Hey everyone ( and there are a lot more of you now, so thank you!). I'm really sorry for the long wait between chapters, there are a plethora of reasons for this, but the main one was because I have been terrified for months of posting this, because it is finally big reveal time and I am so scared you will think it lame or bad or stupid ( or all of the above, truly I am petrified about this).

Nevertheless here it is, fingers crossed you like it, or at least are ambivalent. It's been three years in the works so hopefully it gets the reception I had planned.

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!

There was pain. Pain across her shoulder blades and down her back. Pain in her head and pain as her ears wrung with the sound of the gun and of something else, something metallic and creaking that enveloped the space in the darkness that her closed eyes had created.

There was a thud. A dull, clinking thud as something hit her, and she felt the reverberations but no increase in the pain, no piercing, tunnelling jolt of a bullet in her gut, her chest, her brain. She didn't yelp, didn't think she could, but her lungs betrayed her and hitched in fear and confusion as she felt her heart continue to beat and the pain in her shoulders dull to an insistent but muted throb.

Coraline drew in a breath, waiting for the catch or the squelch or the feeling of air leaving from a different place. But her breathing felt normal, panicked but normal, and the resulting relief weakened her legs and dropped her to one knee. She jolted downwards, accompanied by the whirring of metal drawing back around her as the hallway light glare sought its way to the insides of her eyelids.

Slowly she opened her eyes.

Coraline had expected the lights. They were there when she entered the corridor, they were everywhere on this confounded ship, but the light that forced its way into her vision still caused the historian to grimace as her eyes were forced to squint.

Everything was so bright.

No, not bright. Clear. Clear in the way that new glasses were, back from when she had worn glasses before she had forked out for laser surgery in the summer after her first degree. Clear in the way that windows are clear after they have been washed, or in the way that a video becomes defined when viewed in better quality. The hallway, no, the world, was that clear.

Clear and bright and deafening.

She could hear the creaking of the ship still, but this was louder than it had been on her journey to the hallway. Where there had been a guttural moan she could feel in her feet, now it was reverberating somehow deeper in her eardrums and beating out a rhythm in its shifts and groans.

A jagged spasm in her temples pitched the historian forward as her hands tried to gain purchase on the slick hallway floor.

Cora's arms shook as she breathed through the pain; as her eyes darted back and forth; as she tried to work out what was different, what was missing even when her head seemed so full of the information gained from the noise and light.

Her hold slipped again against the smoothness of the ship's flooring as another spasm wracked through her. The force of it sent her head smacking down against the metal, the reverberations of which sent new waves of wringing through her head. On top of that though, if she focussed through the wringing and new spikes of pain, was a wet feeling.

Cora didn't want to know what it was. In all honesty she didn't want to know what anything was anymore. She wanted to curl up in a darkened room and close her eyes till everything was over, till whatever hell was being waged above and around her had come to a conclusion, any conclusion. But she really didn't have that liberty, because the groan of the ship was now being accompanied by another groan, a groan that wasn't hers. With the kind of trepidation that comes from already knowing what she was going to find, she raised herself from the floor and brought a hand to her face.

Blood.

A lot of it.

But not hers.

Coraline turned her hand over in inspection and watched the blood drip off her fingers. Her forehead scrunched in confusion as she tried to work out what was missing, what was causing her reaction to be apathetic rather than appalled.

It hit her at the same time as the ship sent another jolt through the floor. She could hear it screech and see the corridor tilting before righting itself, but despite the shift causing sparks to fly from the corridor bend in front of her, she couldn't smell any smoke or the tell-tale scent of plastic melting.

Just like she couldn't smell the blood.

She couldn't smell, at all.

If this had been the only new development in Coraline's life she would have panicked. But just as the thoughts started to rise to the tempo of her heartbeat, all thoughts of worry were surmised by the bigger jolt of fear that came with another groan across from her.

