., the woman was a blind idiot supporting a corrupt system that empowered the greedy, selfish few at the expense of the many.
Soon enough, they both stood at the door, her father giving his assurances that Agent 13 had done all she could. Just then, Steve came marching down the hall, giving her a curt greeting. He likely didn't appreciate having a watchdog pose as his neighbour for over a year. "Oh. Captain," her father greeted, extending a hand. "I'm Alexander Pierce."
Steve shook his hand. "Sir, it's an honour."
"The honour's mine, Captain. My father served in the 101st. Come on in."
Ellen smiled, thinking of Grampa Joe and his stories. Barrel-chested even into old age, he'd always seemed a genial, bombastic giant, one that always grabbed her by the arms and flung her around the backyard. More than anything else, she remembered the smell of old tobacco and coffee grinds. Those were simpler times, when the world had seemed full of wonder and possibility. Before she grew up and learned the ugly truth.
Her father directed Steve to sit in one of the cushioned chairs. "Can I get you a coffee? Tea?"
"No thanks," Steve replied, ever formal and composed before a superior officer.
The secret knock sounded at the door, and Sitwell opened it. Rumlow stood there, not bothering to speak as he entered. The two men stood behind Ellen as her father handed Steve a pair of old photographs. She recognized them from framed copies he'd kept on his desk over the years. They depicted him and Fury shaking hands, back when the latter still had both eyes.
Her father unbuttoned his suit jacket and hung it over the back of an office chair. "That photo was taken five years after Nick and I met, when I was at State Department in Bogotá. ELN rebels took the embassy, and security got me out, but the rebels took hostages. Nick was Deputy Chief of the S.H.I.E.L.D. station there, and he comes to me with a plan. He wants to storm the building through the sewers. I said, 'No, we'll negotiate'. Turned out, the ELN didn't negotiate, so they put out a kill order. They stormed the basement, and what do they find? They find it empty." He sat down in the chair next to Steve's.
Ellen stared at the monitors as her mind flashed back. That terrible day came screaming into her conscious awareness. The bullets, the blood, the tears. The day she'd thought she would die at the hands of armed terrorists. The first time she ever saw someone die. If it hadn't been for Fury and Agent May, she wouldn't be alive now. And she'd repaid that debt by having her saviour murdered.
"Nick had ignored my direct order," her father continued, "and carried out an unauthorized military operation on foreign soil, and saved the lives of a dozen political officers, including my daughter."
Steve looked up at him, surprise registering on his face. Then came understanding. "Your daughter, Ellen."
She saw her father smirk. "Quite remarkable, isn't she?"
"Yes, sir. She is." He smiled a little when he spoke. Ellen felt herself blush, even as she noticed Rumlow rolling his eyes in the corner of her eye. Steve glanced at the photos. "So you gave him a promotion."
"I've never had any cause to regret it. Captain, why was Nick in your apartment last night?"
She leaned forward in her chair, hands on the control board. Turning one of the dials, she zoomed in on Steve's face. Lines extended from his various facial features to readouts on musculature, facial temperature, along with half a dozen other markers that would indicate if he were lying about something.
After a moment's pause, Steve shook his head. "I don't know."
Ellen checked the readouts. No major spikes, but that wasn't conclusive. Despite not being a good liar, the super soldier had the enviable ability to remain cool and collected in nearly every situation.
Rumlow shook his head. "Fury had to have told him something. Why else was he there?"
"He had a PDA on him when the medics came, right?" Ellen asked.
"Yeah."
"So he might've told him something via text."
He shrugged. "It's possible, but the damn thing wiped and deleted its memory as soon as Fury's finger stopped touching the screen."
"A dead man's switch," Sitwell said.
They looked back at the monitors as her father said, "I want you to see something." He reached over and activated a remote, which turned on a digital screen on the far wall. It showed Georges Batroc, the man responsible for hijacking the Lemurian Star, detained in a S.H.I.E.L.D. black ops site.
"How did we find him?" Ellen asked.
"Anonymous tip," Sitwell replied. "Led us to his safehouse in Algiers. When the team got there, he seemed surprised."
"Makes sense." Especially considering the fact that Fury had been the one to hire Batroc and Taskmaster for the job. Apparently his suspicions about Project Insight had been festering far longer than anyone knew. "We get any hits on Taskmaster?"
"Why? Planning a fun playdate?" Rumlow mocked.
"You know, one of these days someone's going to shut that big mouth of yours."
"They're welcome to try."
