Chapter 30

It wasn't long before Steve and Sam were seated at the restaurant and digging into their food. They didn't talk about work anymore. Steve asked Sam a few questions about where he grew up, and Sam readily launched into a series of stories about his family's adventures on a fishing boat that kept Steve first interested and then smiling.

Gradually, the thread of sadness that had been flowing through him since his visit with Peggy slipped away, to be replaced with a quiet contentment. Eating dinner with Sam Wilson was the most normal thing he had done in a long time, and by the time their plates were empty, Steve found himself wondering why he hadn't done something like this before. Ever since New York, S.H.I.E.L.D. had consumed his every waking moment. Befriending someone from outside the agency felt as good as a vacation.

"So what's the story with the redhead in the Corvette?" Sam asked next. It took Steve a moment to realize who he meant. He'd nearly forgotten that Sam had seen Nat when she had come to pick up Steve for the mission after his morning run around the National Mall.

"Natasha Romanoff," he explained. "I work with her at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"You work with her?" Sam raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Is that what that was?"

Steve smiled briefly and shook his head, seeing where this was going. "We're just friends."

"Are you sure? Because she's pretty cute, and when I saw her she was- How can I say this?" Sam cleared his throat. "She was teasing you."

"I know," Steve acknowledged. "But it isn't like that."

Sam looked openly skeptical. Steve knew he didn't have to say any more, but over the last hour he had been put so much at ease that suddenly he found himself explaining something he'd never articulated before, not even to himself, but which struck him as so true that the words simply fell out of his mouth.

"She doesn't need that kind of thing from me," he said. "She needs someone safe. She hasn't had enough of that in her life."

He didn't explain to Sam that anyway he was more capable of giving Nat friendship than the other thing — much less the reasons why — even though he was strangely tempted to. There was something about Sam that loosened his tongue, despite how short of a time they had known each other.

Sam nodded seriously. "Okay. I get that."

The server came back and cleared away their plates, and then the two of them had a light-hearted argument over who got to buy dinner for who, until they finally reached a mutual agreement to pay for each other's meals. The server brought back their receipts after a few minutes, but Steve wasn't feeling in a rush to leave, and Sam didn't seem to be either.

"You know, when I was in sixth grade my teacher had us to do this big project about someone in history we looked up to as a hero," Sam said, leaning back in his chair.

Steve's heart sank a little. He had a pretty good idea where the conversation was headed next and a part of him was sorry about it. It had felt like he and Sam were developing a rapport, and tonight he wasn't in the mood to do the Captain America routine. For once it would have been nice to just have a talk with someone, friend to friend, without his reputation getting in the way. But he waited politely to hear the rest.

"I did mine on Gabe Jones," Sam said.

Steve blinked, and then smiled sincerely. "Good choice," he said after a beat. "He was a good man." He felt a little pulse of sadness, thinking of how Gabe had died years before he had awoken from the ice. He would have liked to have continued the friendship beyond the war. Or at least had a chance to say a proper goodbye. But he was growing used to regrets like that, and he was learning to live with them.

"I always wanted to ask you," Sam said, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the table. "Did they give you grief about picking him to be one of your commandos? I mean, that kinda thing wasn't exactly done in your time."

"There were words," Steve acknowledged reluctantly. "Not as many as there were about Jim Morita. He looked... a little too much like the enemy. But with Gabe..." He paused a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Look, I know how my time looks to your time, and a lot of that was true. But not everyone was like that, even back then. There were some in the Army who wanted to integrate the troops, and they worked behind the scenes to make sure I got the team I wanted. They wanted people to see that it could work."

"But why'd you ask him in the first place?" Sam asked curiously.

"I didn't exactly," Steve said. "When I got to that prison camp where they were holding him and the others and opened the gates, all the soldiers started running out with Hydra shooting at us left and right. Gabe just stepped up and did what needed to be done to rally them together and get everyone back across the line in one piece. He didn't wait for me to ask him." He met Sam's eyes. "That's how I knew he could be counted on."

"But you asked him to stay with you," Sam persisted. "Were you trying to prove something?"

"Prove?" Steve was a little puzzled by the question. "I liked him. He loved his country. He was dependable and he was good at what he did. He earned his place on the team, same as everyone else."

Sam was bewildered. "It can't have been that simple."

