March 30th, 2013
New York City, New York—Central Park
It was cold for late March, an icy wind whipping through the trees of Central Park and stirring up the piles of snow left in the shade, but Quinn didn't care. The reason she was in the park was too important to worry about something as trivial as the cold. She was bundled up against the chill, her favourite blue toque pulled down over her ears, and held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. It was early—not yet seven in the morning—but it was the only time that Natasha and Steve could possibly meet up. They were supposed to have about an hour of down time in New York before the flight for their latest mission left, carrying them off to who knew where.
It felt more like they had five minutes.
Like there wouldn't be enough time.
And considering Natasha and Steve were already ten minutes late, it was looking like maybe there wouldn't be.
It had been almost four months since Quinn had seen Steve, and almost a month since they'd spoken through anything but voicemails and text messages, and she felt like tiny bits of her were flaking away with every second that passed. Strike Team Delta had kept Steve busy bouncing around the globe taking care of SHIELD and US intelligence business, and Quinn had thrown herself into getting her position of SHIELD liaison to the Avengers cemented and helping Tony get the last bits of Avengers Tower up and running smoothly; most of her work was done from her office at the tower now, and she had even moved some of her things over from her apartment. She felt oddly comfortable at the tower, but maybe that's just because that's where she was busiest and there was no empty apartment across the hall to remind her of what was missing.
Quinn took a sip from her coffee as she continued to pace in front of the bench they'd chosen as a meeting place, trying to keep warm. Her eyes scanned the few people out and about at that hour in the cold, looking for Natasha's red hair or Steve's smile. The tips of the skyscrapers were lit fiery orange with the rising sun. Maybe the sun would warm up the city a bit. Quinn didn't hate the winter, but she was tired of it and how the cold affected her bad leg.
Somewhere nearby, a clock tower chimed. Quarter to seven.
Still no sign of Natasha or Steve, or even a SHIELD car.
Quinn dropped onto the bench, the cold metal and wood seeping through her coat and jeans almost instantly, and pulled her phone out of her pocket.
No texts, no missed calls.
She sighed and settled back against the bench, heedless of her discomfort. Quinn took a large swig of coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste, and tried not to let the bitterness spread; she'd so been looking forward to this morning and she was pretty sure there'd be an apologetic phone call or text coming any minute.
She thought briefly about going to the SHIELD office and sneaking into the hanger to see if she could catch Natasha and Steve before they left—Strike Team Delta work was above her clearance level and all areas needed for the mission would be locked down temporarily—but decided against, unwilling to piss Director Fury off so early into the new arrangement. Quinn loved working with the Avengers and didn't want to jeopardize it. Besides, it wasn't like she could make it to SHIELD in time. Strike Team Delta's flight was supposed to leave at 7:30, if they hadn't left already.
"You're being ridiculous," Quinn said to herself. She got to her feet and tossed her nearly empty coffee into a nearby trash can before jamming her hands into her pockets and heading in the direction of Avengers Tower. She'd taken a cab to the park, but was feeling the need to walk back.
She turned around after a few feet and walked back to the bench.
Then walked away again, pulling out her cell phone and dialling Steve's number as she went. As she'd expected, it went straight to voicemail; Steve still hadn't replaced the default outgoing message.
"Hey, Steve," she said after the beep. "Uh, I'm assuming something came up and you guys had to take off early. I waited for a while and there was no sign or call—" Quinn shook her head. "Just, uh, be careful on the mission and get home safe. We'll… I'm sure we'll figure out another time to meet up. Tell Nat I say hi." Quinn ended the call and left the park, shoving her hands into her pockets and increasing her pace.
She was a few blocks from the Tower when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She knew it was Steve before she pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen, but what she didn't know was if she wanted to answer it. Despite knowing it was irrational, Quinn was angry at him for not being able to make the meeting. So, she just watched the call go to voicemail and waited for the notification that she had a message waiting before keying in her passcode and bringing her phone back to her ear.