On the monitors, her father said, "Batroc and his buddy Taskmaster were hired anonymously to attack the Lemurian Star. They were contacted by email and paid by wire transfer, and then the money was run through 17 fictitious accounts. The last one going to a holding company that was registered to a Jacob Veech."
"Am I supposed to know who that is?" Steve asked, accepting a file folder.
"Not likely. Veech died six years ago. His last address was 1435 Elmhurst Drive. When I first met Nick, his mother lived at 1437."
Steve looked at him, brow furrowed. "Are you saying Fury hired the pirates? Why?"
Her father shrugged. "The prevailing theory was that the hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence. The sale went sour and that led to Nick's death."
"Not a bad story," Ellen remarked.
"If you really knew Nick Fury," Steve said, "you'd know that's not true."
"Why do you think we're talking?" Her father stood and strolled over to the window. "See, I took a seat at the Council not because I wanted to, but because Nick asked me to, because we were both realists. We knew that despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric that to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies." He turned to face Steve, who stood at attention. "Those people that call you dirty because you got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today…" he scoffed. "Makes me really, really angry. Captain, you were the last one to see Nick alive, I don't think that's an accident. And I don't think you do, either. So I'm gonna ask again. Why was he there?"
Steve stared at him, his expression solid as stone. Finally, he said, "He told me not to trust anyone." The readouts showed an increase in blood flow as well as slightly flared nostrils. Signs of increased heartrate and a physiological response to a perceived threat. Her father's questions made him alert, even a bit agitated. Only someone with something to hide would respond that way.
"I wonder if that included him."
"I'm sorry. Those were his last words."
Rumlow inhaled between his teeth. "I knew the son of a bitch was lying. Fury did tell him."
"But there's no way to tell exactly what he was told," Sitwell pointed out.
Ellen felt her jaw clench. "It doesn't matter. If he knows anything, he knows too much."
"Excuse me," Steve said, attaching his shield to the harness on his back and walking towards the door.
"Captain, somebody murdered my friend and I'm gonna find out why. Anyone gets in my way, they're gonna regret it. Anyone."
Steve nodded. "Understood."
Ellen watched him leave, then focused on her father. He looked into one of the cameras and gave a single nod. That was all that was needed.
Rumlow opened the door, then asked, "Pierce, you coming?"
"No."
"What?"
She fixed him with an iron glare. "I said 'no'. I really don't feel like squeezing myself into a confined space to take on one of the deadliest fighters on the planet. Take the unit and get going. I'll coordinate from here."
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he touched his earpiece. "This is Rumlow. We are go. Target is moving towards southeast elevator. Stagger your approach…" Ellen stopped listening as he moved out of earshot. The door closed, leaving her and Sitwell to safely observe. Her stated reason held true, since the last thing she wanted was to fight a man who could crush her entire skeleton bare-handed in a cramped space full of other people. But the deeper reason, the one she'd never tell to a piece of shit like Rumlow, was that she couldn't. She couldn't confront the man who meant so much to her like that.
Fighting back tears, she keyed for footage of the elevator as Steve approached it.
Steve watched the single, treacherous bead of sweat run down the agent's face. The multiple groups entering the same elevator triggered years of training and battlefield observation skills. He counted the others in his head, figuring they'd probably send in one final group.
Sure enough, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal Jack Rollins and two muscle-bound S.T.R.I.K.E. agents. "Records," one of them said as they stepped inside.
"Confirmed," the automated voice replied.
With a final glance around the cramped space, Steve analyzed their formation. They'd hemmed him into the centre, cutting him off from the only means of escape. Their hands hovered over their taser rods, and every single man present purposefully avoided looking at him. He sighed, looking down at the floor before standing straighter.
"Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?"
Ellen would remember the scene that unfolded before her eyes as one of the happiest in her entire life. When it started, she'd pressed a button near the top of the control console. Sitwell frowned at her. "You're recording this?" he asked incredulously.
"Absolutely," she replied, watching Rumlow and the rest of the hastily assembled strike force get their collective asses handed to them.
Despite heavy-duty magnet restraints, taser rods dialed to the highest setting, and nearly a dozen of the most physically intimidating agents in the building, none of it proved effective. Steve tore through them and their toys with the strength of Samson and the skill of Pai Mei.
"And then there was one," she said as Rumlow remained the only one standing.
"Mobilize S.T.R.I.K.E. units, 25th floor!" Sitwell ordered through comms.
After a brief struggle, Steve threw Rumlow into the elevator ceiling then kicked his shield into his grip. He opened the door, only to be greeted by Teams 2 and 3, M4s aimed at his chest. Before they could do anything, Steve spun in place and severed the elevator cables with his shield. It plunged nearly 12 floors before the emergency brakes kicked in.