Cora looked up, properly this time, and squinted and blinked till she could focus this new, clearer eyesight to the shape coming into focus in front of her.

It was a man.

No, it was the man; the man with the too blue eyes who she had previously assumed would be the last person she would see.

He was on the floor, on his back, struggling to remove his helmet and groaning.

Coraline crossed to him instinctively, just as he managed to push the helmet from his head with another groan. She was aware that as she sank to her knees next to his head blood seeped into the fabric of her skirt, but it wasn't like she could smell it so at least it didn't turn her stomach.

Besides, all her thoughts were on him.

The wound was in his chest. It squelched as he heaved each breath inwards and Cora didn't have to have more than a basic first aid qualification to know that it was more than a Band-Aid could fix.

The buttons on her shirt skittered along the floor as she rushed to shed it.

Pressure. The first aid course had said to apply pressure.

As the first of the pressure inflicted moans reached Cora's eardrums, she spared a grateful thought to the fact that what seemed like an age ago, she had accepted the complete S.H.I.E.L.D uniform guidelines that included a white short sleeved undershirt under the standard long sleeved blue blouse. That small action at least meant she wasn't potentially saving someone's life in her underwear.

"S…Stop," The man's moans turned to a grunt as his hands cemented to her arms in a way Cora was sure would leave bruises.

"Ah," The pain made Coraline look up, and then down again to meet his gaze. There was pain in his eyes too. Much, much worse than was in hers.

"I can't," She couldn't help the shake in her voice. In truth she wanted to cry, but that wouldn't help anything so instead she had to settle for biting the inside of her cheek "I'm sorry, but I can't. I have to apply pressure…just gotta apply pressure…"

Underneath her touch, the man shuddered as he took another breath turned groan, but then the grip on her arms was back to full force and he was choking words out quicker than she could identify them from the groans that accompanied them.

"Don't…stop…there's no use…you got me good…never should have trusted that horned jerk…up against comic heroes and godforsaken flying…"

"Stop talking," Cora had meant for authoritative but her brain instead went for pleading. "Please you'll only make it worse and you are going to be fine so you're not even making sense but that's ok because you're hurt and-"

The man groaned again. Cora's voice raised an octave.

"Oh no, please don't do that. It's ok, I took a first aid class. I can do this. I can help."

The historian took a deep breath in, and then let it out in a series of stuttered sobs.

She had read about this kind of thing; of soldiers knowing they were injured too badly to wait till a medic could cross No Man's Land to reach them; of last gasping breaths and wishes for messages passed along. Oh God. If this man started telling her a message…

Cora couldn't even fathom what she would do then.

The sound of choking brought her out of her horror induced haze.

She still couldn't smell it, but having to watch the man attempt to breath around the blood in his throat still made her gag.

Again the man gripped her arms. Cora had all but forgotten he was still holding on, so weak had his grip gotten, but with the last of the hacking coughs it was back to full force. The pressure alleviated slightly as the man grappled for her hand.

"Please," He whispered. "I…I can't do this alone…I don't…it's dark."

Cora bit her lip as she looked from the man's expression and the wound on his chest.

Slowly, she removed her hand from his chest. The shirt stayed. It stuck. Cora tried not to think about it as she shuffled closer to the man's head.

"What's your name?" She asked quietly as she repositioned to be able to take his hand in hers.

"Joe, Joe Caplan."

"Hello Joe," Cora used the hand not being clutched to bundle the bottom of her undershirt and dab at the dribble of blood beginning to run down the man's chin. "My name is Cora. How old are you?"

"32. I can't die at 32, oh Jesus I can't die, I can't..."

"Shh, it's okay, Joe. You're going to be just fine. You know how I know?"

Joe coughed again before he replied, weakly. "How?"

"Because I'm British," Cora managed a small smile as she met his gaze. "We like to think we're the authority on everything. And right here, right now, I am telling you that you are going to be absolutely fine. So don't worry, okay?"

"That creep, with the staff, he…he was British."