"Hi, Quinn," Steve's voice said, quietly. There was noise in the background, like he was calling her from the back of the jet, which he wasn't supposed to do. "I'm sorry we couldn't make the meeting. We had to leave almost as soon as we arrived in New York. I… I was really looking forward to seeing you. I'll call you when we get back and maybe we can find time to see each other then." There was a pause. A deep breath. "Talk to you later."
Someone bumped into Quinn's shoulder and she realized she'd stopped walking. She mumbled an apology and finished the half-block walk to the front doors of Avengers Tower, swiped her ID card inside the vestibule, and stepped into the warm lobby. An elevator opened as soon as she pressed the call button and she stepped inside, hitting the button for the eightieth floor, which Tony Stark had filled with offices.
"You are back earlier than expected, Agent Scott," JARVIS said, the light on the wall panel igniting as the AI activated.
Long-since used to JARVIS's interjections into otherwise silent moments, Quinn just said and said, "Meeting was a bust, as I was dreading. Fury bumped up the departure time. Is Stark up and moving yet?"
"Yes. Mr. Stark is in the lab. Shall I reroute you to his location?"
"Please and thanks, JARVIS. I need to talk to him about the PR team."
"Of course, Agent Scott."
She wasn't sure of the AI's ability to process human emotion, but in that moment she would have sworn, by the tone of his voice, that JARVIS knew she just wanted to talk to someone.
April 14th, 2013
Washington, DC—Quinn's parents' house
"Not that we don't appreciate the visit, hon, but what brings you to DC?"
Quinn huddled deeper into the jade green armchair in the corner of her parents' living room and wrapped her hands around the cup of tea her mom had made Quinn immediately after her arrival. There was a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of Quinn, and her mother was perched on the couch, holding her own mug. There was a faint cast of worry to Margret's features, but there always was when Quinn called or showed up without notice.
"Marg, she can swing by anytime she wants," Jared said as he came in from the kitchen, holding a mug of what Quinn knew would be coffee; her adoptive father had never liked tea.
"I know that, but it's so rare, and—"
"I'm not in any trouble or danger or anything," Quinn interjected with a smile. "This isn't a goodbye visit, and I would never do that without telling you what's going on anyway. I was just in DC for, uh, work, and figured I'd swing by and see if you guys were home."
"How is work?" Jared asked.
Due to the nature of Quinn's job, all she'd been able to tell her parents was now the liaison between SHIELD and the Avengers, and Jared and Margret had long ago learned not to ask any specific questions about their daughter's work. "It's good," Quinn said. "Slow right now, since we're still getting everything up and running and organized. But I'm happy."
"Maybe in your work, Quinn, but there is something you are not happy about," Margret said, her eyes narrowing slightly. Quinn's relationship with her adoptive parents had never been super close, but she did love them, and she did not miss Margret's ability to catch every little thing. "What's wrong, hon?"
Quinn's cheeks darkened instantly, but only a little bit. Only enough for her to feel the change and hopefully not enough for her parents to notice. She took a sip of her tea—strong and sweet, just like she liked it—and mulled over how to encapsulate her feelings for Steve and about his departure and their inability to meet up. "A, uh, friend moved from New York to DC in January and we've been trying to meet up. I had to come to DC anyway, so figured I'd swing by, but he wasn't around."
"He, eh?"
Quinn's embarrassment vanished as she laughed at her mother's tone. Her parents had never pushed for grandkids, even before the accident that had more than likely taken away her ability to bear children, but Margret's face still lit up every time Quinn mentioned someone else in her life, since it was such a rare occurrence. Jared smiled beside his wife, sharing in the amusement.
"It wasn't like that," Quinn said. "Well… It wasn't like that yet, anyway." She couldn't keep the smile off her face as she thought of Steve, of what they'd been on the edge of.
Margret beamed at Quinn, though she tried to temper her reaction. Quinn knew her mother was dying to ask for more information about who he might be, but she also knew Margret would keep the questions to herself out of respect. Quinn would probably tell them when she was ready—either when something had happened or when it was clear nothing would happen—and even though, it would just be basic details.
Sometimes, though not often, she disliked certain parts of her job.
