Disclaimer: I do not own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. or any of the characters used.
Dr. Winslow fingered the handle of the scalpel in his pocket as he walked. Dr. Calvin, actually.
Where he was going he wasn't quite sure, but he knew it was of the utmost importance.
He yawned. Hadn't gotten much sleep.
His mind snapped into focus. He reached into his other pocket and examined the scrawled writing. He compared the address to a map he had taken from a news stand. Somewhere around here. He started whistling nonchalantly while looking at his surroundings.
He was in a back alley, at the edge of town. The buildings rose short compared to the skyscrapers in the city center. Derelict and neglected, and in a bad part of town, the buildings were anything but attractive real estate. In another life, Dr. Winslow knew that these buildings were attractive in another way. To people shadier then your average real estate developer.
The small street was flanked by a cracked grey sidewalk. He took it, stepping over litter and walking past the vulgar graffiti on the walls beside him. It was well past sunrise, he had been walking for several hours. His white coat was stained slightly with red, but he'd gotten most of it out, and hid it well inside the folds fabric as he walked.
"You can't be here." Came a voice closer then he'd expected. Cal had heard the footsteps following him a few minutes ago.
"If you'd just point me in the direction of your boss, I'd be quite happy." he said, with a smile he hoped would show through in his voice. Playing the confused doctor. Doctors don't hurt people.
"Let me say that again," the voice grew deeper, "Get. Out." The words were punctuated with jabs with something small and hard to his back.
Cal sighed. "I'm sorry but I can't do that."
"For a doctor you aren't very smart." The doctor heard an audible click and the rustle of fabric and timed his own move carefully.
Cal twisted suddenly meeting his follower in the same flurry of movement. The man held a switchblade. Cal had met it with his own blade. White coat brushing against his legs, Cal stepped forward, using the additional leverage. The man's expression turned to one of fear right before Cal smoothly knocked the blade and the man himself to the ground.
Dr. Winslow paused at the sound. That impact sounded painful... with any head trauma the first step would be to check for signs of concussion of course, followed by... Before he knew it, the scalpel was back in his pocket and he was pulling out gauze and a small water bottle.
Pretty bruise. Definitely going to need a few weeks to recover. Some extra fluids in his system wouldn't hurt. Cal stepped back as his attacker's bloodshot eyes blinked open.
"Ah! I was worried there for a moment."
His voice came out a croak. "Take..the...hint. Fisk ain't...around anymore."
"The enforcers sent to my place would've said otherwise."
"Dr. Calvin. I would've...thought you, of...all people, would...know such things aren't personal."
A booted kick to the side sent the limp man rolling to the center of the intersection, gathering dust on his black hoodie and jeans. He coughed, breathing struggling. Stunted further by the scalpel on his throat.
"How about I let this scalpel get nice and personal with your spine?" There was a car's tires skidding somewhere. The response came, a whisper.
"You wanna...meet the..guy..who set..after...you?"
He grinned, teeth red.
"That car'll take you right to him." Cal relaxed his knee and straightened his back just in time to angle his ears to better hear the sound coming from the tattered road to his right and the shiny metallic body rapidly advancing at the edge of his vision
"What ca-"