Loki.

"No, no he isn't British. Far too impatient and unspeakably rude. Besides, he is not here." Cora glanced at Joe's wound and looked away before he would see the acceptance in her gaze.

"It's just you and me, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You are safe, Joe."

Cora hadn't realised when she had started crying again, and for a split second she was worried the man on the floor in front of her would notice, would realise something was wrong, or would suddenly get up and shoot her as he had been planning to do just minutes before.

But Joe didn't get up. Instead he whispered:

"I'm scared, Cora."

"There is nothing to be scared of Joe. Everything is ok."

The lie was bitter in her mouth, but it didn't matter because as soon as she had said it Joe was inhaling rapidly and gurgling as blood swilled in his throat.

And then there was no more time for words or jokes or poorly spoken lies, because Cora could do nothing more than brush the gunman's hair from his clammy forehead and shush him between sobs.

It took two minutes.

Cora didn't cry when it was over. Her tears were spent, her eyes dry and stinging. Instead she sat and settled for gasping instead of breathing, all the while trying fruitlessly to piece together thoughts in the empty nothingness her mind had reverted to.

The comm transmission interrupted the silent whiteness of her mind. It wasn't a message; rather a short staccato beep followed by a tinny explosion somewhere else on board. Cora didn't even flinch.

She did however hit the floor as the ship tilted horizontally to the right, and then almost immediately to the left.

The world had gone hazy again as she blinked open her eyes. Her hearing was fine, so she could hear the comm static give way to Fury's open question:

"It's Barton. He took out our systems. He's headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?"

Cora didn't know who Barton was, or if she did she couldn't remember. She didn't respond to the message, instead opting to slowly shift to a position she could get herself up from.

Blinking again as she propped one arm under her, she met Joe's lifeless gaze.

It wasn't quite a whimper or a shriek. It was an inhuman meld of the two which accompanied Cora's backwards scuttle.

Her hands were wet and slightly sticky. Her side was wet. Her hair was wet.

She didn't want to look down, didn't know if she could cling to her remaining sanity if she did, but another small tilt of the Helicarrier had her skidding into a wall and forced her to look at her hands.

She shrieked again.

It was blood. Of course it was blood. Joe's blood that had pooled out under him and that she had fallen into when the ship had shifted.

There was nothing to wipe it on, no soft surface or handy paper towels. Just the steel of the Helicarrier corridor and those stupid, incessant lights giving her a clear view of the mess in front of her.

A crackling noise from in front of her stopped the keening whine of fear in her throat.

A comm was crackling.

Oh God, Joe' s comm was crackling.

She didn't want to go over to him. Didn't want to know what it was saying. Didn't even really care if it was a threat to her any more. She just wanted to be clean and dry and somewhere safe. Not here. Not now. Not crossing back to the man she had just watched die and gingerly extracting an earpiece from his ear.

As she clutched the retrieved earpiece, Cora felt as if the last of her humanity was draining from her. She had just stolen an earpiece from a dead man. She wanted to care about this, but in the absence of shrieking, there was only a void.

"Caplan, do you copy," the receiver crackled.

"Caplan, once the Initiate is neutralised, proceed to Engine 3 and neutralise the Initiate member assisting Tony Stark in the engine repairs."

Cora felt her stomach drop. Steve.

"Repeat, Caplan do you copy? Is Initiate 28061948 neutralised?"

Cora hoped the earpiece acted as a mic. She wanted whoever was giving the orders to hear the anger in her tone, and all the fear and panic that Joe had felt and made her feel along with it it.

"Negative. I'm alive. Come and get me."

aAa

Cora hadn't waited for the next batch of blue eyed mercenaries to find her. Instead she had turned tail, forgetting the mystery locked behind the cupboard door as she sprinted back towards the engines.

She had to get there before they did. She just had to.