As Quinn sat in the living room and chatted with her parents, catching up on what had happened in their lives since the last time they'd spoken in-depth, her mind wandered back over her visit to the Triskelion. It had been close to two years since she'd been to SHIELD's main headquarters, and in that time, they'd certainly made some upgrades. She'd checked in with Directory Fury and updated him on the progress of Avengers Tower, ran into Trip in the cafeteria and caught up over coffee, saw a few agents she'd been in the academy with, and met a few agents who were touring the facility before transferring there, and, as she was coming out of Director Fury's office, she got to say hi to Maria who was, as usual, too busy to stop and chat, but did spare a quick moment for Quinn.
Steve and Natasha were on a mission—Fury didn't have a problem telling her that much—and though they were due back soon, there was no definite time, which meant Quinn didn't have time to be hanging around. She was sure Fury had seen her disappointment, but he'd given her only a look and said nothing.
Quinn silently cursed the horrible timing plaguing her and Steve. Maybe she should take it as a sign and stop trying so hard. Maybe it would just happen if it was meant to.
Oh yeah, because that's worked out so well before.
"Quinn?"
She shook her head, drawing herself out of her head, and smiled at Margret. "Sorry. Lost in thought."
"It's no problem, hon, but are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I am. Promise." Quinn smiled again and looked at Jared, who was watching her with one eyebrow slightly raised. "Promise."
Sensing Quinn didn't want to talk about it any longer, Jared switched topics. "Are you staying tonight?"
"No. I've gotta head back to New York. Lots of work, as always."
"Well then, let me make you some lunch before you go," Margret said.
The three of them headed into the kitchen and Quinn took up her old spot at the island, leaning on the countertop as she watched her mom bustle around the kitchen, and chatting with her dad where he'd sat beside her. For a while, she just let herself feel safe in the first true home she'd known.
May 10th, 2013
New York City, New York—Quinn's apartment
Quinn had made a mistake.
Well, several actually.
The first mistake was talking to Tony Stark about what was bothering her in a serious way. Sure, he could be serious, but the majority of their conversations tended towards joking and sarcasm, even when they were discussing something real or important.
Tony had been teasing her about the connection he'd perceived between Steve and her for a while, so she finally just told Tony she missed Steve. She hadn't gone into more detail, but Stark was far from stupid and far from oblivious. He was able to put two and two together without her making the details clear, and give Quinn his opinion, which was to either keep trying to get ahold of Steve and tell him what was up—which was good advice—or to go out, maybe go on a date, clear her mind and emotions.
The second mistake was not taking the good advice.
Quinn could feel herself withdrawing, feel herself walling off her feelings for Steve. It had been too long since they'd been in the same room, too long since they'd spoken in-depth, too long since the ease they'd found had evaporated. Every phone conversation they had was stilted and weird. And Quinn was afraid of that, afraid of what might happen. So she pulled back.
Which was why the idea of going out sounded like the perfect thing to do on a Friday night, instead of watching a movie and missing the previous summer.
She also knew, so soon after the one-year anniversary of Coulson's death, that she probably wasn't in the best mindset for making such decisions, but she also didn't care. Quinn didn't want to be in her own head, her own life, so she took Tony's not-good advice, got dressed up, and went to a bar she'd never been to before near Avengers Tower.
And hated every minute of it.
But she forced herself to stay, on the off-chance her discomfort was just because it had been a long time since she'd gone out.
She'd also had too much to drink and flirted, badly, with a man who had taken a seat at the bar beside her. There'd been a part of her mind that remained rational the whole time that told her she was being stupid, that she was leading the guy on, that she was drunk and should go home, but Quinn ignored that voice, ignored her better judgement. She let the man kiss her, let him lead her out of the bar and towards his car, let him open the car door for her. And then she froze.
Quinn had never been into casual sex—or casual anything, for that matter, not when it came to relationships. Sure, spending the night with a veritable stranger would take her out of her head for a while, but she would feel horrible in the morning.