"He's at the 14th floor. Move in."
"You really think that'll be enough to stop him?" Ellen asked, propping a foot over the other knee. Teams 1 and 4 rushed down the indicated hallway towards the elevator. But as they tried to force it open, she saw Steve step back from the wall facing the atrium below.
Sitwell stared at the image, brow furrowing. "He wouldn't."
"Oh, he would," Ellen countered. To prove her right, Steve launched himself through the glass elevator wall and plummeted 12 storeys, crashing through a glass ceiling before landing on his shield in the atrium. The personnel present for the spectacular stunt dispersed and cried out in shock.
"Are you kidding me?" Sitwell asked, dumbfounded. Speaking into his comm, he said, "He's headed for the garage. Lock down the bridge."
"We both know that won't be enough," Ellen said, inserting an earpiece and tapping it. "Tower Control, this is Agent Pierce. We have an urgent situation. I need you to get a Quinjet in the air and over the bridge, now."
"On whose authority?" the controller asked.
"This comes directly from Secretary Pierce. Get that bird in the air!"
"Right away, ma'am."
"The target is Captain Steve Rogers. He cannot be allowed to leave this building. We need him brought in alive."
The thick, steel-reinforced security doors slowly closed, like the maw of an ancient beast about to swallow its prey. Steve hit the acceleration on his motorcycle, flying through the gap at the last second. Up ahead, he could see the spike barrier raising in place at the exit gate.
Then, just to add more trouble onto his plate, a Quinjet soared past him and came to hover over the gate.
"Stand down, Captain Rogers," the pilot ordered from the speakers. "Stand down." The Quinjet deployed its underslung gatling gun, which began spinning. "Repeat: stand down." The gatling gun began spewing high-caliber bullets, causing Steve to weave side to side as he avoided the barrage. Closing in, he took out his shield and threw it into one of the aircraft's turbines. It struck dead-centre, causing the Quinjet to list as it lost equilibrium.
He slammed the brakes on his motorcycle, which launched him into the air. Landing on the hull, he rolled then yanked his shield out. The Quinjet rolled suddenly to one side, and he went tumbling towards the bridge's edge. At the last second, he slammed his shield down into the port wing, locking him in place. Fighting to keep his grip, he flipped back onto the hull then tossed his shield. It bounced off both rear engine modules, crippling both and setting them on fire. Leaping off the doomed aircraft, he caught his shield and landed on the bridge.
The Quinjet smashed into the asphalt behind him, the flaming wreckage unable to stop him anymore. Without further delay, he fled.
Ellen accompanied Sitwell into the primary operations control room. Every tech and analyst in the room had just witnessed the chaos of the last few minutes, all of them wanting answers. "Eyes here," Sitwell called. Everything stopped as the room went silent. Ellen stood by the door, her arms crossed. "Whatever your op is, bury it. This is Level 1. Contact DOT. All traffic lights in the district go red. Shut all runways at BWI, IAD, and Reagan. All security cameras in the city go through this monitor right here. Scan all open sources, phones, computers, PDAs, whatever. If someone tweets about this guy, I want to know about it."
From the centre of the room, hands on her hips and lips compressed in confused irritation, Agent 13 said, "With all due respect, if S.H.I.E.L.D. is conducting a manhunt for Captain America we deserve to know why."
"Because he lied to us," Ellen said, drawing everyone's gazes. "Steve Rogers has information regarding the death of Director Fury. Information which he refused to share to a superior officer."
Someone from the back of the room asked, "And why the hell should we believe you?"
"Because it's the truth," her father said as he entered the room. "From this point forward, Agent Pierce speaks with my authority. Agent Sitwell will coordinate the search efforts, and he will be reporting to her. If you have questions or doubts, I'd suggest you bury them deep." He strolled towards the front of the room, hands in his pockets. "As difficult as this is to accept, Captain America is a fugitive from S.H.I.E.L.D."
He turned to look at her, nodding. She smiled, touched by his public display of trust in her. Then her eyes drifted to the wall-spanning screen above them, which displayed Steve's picture. There would be no turning back after this.
And so the excitement begins! The events of TWS have enormous consequences for the MCU as a whole, and particularly for Ellen and Tony. The next few chapters will dramatically alter the course of their lives.
Hope y'all enjoyed this one! Leave a review and let me know what you think of the story so far.
Up next: Madame Hydra vs Black Widow and Captain America!