"Well, why did you join the Air Force?" Steve asked him.

Sam looked taken aback at the turn in the conversation, and was quiet for a long moment. "Because I wanted to fight for my country," he said at last. "And I thought I could be good at it."

Steve raised his eyebrows knowingly, and suddenly Sam smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess it really is that simple," he admitted. Then his smile slowly faded. "Except I didn't stay."

"That's okay," Steve said. "Not everyone's cut out for following orders."

"That's just it," Sam said with the visible reluctance of a confessor. "I didn't mind following orders. It was just that I hated following bad ones." A flash of anger crossed his face. "Especially when it gets my wing man killed."

"Is that what happened?" Steve asked softly.

Sam nodded, and swallowed in a tight throat. "My commander in the field looked at the situation, you know? He made the call to retreat. A good call. And then he got overridden by some guy sitting behind a desk-" He broke off, and controlled his anger with an effort. "I couldn't tell Riley's family how it happened. Couldn't hardly look them in the eye. How do you tell your best friend's parents that their son didn't have to die?"

They sat together without speaking for a long moment.

"Sorry," Sam said, breaking the silence at last. He wore a grimace, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "I keep thinking I'm done being angry about it. But then I'm not."

"You don't have to be sorry," Steve said quietly. "I know how you feel." It was exactly what he had feared could have happened on the Lemurian Star. If even one of those hostages had been killed while Nat was distracted with her extracurricular activities, it would have represented the loss of more than just a human life. It would have meant a grieving family left behind. A hole in some mother's heart, a father's heart, a brother's or sister's, that could never really be filled. And for what? He still didn't even know.

"They probably let you push back against that kind of thing," Sam said after a beat. "Being Captain America and all. Don't they?"

Steve took in a quick breath and let it out. "Not as much as you might think."

"Well, hell," Sam said in open dismay. "If Captain America can't fight it, how do the rest of us stand a chance?"

Steve frowned. What if this was a time for fighting smarter, not harder? But how?

"How do you fight it?" he murmured, almost to himself.

"You could always go all Founding Fathers on their backsides," Sam offered.

He grinned a little at Steve's confused look, and clarified: "Walk away. You know? Write out your list of grievances to King George and then declare your independence from it. Go build something new on your own. Something different. Something better." He paused for a moment. "That's why I left active duty," he admitted more soberly. "That's what I've been trying to do at the VA."

Steve thought of Peggy pouring her heart and soul into S.H.I.E.L.D. for her entire career, and winced at the thought of having to admit to her that he gave it up after only a few years. "I don't know if I can do that."

"Well," Sam said after a beat. "Guess you could go Martin Luther King, Jr.'s way instead. You've heard of him, I take it?"

Steve nodded. "I read his autobiography. One of the first things I checked off my list."

"He used persuasion, you know?" Sam said, growing thoughtful. "Patience. Wisdom. Appealed to people's love for their fellow man and the ideals of justice and fair play. Gathered up allies to fight with him. Crazy thing is, it worked. He enacted real change, peacefully. A lot of people didn't think it could be done, but he proved it could."

Steve stared down at the table, mind churning. What would he have to do to help S.H.I.E.L.D. take some of those same steps toward improvement? Could he fix it from within the way Rev. King had? He immediately resolved to reread that biography sitting on his shelf at home. Maybe he could find ideas for a good starting place. And he could probably win support from people like Maria Hill. Maybe she could help him bend Fury to a similar point of view. Fury seemed to respect her, and even if he was stubborn, he wasn't impossible to reach, either.

For the first time in a long time, Steve felt a spark of hope growing within him. Sam was right. It was possible to nurture S.H.I.E.L.D.'s virtues and leave behind some of its faults. It would take hard work and a lot of persuading, but it could be done. It had to be done. The alternatives weren't worth mentioning.

"Sorry," Sam said suddenly, looking a little embarrassed, and Steve realized he had probably just let the silence linger on too long. "I think I'm talking your ear off."

"No, it's okay," Steve said quickly. "I needed to hear that."

"What's going on over there?" Sam asked suddenly, his dark eyes sliding over to one of the restaurant's TVs, where a waiter and several customers were watching the local news intently. The sound was turned off, but captions were running across the bottom of the screen and Steve could see there was a police officer being interviewed by reporters. Something was going on downtown, apparently. Instinctively he pulled his phone out of his pocket to make sure no one at S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to contact him for whatever it was.