The hallways were empty as she ran. That was probably for the best. The mercenaries would shoot on sight, but S.H.I.E.L.D agents would likely stop a bloodied woman with tear stained cheeks and by this point no shoes. If they stopped her they would be in the firing line as the blue eyed gang inevitably caught up. And that would mean casualties.

That would mean more deaths because of her.

Cora vowed not in words but in actions as she pelted down corridors and up the steep flights of stairs.

That would not happen.

She had stopped only once, a pause necessitated by her personal blend of pragmatism and paranoia. Her hearing was still pin drop sharp, and this enhanced auditory input had forced a skidded stop into a lower level gym changing room when she couldn't work out whether she was hearing footsteps just behind her or just the sound of her heart in her ears.

The slammed door of the changing room had allowed her ears to refocus and convince her brain that her blue eyed pursuers were further than she had thought. The pair of track pants abandoned on the changing bench allowed Cora to finally shed the last part of her S.H.I.E.L.D uniform as she traded the restrictive pencil skirt for slightly too big grey trousers.

That stop had been minutes ago, but when minutes meant everything it felt like an age.

An age away from the engine she could hear humming to her left, and from the man in ridiculous red and blue that she wanted more than anything to revel in the steady presence of.

aAa

Cora hadn't made it to Steve before the mercenaries had. Not that they had caused the super soldier much of a hindrance till that point. As much as he hated to admit it, the barrage of gunfire and feeling of certain danger that settled in his stomach was a pleasant familiarity to Steve. It was something he knew. Something that no amount of decades lost could change his response to.

An element of his situation that was less pleasant was the increased tilting of the ship as presumably, something else went wrong elsewhere on board.

"Stark, we're losing altitude," The comm from Fury had crackled and answer to his question as soon as he had thought it.

Steve could do nothing for the metal man inside the engine, aside from waiting for instructions to meddle with the box of wires and lights he would barely be able to comprehend in normal situations, let alone right now.

Plus his attention was again diverted to the newest S.W.A.T gear clad imposter taking aim from below him.

Cora also couldn't help with Stark's engine repairs, but as she rounded the final corner and saw another merc take aim at the blonde haired blue eyed, patriotic beacon on the platform above, she found she really could do something about that.

Steve took aim as he watched the gunman do the same, but his clear shot was marred quite suddenly by a grey and white blur skidding from the depths of the Helicarrier and jumping the gunman from behind.

"Cora?" Steve's exclamation was first one of shock because what was she doing here when she had promised to be far from this particular danger zone. However that shock changed to alarm, pure and ice cold in his chest, as he watched the woman teeter closer and closer to the edge as she wrestled for control.

Cora was aware of her precarious position, but it was a background thought. All her efforts were taken up by squeezing and squeezing her arm around the windpipe of the man in front of her. She couldn't get his helmet off, and had no hope of subduing him with it still on through the traditional concussion and a quick nap way of combat, so instead she was strangling the way she remembered they did in the movies.

And it was actually working.

The man was just becoming limp in her grip, and Cora was just about to lay him down to one side and hope he wasn't faking it, when she heard Steve's shout.

The alarm made her look up. His stricken face as their eyes met made her freeze, unable to look away. And the sound of gunfire behind them as another mercenary rounded the bend made the historian lose her grip.

The man in front of her pitched forward.

Steve heard Cora scream, an animalist mixture of 'No!' and something guttural and desperate that he never wanted to hear from her again. He spared a moment to watch her expression crumple as the mercenary was swept off the side of the ship, before his focus was back on aiming and firing at the gunman behind the historian.

The man went down.

Cora backed away from the edge and stood up.

Steve was already making his way towards her, following his feet rather than his head as he abandoned the fuse box he had been ordered not to leave.

Stark crackled over the comm, giving Steve the cue for the lever, his voice strained.

Cora looked up and met Steve's gaze again, but her eyes were glassy, her face tear stained but calm.

"I'm going to help," her words were lost to the wind.