Thankfully, the man—she couldn't even remember his name—had reacted as well as Quinn could have expected and had waited with her for a cab to come and pick her up. Quinn couldn't help feeling a little guilty on the way back to her apartment; she hadn't meant to lead him on.
But then, the moment Quinn was inside with the door locked and closed behind her, she started crying. Her legs went out from under her, her bad leg splaying awkwardly to the side as she slid down to the floor with her back against the wall. The sobs came from deep inside, shaking her whole body as they made their way up and out; her cheeks were soaked, her nose was running; she wrapped her arms around herself and folded in half, every little bit of grief over Coulson's death, every little bit of sadness over Steve leaving she'd been holding in breaking past her defenses.
When she was finally cried out, Quinn climbed shakily to her feet and went into her bedroom, where she collapsed on her bed, on top of the covers. After another moment, Quinn pulled her phone out of her pocket and stared at the screen.
All she wanted was to talk to Steve, to come home to him waiting with takeout and a movie picked out, to fall asleep curled against his side. The way Friday nights should be spent.
She dialled his number and brought the phone to her ear, closing her eyes as it rang.
Steve picked up, but it was a heartbeat before he said, "Quinn?"
Hearing his voice calmed something, but also made her tense up slightly, the awkwardness of their interactions, whether actually there or imagined, clawing its way back to the forefront. "Hi, Steve," she said. Her voice was rough and thin from crying.
"What's wrong?" he asked without preamble. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay. I just…" Quinn rolled onto her back so it was easier to hold the phone to ear and talk. How did she explain what she'd done, what she was feeling? "I, uh… I went out tonight. To try and clear my head… I just—" She bit off another sob, which Steve caught, despite her attempt to muffle it.
"Is it because it's so soon after the anniversary of Agent Coulson's death?" he asked cautiously.
"Partially. I've been… ignoring it. But…" Her voice trailed off again. Could she admit it? Should she?
"But what?"
Quinn couldn't think of how to voice what she was feeling without admitting the depth of her feelings. All she could think of was, "It's Friday."
But Steve knew what she was getting at anyway—she missed that about their relationship. "I know," he said, but Quinn could tell he was smiling that small, sad smile of his.
The mental image brought a well of new emotion to life. "I wanted you to be here when I got home," she said quietly, before she could think better of it.
"Quinn…"
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize… I miss you too."
"Steve…" Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, her head starting to hurt as the alcohol started to wear off. "I should go," she said suddenly, afraid of what she'd reveal if the conversation continued, "I'm drunk. Good night."
"Good night."
Still, Quinn waited a moment before she hung up.
June 22nd, 2013
Undisclosed Location—The Barton Farm
"I'm blaming the heat for that one," Quinn said as another throwing knife went wide, missing the target completely.
Beside her, Clint huffed out a laugh before notching another arrow, pulling back the string, and firing another perfect shot. "And what about the last three?"
Quinn threw her elbow into Clint's ribs playfully, nudging him out of the way. "Shut up, Hawkeye—it's really fucking hot. It's throwing my concentration off." She wiped sweat off her brow, pushing wayward strands of hair back before she drew another of her knives from the holster on her hip and took up a stance in front of the target. She brought the knife back by her ear and whipped it forward. This one hit the target, right next to Clint's arrow. "There. See?"
"Mmm-hmm," Clint said, his tone exposing that he still didn't believe her. He threw in one of his best dad looks for good measure. "Focus up then, Scottie. I'm kicking your ass."
Quinn tried to scowl but it was overtaken by a grin. With Clint semi-retired and barely leaving his family's farm, it had been a long time since the two of them had just hung out. "You always kick my ass at this game. It's stacked heavily in your favour."
"My house. I get to win."
Quinn rolled her eyes with great exaggeration, and she and Clint broke out into fits of laughter; it felt good to laugh. "Hurry up and win then. I'm hungry. Whatever Laura is making for dinner smells amazing."
