The hallway was seemingly never-ending.
The sound of heels clicking on the polished black flooring was all that could be heard. A steady constant beat as she placed one foot in front of the other. Eyes forward, golden hair swaying behind her, she kept her face unreadable. Despite her heart ricocheting in her chest and the shiver creeping down her spine.
It had been almost twenty years since she last stepped foot in such a place. The organization she helped build. The one that started off in a basement, growing over the years to become such a grand and dominant institution.
It was her second home. A place she cared for and adored and cherished with her whole being. Up until all those years ago. Up until she walked away and never looked back.
For the past seventeen years, she demanded nothing to do with S.H.E.I.L.D.
And she received her wish. Up until a few hours ago, when she got an urgent call from the director. A call informing her to come right away. Telling her he was, not only alive, but awake. Living, breathing, real.
She wouldn't believe it until she saw it, saw him, with her own two eyes.
Slowing to a stop, she turned to the door on her left. With a deep breath, she pushed it open, only to discover two men standing inside. One in a suit, the other in a black trench-coat and spotting an eyepatch.
Upon hearing her arrival, both men glanced towards the door. Agent Coulson offered her a nod, a weary smile gracing his lips. Nick Fury, meanwhile, kept his gaze on the wall in front of him as he spoke.
"I didn't think you'd come."
"Did you really?" She replied, raised an elegant eyebrow. "Cause I'm pretty certain you did."
Finally glancing in her direction, Fury kept his expression hard, indecipherable. He held her gaze for a long moment before turning back towards the one-sided window, beckoning her to step forward.
She hesitated, if only for a moment. She knew the moment she stepped in front of that window, her life would completely change. There was no going back. And she had yet to figure out if it was for better or worse.
Swallowing her pride, head held high, she stepped slowly into the room, coming to stand in between Coulson and Fury.
With one last breath, she shifted her gaze to the window.
Her eyes immediately focused in on the man - Captain America, Steve Rogers – sitting on the edge of the make-shift hospital bed. His hands were folded on his lap, his gaze lowered on them. It seemed as if he didn't know they were observing him, or he did and simply didn't care.
She couldn't believe… After all these years… She could do nothing but hold her breath as she stared into the room.
She was here to talk to him. That's why Fury called her in. But, as she surveyed him and studied the puzzled look he wore, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not as fear swam through her, coating her veins in ice.
"Well," Fury spoke, breaking the silence. "I guess this is where introductions are in order."
She opened her mouth to reply, but the moment the words left Fury's mouth, Steve glanced up. It was as if he heard Fury, his face turning towards the one-way window.
All the air she was holding in was knocked out of her lungs.
On his end, all he saw was himself. But on her end, she saw a lost man. A man out of time. Even his blonde hair was styled in its 40s part, displacing just how out of place he genuinely was. However, what caught her attention the most, was his eyes. Baby-blue meeting baby-blue. If she only focused on his eyes, it would be like looking in a mirror.
It was at that moment, the moment when her gaze found his, that she knew she couldn't do this. She had to get out. She could feel her lungs fighting for air, her heart echoing in her chest, her palms starting to sweat.
She had to get out. Especially once Fury opened his mouth once more.
"Meet your father, Ms. Rogers."
I have no explanation for this.
Over the years, every few months, I receive an email informing me someone has reviewed this story. A few nights ago, that is exactly what happened. Add in the fact it was 3:30 am and I was in bed with a bad head cold and this is what you get - me rewriting the prologue of this story.
This is unedited. Completely unplanned. It's properly even cruel of me to post this, as I'm not sure if I'll rework this whole story or not. Even though I would love to and have had many plans to do so over the years.
I'll guess we'll just want and see what the response to this(^) is like.