He was startled to discover that his phone was completely off. But he'd had it charging the whole way back from Philly; the battery couldn't be dead already. Quickly, he pressed the power button and waited for it to come back on.

His home screen had just reappeared when he heard a young voice at his elbow.

"Excuse me?" a boy said.

Steve looked up from his phone to see two children, a boy who looked around 8 years old and a girl who looked about 6, hanging back a couple of feet away from their table, looking a little shy. The girl was holding out a paper children's menu toward him, which had been colored in crayon with a stick figure holding a red, white and blue circle in its hand.

"Can you please sign this for my little sister, Captain?" the boy asked tentatively.

"Absolutely," Steve said, sparing a quick glance back at his phone, which showed no missed calls or messages. Whatever was happening downtown must be a matter for the police, then. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and smiled warmly at both of the children as he took the picture and the crayon the little girl offered to him.

He went through the usual routine of asking them for their names and their ages, admiring the artwork, and reminding them to always listen to their dad, who he assumed was the tall man with rumpled dark hair and a pleasant face who was keeping an eye on the whole scene from a nearby table while he did something on his cell phone. Sam, too, watched Steve sign his autograph with a small smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

"Can you sign too?" the little girl asked Sam after Steve had finished, unexpectedly offering the paper to him next.

"Oh, I'm not... anybody," Sam said quickly, holding his hands up.

"Yes, you are," the girl said earnestly, still holding out the paper. "You're an Avenger too."

Sam looked flattered. "I wish, sweetie," he said with a chuckle, shooting Steve an amused grin over her head. "Don't we all?"

The boy elbowed his sister. "No, he isn't," he hissed, glaring down at her. "He isn't an Avenger."

"But he flies," she said seriously, and a strange expression flitted across Sam's face for a split second before understanding dawned, and he said gently, "You're thinking of Mr. Stark's friend, Lt. Rhodes. He has an Iron suit of his own."

"But-" the girl started, looking very confused, but she permitted her brother to lead her away by the arm anyway. "Thank you," she called out over her shoulder as she was pulled away.

When they were gone, Sam grinned at Steve. "That must happen a lot," he said.

Steve nodded with a gentle smile. "Usually they ask me what it was like to fight aliens," he said.

Sam's smile deepened. "So what was it like fighting aliens?" he asked.

Steve took a sip of Coke. "A little weird," he said blandly.

Her jaw setting with determination, Sharon grabbed her sneakers from the closet and sat down to tug them on.

After a good long think, she realized Rumlow had been right about one thing: with both Fury and Hill missing, they needed Rogers to find them. To figure out what was going on and make things right again. And Sharon was the only one left at S.H.I.E.L.D. who knew where to find him.

Calling him was no good. Rumlow had said his phone was turned off. So she'd have to go find him in person. Quietly. Making sure she wasn't followed.

Even as she headed for the door, Sharon wondered what on earth she would say when she did find Rogers. She was just Kate the nurse. She'd need a plausible excuse for bumping into him in public, a tall order. And she doubted he was actually in the V.A. this late at night, although her tracker showed his motorcycle was still parked there. He must have walked somewhere from there, maybe met up with someone in the neighborhood. Maybe she wouldn't be able to find him at all. But she had to try. Fury's life might depend on it.

"Going somewhere?" a voice said as Sharon locked her door behind her, and she whirled around to see her cousin, Harrison Carter, leaning against the wall on the landing with his arms folded, looking at her from under raised eyebrows.

Sharon pressed one hand against her heart, trying not to look startled. "What are you doing here?" she asked in utter confusion.

"Keeping an eye on things," he said easily.

Sharon frowned at him. "Why? Is Stark in town tonight?"

"Nope. Safe and sound in his tower. It's my night off tonight." Harrison was dressed in civvies, although she was close enough to see he had an earpiece in, not to mention a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck and a telltale bulge under the left side of his jacket.

"Uh-huh," Sharon said, not bothering to hide her skeptical tone.

Harrison took his binoculars off his neck and handed them to her.

"Check this out," he said, nodding his head toward the window on the landing. "One story up, seventh window over."