After the game had finished, and they'd both collected their various projectiles and removed all weaponry from their persons, Clint and Quinn began the not-insubstantial trek back to the main house. The Barton farm sat on a huge chunk of property surrounded by a thick privately-owned forest devoid of trails. There was only one road in or out of the property, and it was gated; the kids had to be taken out to the main road to catch the school bus. It was as secure as it could be made while still allowing Laura, Lila, and Cooper to live the most normal life possible. The practice range Clint and Quinn had been using was set back near the trees to avoid curious children getting injured.
"So, you want to tell me about what finally made you accept our invitation to come and spend a weekend?" Clint asked as they headed up the path, weapons hanging from their hands.
"It can't have just been that I wanted a break from the city and from work?"
"I might believe it if you wanted a break from Stark, but you love your job, Quinn. The only time I've ever seen you take a break was when you were in the hospital."
"Well, you obviously got your own opinions about the situation, Dad, so why don't you tell me why you think I'm here?"
"I think you're here because you're pining, you don't know what to do with yourself, and you're afraid to own up to that and to your feelings, but what do I know?"
Quinn had never been able to hide anything from Clint or Natasha, so she wasn't surprised he'd picked up on all that, but it still brought her to a stop on the path. Clint stopped as well and turned to face her. Her shoulders fell and she sighed. Talking about the mess inside made her chest tight with anxiety, but anxiety over what, she's wasn't exactly sure. "I'm…"
"Don't say anything, Quinn," Clint said firmly—but not unkindly. "I know you and I know how twisted up you get when faced with a lot of emotions. I can tell you what I think, if you want, but you won't be happy with anyone telling you what to do. You'll make the right decision for you in the end, Scottie, but you have to be the one to get there."
Quinn huffed through her nose and started walking again. "I hate that you're right."
"Do you want to know what I think, or do you want to ignore it for a bit longer and sit down to roast chicken and potatoes?"
"Give me the highlights. I'm starving."
The pair came to a stop on the wraparound porch and dropped their weapons in one of the large chairs. Quinn moved to lean on the railing, gazing out over the massive property to the barn and vegetable garden in the distance. Clint stood beside her, leaning against one of the pillars supporting the roof.
"You need to actually talk to Steve," Clint started. He held up a hand to cut off Quinn's protest. "I know it's awkward and it won't be easy to do, but he's not going to make the first move."
Quinn almost told Clint that wasn't a guarantee, but no one else knew about the night of the blackout, and it would stay that way. "It's not a good idea to pursue it."
"Oh please, Scottie. Even I can tell you don't mean that."
Quinn straightened. "Tell me why it's a good idea. Tell me it's not gonna screw everything up."
"You know I can't do that."
"I know." Quinn fell silent for a moment or two and studied the farm around her; one day, when she was done with SHIELD and the Avengers she'd like to live in a place like the Barton farm. "I don't know if I'm ready to risk it, Clint," she said eventually.
"You don't have forever to make up your mind," Clint replied quietly. He moved closer to Quinn and draped an arm across her shoulders in a brotherly hug. "Now let's go in and eat. I'm starving and I know the kids wanted to spend some time with Aunt Quinn before bed."
Quinn returned the one-armed hug and they walked into the house, where they were greeted by a pair of high-pitched squeals and the smells of a home-cooked meal.
July 5th, 2013
New York City, New York—Avengers Tower
"It's nine in the morning, Scottie."
Quinn lifted another forkful of leftover cake to her mouth. "And?"
"And you've been eating cake for breakfast for the past five days."
"And?" Quinn narrowed her eyes at Tony Stark where he stood in the doorway of the kitchen as she took another bite. Tony had taken to wandering the office, laboratory, R&D, and residential floors in the mornings to double- and triple-check that everything was working properly and the Stark Industries and SHIELD staff had everything they could possibly need. This meant more often than not, he and Quinn crossed paths first thing in the morning, usually in the kitchen near her office. "I'm a grown-ass woman, Stark. I can eat cake for breakfast if I want, especially around my birthday."
Tony tilted his head forward slightly, one eyebrow raised—his best you can't get anything past me look. "You're not a stupid woman, Quinn, but you're acting like one."
