Hi again. Thanks to all those following and so reading. Please do let me know what you think of Coraline. I want to make sure she doesn't end up Mary Sue-ish so any feedback would be really helpful.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters aside from my own OC. The rights of the other characters belong to Marvel and its affiliates.

Enjoy!

As she stared forlornly at the rows of toothpaste brands each claiming to be the best for cavities, enamel damage, plaque reduction; one hand ghosted up to her forehead before tenderly touching the butterfly-taped cut that receded into her copper hairline.

Despite the gentleness of her touch, she winced- more from the memory than from the physical pain. Lord knows they'd pumped her full of enough mystery substances to eliminate that means of complaint.

aAa

Coraline stared at the man in shock.

"Whaa?" was her oh so eloquent reply.

"Given your knowledge of the subject and the… uh… flair you have exhibited in designing poignant and meaningful exhibitions, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division would like you to organise the funeral of Captain Steven G. Rogers in a way that can maximise the publicity angle and also make the US government enough money from merchandise to fund some ill-advised scheme in the Middle East." Coraline could detect the bitterness in Coulson's tone, but was too busy chewing the inside of her lip in an attempt to calm the nerves that had inexplicably sprung up inside her at the mention of governments and agencies she had never heard of .

Coulson sighed as he observed her sudden tenseness.

"I don't agree with it personally, but it's what the people in the gilded offices want so here I am," he gestured around him half-heartedly, knocking over a pile of papers in the process.

Coraline winced before swooping to pick them up. Coulson went to help, but was stopped by a cough from the doorway. Coraline stopped to in her slightly frantic scrabbling to collect all the loose sheets of paper that had somehow spread the length of her office as they fell. On looking up at the source of the cough, the papers were once again dropped as she abandoned her task in favour of backing up against her desk and trembling.

Agent Clarke was in her office. Agent Clarke was in her office holding a gun. In her office. Her absolutely 100% secure office. Yet he was here.

The small part of Coralline's mind that remained even remotely calm as she brought her knees up to her chest chastised the larger panicking part for losing it so quickly.

She had been doing so well, safe in the knowledge that her office was behind a locked key card required door, and that whatever the man in the suit with a friendly smile could throw at her couldn't be outside her history clad comfort zone. But then Clarke had returned with the same smirk and an entirely new weapon that wasn't pointed at her but what did it matter, he still had it. And all of a sudden the jarring, wheezing familiarity of four years of barely concealed panic attacks was back with a vengeance and breathing had become a thing of legend.

Clarke paused in his dramatic entrance enough to smirk at the historian that had gone from calm to chaos in a matter of seconds, before a sharp "Hey!" from Coulson forced him to focus on his original task.

"He's not dead."

"What?" Coulson was only half listening, one eye still watching as the woman now looking the age she was rather than the age she usually acted as she curled in on herself against the backdrop of her desk.

"Captain America, your favourite man," Clarke's underlying scoff was enough to get Coulson imagining just how much blood could ruin historical documents, but he held himself together as he registered what the obnoxious twit was saying.

"Alive?" God he hoped he'd managed to keep the slight desperation out of his voice, because even if inside his head was going a mile a minute trying to comprehend that Captain America, the Captain America, was alive.

"Yeah, apparently they defrosted him and he took half the New York office for a run around Times Square," Clarke had returned his gaze to Coraline, pointing his gun in her direction just to watch her shy further away from it.

Coulson was ready to deck him at this point, his hands curling into fists as he took a step closer.

"Right," His tone was steely, "In that case we can stop bothering Miss Quinn here."

He moved as if to lower Clarke's hand and with it the gun, but the younger agent moved out of reach as his smirk grew.

"Oh no. The head office wants her too. NO idea what for, I mean, what use could she be, but still. Fury's orders."

Coraline had been registering the conversation, but barely. However while putting most of her energy towards trying to control her breathing, just enough of her energy was being exerted into groping behind her on the floor and finding the largest book she could feasibly hold in one hand.

Which was why, as Clarke holstered his weapon and made a move towards the quietening woman on the floor, he instead met his own date with the carpet by means of a book on woman in Nazi Germany hitting his nose with a crunch.

Coraline was up and out of the office before Coulson had crossed the room. After the initial adrenalin tapered out – just as she was sprinting through twentieth century France – Coraline realised that running wasn't as successful a plan as she had thought. True in the spur of the moment her flight or fight instinct had offered a little bit of both and a quick getaway, but two floors down and the lack of oxygen she had already been having problems with came back full force as she all but fell against the cabinet displaying the Victoria Crosses of four fatally brave World War One soldiers.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God…" She panted as her eyes darted to either end of the corridor she was in. There were men chasing her, in the museum. In the empty museum, with the doors that were mostly locked apart from the blaringly obvious main entrance.

Pushing herself off the cabinet, Coraline instantly regretted her decision as the world swayed dangerously to one side. Clearly her body was reminding her of the predicament that had put her against the display cabinet in the first place, which was considerate of it if it were not for the sound of footsteps coming from a door to her left that really contradicted the impending need to sit down and breath for a bit.

As the footsteps entered the corridor – and it was Coulson, the 'friendly one' with his hands raised in submission which would have been nice if were not for the fact that his raised arms only highlighted the weapon concealed at his belt more – Coraline whipped round to run the other way.

She managed all of two steps before the velocity at which she had turned led to a hard impact against the chest of the other agent. She had a brief moment to notice the blood running down his chin, before her feet's last ditch attempt to flee turned her again to the left, and right into the display case.

Coulson watched as the woman's head met the glass cabinet, and sighed and lowered his hands as she hovered for a second before sliding forwards into a slump.

Clarke sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve before roughly grabbing the unconscious woman and handcuffing her before lifting her to her feet.

He smiled at Coulson, the maliciousness in his eyes only accentuated by the blood dying his teeth and chin crimson.

"There," He hefted the unconscious woman further into his grip as he turned to leave. "That wasn't so hard was it?"

Coulson sighed as he looked at the cabinet and its petite blood stain, before his gaze widened to the empty museum as the footstep shuffles of Clarke and his unwitting companion become softer in the silence.

"Yeah," Coulson muttered reached for his phone. "Simple as pie."