Puzzled, Sharon crouched down and peered through the binoculars at the apartment building that faced hers. When she found the window in question, she blinked a little in surprise. The window was wide open, although windows that high were generally not made to fully open, and there was a man standing by it, setting up a tripod of some kind. Eyes narrowing, she focused in on his face, and then drew back: She knew that man. It was Malik Walker. One of Rumlow's STRIKE guys.

She lowered the binoculars, hastily stepped back from the window before she could be spotted in return, and looked at Harrison incredulously.

"Wherever it was you were planning to go tonight," her cousin said coolly, "I think it's safe to say you'll be watched."

Sharon stared at Harrison for a long moment, suspicion growing about what he was doing here tonight, and why. "Where's Fury?" she asked abruptly.

"Don't know."

Sharon made a gesture of impatience. "Tell me the truth!"

He looked her straight in the eye. "I don't know," he said firmly.

Somehow, she believed him. She had nothing to go on but instinct, but she believed him.

"Well, what do you know?" she demanded in a hiss. "Why are you here?"

He glanced around to make sure they were alone, and kept his voice down. "Grandma still has contacts at S.H.I.E.L.D.," he murmured. "And the director going missing... that's a pretty big deal. Anything that endangers Fury is likely to endanger my employer, sooner or later." He paused for a second. "And, to be honest, endanger you."

"I can take care of myself," Sharon said, indignation flaring.

Harrison held up a placating hand. "I know. Grandma knows. We trust you. But we also don't like leaving these things to chance. Not when it comes to Stark. Or Rogers, for that matter."

"Rumlow's looking for him," Sharon admitted quietly. "But something about that didn't feel right. I told him Rogers was still in Philadelphia." Her eyes flicked up to his, studying his reaction. "I saw that he was at your mom and dad's house earlier today."

"I know," Harrison said calmly. "Clint got to meet him." Despite the worried look in his eyes, he smiled briefly as he mentioned his little brother. "He didn't tell Rogers he was Peggy Carter's grandson, though. Don't give us away, okay? Grandma wants us to keep our heads down."

"I don't understand," Sharon said. "Why all the secrecy?"

"Just know that whatever this family does, no matter how strange," Harrison said quietly, "it's for everyone's protection."

"Well, what about Fury's protection?" Sharon asked impatiently. "If I can't let Rogers know what's happening-" She glanced toward the window, where she knew Walker would still be watching her building. "-and apparently I can't..." Her eyes flicked back over to his. "Can you?" she asked abruptly. "Can you get word to him? You could tell him you're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Just explain to him about Fury. He'll know what to do."

Harrison turned thoughtful.

"Yeah," he said at last. "I could do that."

Hope flared inside Sharon. "Really?" Harrison would be free to move about when she could not; STRIKE team wouldn't know to be looking for him. She pulled out her phone and swiped over to the tracker screen. "Here he is," she said eagerly, pointing. "Parked at the V.A. Here, do you want my phone? In case he moves? I have a burner phone for backup."

Harrison gently pushed her phone away from him. "No need," he said confidently. "I'll find him."

Harrison slipped down to the next landing and, as soon as he was sure Sharon had gone back into her apartment and stayed there, he reached up and touched his earpiece. "What's the situation with Rogers and Wilson?" he asked quietly.

Joe's voice instantly responded. "They've left the restaurant," he reported. "They're walking back toward the V.A. now. Hang on a sec. I gotta move my car. They're almost out of sight."

Harrison waited, drumming his fingers against his thigh impatiently until Joe's voice came back on the line. It made him nervous, sending his cousin to handle something like this. When it came to his job, Joe was as professional as he could be, and thanks to his training as a reporter he was more observant than most people, but surveilling professional soldiers who were also more observant than most was not exactly in his skill set. At least he had a congenial, slightly goofy air about him that tended to make people underestimate him. And Harrison knew he should be comforted by the fact that he had it from the horse's mouth that nothing suspicious had triggered any instincts tonight, but as always, he knew there was an element of the unknown in every mission like this that they undertook. Grandpa's memory was good, particularly for a man who was now more than 100 years old, but there was always the chance that he had forgotten something important.

Or that something important had happened tonight that he had simply never known about. Something that had ended in disaster. Like what had happened on Long Island with the Starks all those years ago...