She took another bite of cake, her stomach clenching. "I sense we're no longer talking about my breakfast choices."
"You know exactly what we're talking about."
"Excuse me if I choose not to take life advice from the notorious Mr. Stark, especially concerning my love life. You didn't even have a steady girlfriend until a few years ago."
He scoffed. "Between your birthday, Steve's birthday, and Phil's birthday coming up, you've been nearly unbearable all week, Scottie. Would you just suck it up and call Steve? Tell him to come up to the tower to finalize his quarters or something—I don't care what excuse you give him, just get him to come back here or get your butt down to DC again so you two can figure this out and you can stop thundering around here."
"It's not—"
"It's only as hard as you make it, Scottie."
Quinn set her empty plate on the counter and crossed her arms. "That sounds like Pepper."
"What sounds like me?"
Quinn managed to spare a smile for Pepper Potts as she entered the kitchen, no doubt looking for Tony. "Tony giving me relationship advice."
"That should sound like me. If it doesn't, I would not recommend taking any advice from Tony," she said, grinning as she looped her arm around Tony's. She patted his chest with her other hand. "No offense."
Tony rolled his eyes, but he was smiling; Pepper had that effect on him. "It doesn't matter who the advice came from. Call Steve."
The petulant side of Quinn wanted to say "make me," but she refrained. Barely. She knew she was being stupid, irrational, and stubborn, and that she was using those traits as armour, but she couldn't seem to stop. She wasn't sure she wanted to. This was safer, despite the fact that she was annoying her friends. But they don't have to get involved. They chose to get involved, so they can be the ones disappointed.
Disappointed along with me.
Quinn sighed and scrubbed at her face. "You guys are going to be late for the shareholders' meeting," she said. "And I'll call Steve today. Promise," she added before Tony could say anything.
His mouth snapped shut and he smiled like he'd won something—typical Tony. "Good." He let Pepper lead him out of the room. "I can't wait until you're back to normal, Scottie!" he called as they headed for the elevator.
Quinn smiled to herself as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, amused by Tony. She really did appreciate that her friends cared about her enough to badger her, hoping she'd stop avoiding the elephant in her life—or maybe "storm cloud" was a more appropriate term, since she was apparently thundering around—and she knew they were right, but she couldn't help feeling afraid of what would happen if she took that plunge. And it had been months—what if Steve didn't even feel the same about her anymore? What if he had met someone in DC? What if…
Too many what-ifs, Quinn. Just suck it up and call him.
Quinn dialled Steve's number—she was pleased to find she still had it memorized—and brought her phone to her ear, chewing on her bottom lip as it rang.
Her stomach dropped out as the ringing continued. She wasn't sure why she'd expected this time to be any different, but part of her, even after all this time, had hoped it would be. If she was being honest with herself—even though she rarely was nowadays—she wanted to tell Steve how she felt and that she wanted to try. She regretted putting a hold on what existed between them the year before, even though she'd done it for good reasons—reasons Steve had agreed with.
But the phone just kept ringing.
August 19th, 2013
Washington, DC—Steve's apartment building
Steve looked down at his phone, frowning as he thumbed through the notifications. He ignored the ones from SHIELD for now—they were just about the upcoming mission and nothing he didn't already have memorized—and instead focused on the ones from New York. There were a couple missed calls from Quinn but no new voicemail messages; he assumed she'd gotten tired of leaving the same "call me when you can" message. He'd missed a lot of calls from her since moving to DC, and it had only gotten worse. Directory Fury barely let Strike Team Delta rest, so most of the time Steve was in DC, he was sleeping or prepping for the next mission. Down time was pretty nonexistent.
Which made keeping in touch with Quinn nearly impossible.
Which, for lack of a better expression, sucked.
Steve had known he would miss Quinn—she'd been such a fixture in his life in New York, that it felt like there was something missing. It had since he'd arrived in DC. Overall, he felt more comfortable and happier staying busy doing work he understood, but he couldn't shake that lingering feeling.
And he couldn't do anything about it either, apparently.