Steve watched, and then yelled, as Dr Coraline Quinn took two steps forward and let herself fall.

aAa

There was pain. Pain as the air stung her cheeks and evaporated the tears drawn from her eyes as soon as they appeared. Pain as her joints locked into place in a way that made Cora want to struggle but be unable to. Pain in her brain as schematics flashed and memoires flashed in and out of focus.

Her eyesight focussed in on the man falling below her. Her was unconscious, a flipping and tilting target that she locked onto as she followed him.

Her arms didn't stretch out, somehow her body knowing even if her mind didn't that she would be more streamlined with them bracketed to her sides.

Nor was she screaming, however much she wanted to as she watched the slither of land below her get incrementally larger.

Instead she was gaining on the mercenary she had promised herself would not die today, and trying not to think about what exactly she would do once she caught up with him.

She could not have predicted the answer, even if her body seemed to know exactly how to react.

Arms stretched out in as close to a bear hug from behind that could be accomplished in mid-air as she became level with the man.

Shoulders led the rest of her body in a twist as she continued downwards, spinning the unconscious man with her.

Her brain, the last part of her body to disobey her direct commands, listened to her shoulder blades insisting on the need to resolve an itch like no other and issued the command to stretch.

There was the creaking, clicking snap of something obeying the command and changing her downward trajectory in a wind battering whiplash of upwards motion as Cora watched from inside her own skin as her view of the ground was replaced by clouds and sky and with another sideways tilt, the view of the Helicarrier smoking above her.

And then there was a mantra inside her mind, calling and calling to her: Up, up, up.

aAa

Stark had taken the long way out of the engine, if the long way could be counted as being chewed up by the now functioning engine blades and spat out to rest, quite fortuitously, on top of a subdued gunman acting as his landing pad.

Judging by the damage JARVIS was reporting for the suit, a time to call it quits could not have come sooner. Tony was, in fact, quite content to take his leave right there on his back. There was plenty of room amidst the charred ruins of the engine's inner workings to breathe through the pain and simultaneously curse the spangly idiot above him who couldn't even follow the one command to pull a lever on time.

Said spangly idiot, however, seemed to have other plans.

"Stark, get up. Stark!"

The Captain's tone made Stark look up, and the tears making streaks down the super soldier's face garnered his full attention.

"Cora," Steve could barely get the words out, his mouth dry, his heart in his throat not letting any words get through. "She went…"

He wheezed.

Stark sat up, followed Steve's line of sight, and swore.

"JARVIS, how far can I get?" His tone was steely, determined.

"The damage to the suit prevents any continued aerial action, Sir."

"Not good enough, make it happen."

"Sir, the power capacity of the suit is unable to support you, let alone that combined with another individual."

"No," Stark uttered.

"No," Steve echoed.

"Arghh" a man yelled as he followed Stark's arc into the Helicarrier corridor.

Both men looked up, watched the man land in a heap just in front of them, and then scrambled to their feet.

They heard it before they saw it.

A whooshing, flapping movement of air moving through slithers of empty space.

A metallic beating against the smoke and air currents forcing wind into the corridor and around both men.

The small thud of bare feet connecting with the metal of the corridor edge, followed by the scraping of metal against metal as Coraline landed.

Her hair was undone from its braided bun, whipping around her shoulders as beneath it pupils were blown wide in fear and confusion.

Her hands were in fists as she took in visibly jagged breaths, but her stance remained stiff, balanced despite the position that had already proven precarious.

Cora tried to meet Tony's eyes, and then drew her gaze to Steve's. They both looked past her, to the metal shaped in intricate detail, fanning in an arc behind her shoulders and upwards till they began to crumple against the debris and broken walkways of the ship.

As Cora looked at Stark and her super soldier, they looked beyond her. They looked at the wings.

There have been Easter eggs and small clues to this from the beginning, and the schematics will be revealed next chapter, hopefully in the not too distant future. But for now, any thoughts, comments, complaints or questions. You know the drill.