"Okay. They're at the parking garage," Joe's voice said in his ear at last. "They're not going in, though. They're just hanging out by the entrance, talking. I'm gonna park again."

"Okay, good. Everything's still on schedule," Harrison murmured, almost to himself. "It's too soon for him to head home."

"There... might be a small problem," Joe added, sounding a little reluctant.

Harrison felt his heart skip a beat. "What problem?" he asked. Problem was not what he needed to hear tonight. They couldn't afford problems.

"Rogers turned his phone back on in the restaurant," Joe said.

Adrenaline surged. "What?"

"Only for a second," Joe quickly assured him. "As soon as it happened, I had my kids run up and distract him. I turned it right back off as soon as he put it in his pocket. Hopefully-"

"There's no hoping tonight," Harrison said, trying not to sound sharp. It wasn't really Joe's fault, he knew, but this could be bad. "What did Sammy's device say?"

"It didn't detect any intrusions," Joe said. "His phone must not have been on long enough for STRIKE to pick up a signal. They couldn't have gotten enough to track him."

Harrison forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. "Well, keep your eyes sharp anyway. It's possible they did track him. You might have to run interference. Quietly."

"That's what I'm here for."

"I know, but you've got your kids in the car-"

"My kids would die of happiness if they got to see their old man kick Hydra butt," Joe said calmly. "They'd probably try to join in. What about Rumlow?"

"Sharon sent him on a wild goose chase to Philly."

Joe laughed shortly. "Nice."

"It's amazing how well she's doing, considering how far out of the loop she is," Harrison mused.

"Well, she cares about Grandpa," Joe said quietly. "That can't lead her astray."

"Here we go," Agent 45 murmured, glancing back at them all to make sure they were ready before hitting the button to lower the Quinjet's ramp.

The helicarrier's engines were silent as it floated motionless on the ocean, and this high above the surface of the water, they only heard the distant sound of waves lapping against its hull. Already a small contingent of the crew was striding over to greet them. Agent 45 quietly slipped to the back of the group and sat back down in the cockpit with his back to the ramp. That was Clint's cue, and confidently he moved to the head of 45's team and led them down the ramp. Natty walked to his right and a step behind, while Sammy, Amanda, Rob and Aliyah followed and then came to a stop behind them at the foot of the ramp, waiting for his instructions.

Clint's fully loaded quiver was heavy on his back, and the eyepiece Agent 45 had given him to help him identify Hydra agents was tucked in his pocket, ready to put on when the time came. He'd equipped himself with everything he was likely to need for a mission like this, but preparing his mind was something else. A part of him was still struggling to accept the reality that he was going to have to fight people wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms. Again. A chill shot down his spine as he remembered what it had felt like the last time he had done that. The casual ease with which he had dealt out violence and death. Like he'd been fighting in a dream. It hadn't felt fully real.

It was only afterward, when he had awoken to what he had done, that the full magnitude of his acts had come crashing down on him. He remembered every one of them perfectly. No merciful dulling of the memory. Even though it was Loki's mind in control of his body, his own mind had been fully present, too. He saw it all. Once, when Bruce Banner had reluctantly explained to the rest of the Avengers something of what it felt like to transform into the Hulk, Clint had understood his sickened shame all too well. What it was to feel your own body doing things your mind hadn't consented to and emphatically did not want. To be powerless to stop it.

This isn't going to be like that, Clint told himself. But it wasn't as comforting as it should have been. What if he went through with this plan and only later found out that it was some kind of mistake? What if these people weren't Hydra after all? There was no Loki to blame for a misjudgment that serious. Would Fury ever trust him again? Would he ever forgive himself?

He trusted Agent 45, always had. But what if that trust was misplaced?

And then there was no more time for doubts, because he was face to face with the helicarrier's commander, Lisbet Castillo. Surrounded by a handful of her crew and surveying him and the rest of his team with cool interest. She was taller than him, with a solid, muscular frame, and she was standing with her feet shoulder-width apart and her hands on her hips, making her look even larger. Her close-cropped dark hair barely fluttered in the sea-breeze, and the sunlight gleamed off the zippers on her S.H.I.E.L.D. officer's uniform.

"Agent Barton," she said, and her voice was deep for a woman's, with only a hint of a Venezuelan accent. "It's an honor to have you onboard. And, to be honest, a surprise. Director Fury didn't tell us you were coming."