Not if they kept missing each other's calls and having clipped and stilted conversations when they did get ahold of each other. The ease that had existed between them seemed to be gone.
Steve had been thinking that a lot lately, especially since Natasha had taken it upon herself to try and find Steve a date—or get him to go on a date she set up at least. He hadn't yet, mostly because he suspected she had ulterior motives. Like getting him to admit to her that he wanted to be with Quinn, that he had feelings for her.
Natasha knew; she wasn't stupid. She'd mentioned it in vague terms, trying to get Steve to open up to her about it. She was probably prodding him to date for the same reason. Or it amused her. Or both.
But Steve didn't really want to discuss it with Natasha. He didn't want to hear what he already knew should be his next course of action, and he didn't want to hear about it from anyone else. He wanted to talk to Quinn without a time limit restricting what could be said or how deep they could get into it. There was a lot they had to talk about, but he wasn't even sure if it would be worth it at this point.
It had been months since they'd had an easy conversation, since they'd spent any meaningful time together. Steve had been caught off guard by how much he missed her, and how much he missed having her across the hall. The woman who lived across the hall of his new apartment was friendly enough, but she kept her distance and they'd only ever exchanged nods and maybe the odd "hello."
Steve finished checking all his messages and emails, and then brought up Quinn's contact information. It would be about 10:00pm in New York. She'd probably still be up.
He dialled her number and held the phone to his ear, hoping she would pick up, that she hadn't gotten stuck at work, that Stark hadn't enlisted her help in another project—something he'd been doing more and more lately; to keep Quinn busy at her request, Steve assumed.
"Steve?"
As focused on his thoughts as he was, Quinn's voice startled Steve. "Hi, Quinn."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine." He didn't blame her for think it would take a disaster for him to call at a time they could actually speak. "I just…We got back earlier than anticipated."
"Was the mission successful?"
"Yes."
"You guys must really be functioning well as a team then, if you're finishing up early. Fury's pretty good about planning missions down to the minute." He heard the lilt in her voice that meant she was smiling as she spoke. "When's your next mission?"
"Soon, but there's supposed to be some downtime in a few weeks and I was thinking of coming back to New York for a couple days," Steve said, unable to stop his own smile from spreading.
The hope and wariness in Quinn's voice as she asked, "Really?" hurt a bit.
"The downtime is actually scheduled, so yes, really."
"It's about fucking time you got a break longer than a day or so. You guys have been working almost nonstop for ages." She was smiling again. "Let me know when and I'll make sure I have some time off too."
"September 12 and 13. I'll have to be back in DC the night on the 13th."
"Good. We can get some takeout and watch a movie or something. But I'm fully moved into the Tower now. I'm subletting my apartment."
Steve wasn't surprised—Quinn had been slowly moving stuff over to Avengers Tower since her room had been finished—but it was weird to think that they'd never sit in that living room again, Quinn at her end of the couch and Steve at his. She had a living room in her room at the Tower though; Steve remembered it from Halloween.
"I'm looking forward to it," he said, sure his own smile was evident in his voice.
"Me too."
"Good night, Quinn."
"Night, Steve."
September 12th, 2013
New York City, New York—Avengers Tower
Once again, Quinn found herself waiting for Steve to appear, but this time, she wasn't waiting for disappointment. Steve was already in New York and on his way to Avengers Tower. Quinn had wanted to be at SHIELD HQ to meet him and drive him back to the Tower, but there were a few things from the day before she had to finish up before taking two days off. Tasks done, she'd parked herself in the lobby, intent on getting every minute of time with Steve she could; neither of them knew when they'd have this chance again.
When she saw him getting out of a cab, bag in one hand, she couldn't help the grin that took over her whole face. Quinn met him halfway across the lobby, suddenly feeling awkward about hugging him like she would have before, but then she was in front of him and they were hugging, Steve's bag on the floor by their feet. Quinn pressed her face into Steve's chest, tension evaporating from her shoulders. She felt his chin on the top of head, tucking her into the spot where she fit so well, the spot she'd missed being.
For a moment or two, they just stood there.
Until someone—most likely the receptionist—cleared his throat and said they might want to move somewhere more private than the lobby.
Quinn looked at her watch and realized the time—people would start arriving for work soon. "He's right. Come on; I'll show you the finished Tower and then we can… do whatever."
Steve grabbed his bag and they headed for the elevator, giving Quinn that small, private smile she liked so much. "Sounds good."
Quinn tucked herself into the corner of the elevator after hitting the button for the 90th floor—she figured they'd work their way down—unable to stop smiling herself. She was a mess of excitement, happiness, and anxiety internally though, unsure about what would happen when they were alone. Would the ease between them come back? Would they spend all day having conversations they should have had a while ago?
Did it matter?
Quinn wasn't sure about any of the answers, but she was looking forward to the next two days regardless, just happy to spend time with Steve again.
"Agent Scott?"
JARVIS's voice startled Quinn, who was a bit lost in her thoughts. It also appeared to startle Steve. Quinn pointed at the panel on the wall with a grin. "What is it, JARVIS?"
"Mr. Stark is waiting for you in the lounge on the 90th floor. I believe he wanted to have a word with you and Captain Rogers."
Quinn sighed. "Of course he does. We're heading that way anyway, JARVIS, so he can have his word. But please keep all calls and everything away from me for today and tomorrow afterwards."
"Yes, Agent Scott. I have already been programmed to forward all your messages to your team, and to assist with keeping tabs on civilians connected to the Avengers."
"Good. Thank you, JARVIS."
The light indicating JARVIS was paying attention to the elevator blinked off, and Quinn said another, silent, thanks. She knew he could call the AI back if she needed to, but appreciated the privacy.
"Seems like things are going well around here," Steve said as the elevator continued upward.
"As well as they can. I'm still doing far more PR than I ever wanted to." The elevator stopped and Quinn led the way into the hall. "But Tony's been good at getting me help to handle everything and my official SHIELD duties are entirely confined to the Avengers now. Your videos are really popular, by the way."
Steve chuckled. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Tony.
"Hey, Captain. Long time, no see. SHIELD looks good at you," he said as Quinn and Steve entered the main part of the floor, where the Halloween party—and any party Tony had thrown since—had taken place. "Morning, Scottie."
"Hello, Tony."
"Morning, Tony."
"I just need a minute of your time, Cap, and then you two can get back to whatever your plans were," he added with a suggestive eyebrow raise at Quinn.
She rolled her eyes as Tony led Steve over to a nearby holographic display table. He probably wanted to discuss the finishing touches for Steve's quarters. While they talked, Quinn headed for the wall of windows to gaze out at the city below; she never tired of this view of New York.
When her phone started buzzing her pocket a few seconds later, she let out an audience sigh, frustrated that work was calling when she was supposed to be off.
Then she remembered her phone was on Do Not Disturb, and only a few numbers were allowed to go through if they called more than once.
She'd better answer it.
She pulled out at her phone and looked at the screen.
"What the fuck?" she said out loud.
She had to be reading the screen wrong, or someone was playing a horrible prank. But there were goosebumps on her arms, a shiver dancing up and down her spine.
"Quinn? What's wrong?" Steve asked as he approached her, evidently finished with whatever Tony wanted to talk about, since the billionaire was nowhere to be seen.
She looked up at Steve, but couldn't process what to do or say. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Slowly, she answered the call and brought the phone to her ear. Steve moved closer, blocking Quinn's view of the rest of the room, ready to do whatever he could if she needed him.
"Hello?" she said, her voice barely audible.
"Hey, Kid."
At that voice, at that nickname, Quinn's stomach dropped and tears immediately welled in her eyes as she pressed one hand to her gut. Steve narrowed his eyes, confused, and Quinn held his gaze, taking all the comfort she could find from his presence. The voice on the other end could not be who she thought it was, just as the screen couldn't have said his name. But she'd know that voice anywhere. She couldn't deny the truth. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She reached out as the tears started to fall and Steve was there, taking her hand in his. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and managed to speak.
"...Coulson?"