"That would kinda defeat the purpose of a surprise inspection, Commander," Clint said lightly, holding out his hand. Commander Castillo grasped his hand and shook it firmly.

"This helicarrier is going to be mothballed soon," she said then, releasing his hand. "Frankly, I'm not sure it's worth your time to inspect."

"Well, whatever Fury wants, Fury gets," Clint said easily. "It's not my job to ask questions."

Castillo's dark eyes studied his face for a long moment, and then flicked down to Natty's. She merely stood there by his side, trim in her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, not saying a word, and Castillo's eyebrows drew together slightly before she finally looked back at Clint.

"Fury's lucky to have someone so loyal to him," she told Clint with a flash of a smile. "Where would you like to start?"

"The bridge." Clint glanced back at Amanda, Rob, Sammy and Aliyah. "My team will inspect the Quinjets on deck."

"Very good," Castillo said promptly, turning toward to the man who stood by her side. "Agent Ryker, why don't you show them around?" He nodded crisply, and jogged over to them. "Agent Gray, see to their jet's refueling and safety checks."

"No need," Clint said, holding up his hand to forestall her. "I'd rather do that myself. After the inspection. My pilot will wait on board."

Castillo hesitated only a moment. "Of course. Well, then. Follow me." She turned and began to walk swiftly. Clint and Natty followed her, working to keep up with her longer stride.

Soon they arrived at the bridge. Clint's instinct to stand back from the fray — at a distance, where he could see the best — was even stronger than usual, and without hesitation he obeyed it. He strode up to upper level, ostensibly to inspect the weapons systems, while Natty went down to the front of the bridge to look at the engine specs.

Commander Castillo followed Natty from screen to screen, her muscular frame towering over Natty's slender build. Almost as if she sensed Clint's gaze, Castillo glanced up and met his eyes.

They stared at each other for a long moment, Castillo's expression inscrutable.

"How do I bring up the specs for the retro-reflective panels?" Natty asked, her voice coming in clearly through Clint's earpiece despite being across the bridge from him, and Castillo reluctantly tore her gaze from Clint's and leaned over the screen to show her the controls.

And then, in his peripheral vision, Clint watched Natty put her hand on Castillo's back, lean in close to her, and whisper in her ear: "Hail Hydra."

Clint wished devoutly that he could properly see Castillo's reaction as well as hear it, but she had her back to him. And as much as he trusted Agent 45's competence, he couldn't help but pray that somehow he'd been wrong about all of this. To hope that Castillo would react with either stern disapproval or a disbelieving laugh at Natty's obvious joke.

But she didn't.

"What's Hawkeye doing here?" Castillo hissed back, and there was such contempt poured into his name that Clint felt a slow tingle of horror rush through him.

It was no mistake. Commander Castillo really was Hydra, or at least thought of herself that way. And if she was...

Suddenly Clint ached to put on the eyepiece Agent 45 had given him and look around the bridge. Who else here was a part of this? Was he surrounded by traitors? He could feel eyes boring into him from all directions. Like there was a target on his back. His fingers itched to draw his bow, but he knew he could not. Not until the Quinjets were disabled and Sammy showed up on the bridge.

"We're not sure," Natty whispered back to Castillo, sounding much calmer than Clint felt. "Fury's suspicious about something. It was all I could do to attach myself to this mission to keep an eye on things."

"Well, something's rotten in the state of Denmark," Castillo murmured. "Did you hear what happened on the Lemurian Star? Just as we were sending up the last satellite, no less. Can't be a coincidence."

"Hawkeye doesn't know about that," Natty whispered.

Castillo laughed almost silently. "Well, mum's the word," she whispered with an ironic lilt in her voice.

Clint didn't know about it, although he couldn't tell if Natty actually knew what Castillo was talking about, or was merely playing along. What did the Lemurian Star have to do with anything? Wasn't that Sitwell's post?

He heard the main doors of the bridge open behind him, and turned to see Sammy arrive on the bridge, accompanied by Commander Castillo's officer, Agent Ryker. Sammy met his eyes just long enough to give him a slight nod, and his heart started to beat a little faster in anticipation.

It was showtime.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's note: I'd love to hear what you think, good bad or ugly! Feel free to leave a review.