TW for discussion of injuries (including GSW) and medical procedures

Melinda woke at her normal time the next morning, early enough to watch the sun rise over the city skyline while she practiced tai chi. She wasn't surprised that there were no sounds or other signs of life coming from the guest room as she worked through her forms – even she knew that teenagers were notorious for their ability to sleep through most anything.

It wasn't until Melinda had showered, dressed, and finished her granola and tea that she finally heard someone stirring, and what she heard surprised her.

"Damnit. Come on!"

Melinda tapped lightly on the door. "Qu—uh, Daisy?" She winced. It sounded so silly to use the girl's codename, but it sounded equally silly to use her hospital alias. She forced herself to move on from the awkward discomfort. "Everything okay in there?"

The door flew open with a bang, revealing Quake in a tac suit, missing a boot, and trying to tug on one of her gauntlets with her teeth. Clothes were strewn around the floor, and the lid to the footlocker was open, revealing an assortment of high-tech gear, a different tac suit that looked more like Quake's normal hero attire, and an odd collection of masks, extra gauntlets, and what looked like protein bars.

"I can't get my stupid gauntlets—" she growled around the thing in her mouth, "—over my stupid cast. Shit!" In frustration, she flung the gauntlet away from her, sending it smacking into the back wall with a loud thwack.

"Maybe this is a stupid question," Melinda began slowly, "but why do you need your gauntlets right now? Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

"There's a mission briefing down at SHIELD, I just got called in. And my handler and SO are both assholes who'll make me run backend – or worse, bench me – if I'm late again, so I need to have left, like, ten minutes ago—"

"You can't just skip school for a briefing. You're still in high school."

"Which SHIELD doesn't know," Quake reminded her. "They don't care about tardies and absences, because as far as they know, I'm a twenty-year-old rookie hero who's devoted her life to the cause. Which means being in every briefing I get called in for."

Melinda wanted to argue back and try to impress upon the kid how important it was to get a high school diploma, but she knew that wouldn't be the slightest bit productive, so she settled for pinching the bridge of her nose as she bit back her reply.

Quake pulled on her other boot, threw a baggy sweatshirt on over the top of her tac suit to mask it from civilian eyes, and scooped up her gauntlet from the floor, stuffing it in the front pocket of her hoodie. "Gonna have to do," she muttered to herself.

"Maybe SHIELD could take a look at your arm, give you something to help speed up the healing so you can get out of the cast," Melinda offered lamely. "Or maybe they can get you a bigger gauntlet."

"Yeah, maybe. I maxed out my CalciFi allotment for the month, but maybe they'd make an exception for an actual break. Hey," Quake said suddenly, looking up at Melinda. "Is it okay if I leave my stuff here for now? I'd pack it up now, but I'm already late… I can grab it all once I'm done at SHIELD later today."

"It's fine," Melinda said. "You can leave it as long as you need. Clearly my guest room doesn't get a lot of use, so there's no rush to empty it out." She left the other part unspoken – that there was no rush for the kid to clear out, either – but she hoped Quake had gotten the message.

"Thanks." Quake looked a little sheepish, but Melinda could feel the relief slipping away from her. Quake quickly tossed everything back into the trunk and snapped the lock shut. Melinda could see that it was a BioLock – SHIELD tech – so she'd have no chance of opening it without Quake's biometrics. Not that she'd want to pick the kid's footlocker open, but it explained why Quake seemed comfortable leaving her most prized possessions unattended at her nemesis' house.

"What time is your briefing?" Melinda asked.

"In thirty minutes," Quake told her, checking a readout on her gauntlet that must have given her the time. She sighed and her shoulders sagged. "Which means I'm totally screwed. The trains are always behind schedule in the mornings."

"I'll drive you," offered Melinda. "SHIELD's only a ten-minute drive from here, twenty if the traffic's bad. You should be able to make it in time."

She understood the importance of punctuality in the SHIELD system, and knew how much of a blow it would be to Quake if she got backended or benched for her tardiness. Rookie hero contracts at SHIELD paid shit, so most young heroes made their living through sponsorships until they could move up the SHIELD ranks. Sponsors weren't much willing to pay out if their heroes spent their time tucked away in the command center instead of out in the field, and being benched too many times could lead to the contract being voided in the blink of an eye.

"Are you serious?"

"We'll take June's car; I'll drop you off a couple blocks early. No one will see, and you'll avoid being late."

Quake narrowed her eyes, and suspicion rippled away from her. "Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, I got it yesterday – you felt bad when you saw my place, I cried in front of you, it was all embarrassing and guilt-trippy, whatever – but shouldn't we be, like… I don't know… back to normal or something?"

Melinda hesitated. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure why she still felt like helping the kid. It's not like she was responsible for her. Then again, it didn't seem like anyone was responsible for her, and the weight of knowing how much damage could be done to a person, especially a young person, and especially a young person in SHIELD, when there wasn't someone looking out for them, their best interests… That weight hung around her neck like a yoke of responsibility. Culpability. And yes, maybe guilt. Those same feelings that were pushing her to start her project with the recorder. Maybe Quake was just an… extension… of that project.

Not that Melinda could say any of that to the kid. Not only would it sound incredibly sappy and incredibly suspicious, she could never jeopardize her project while it was in such a nascent state. So she settled for glib instead, and hoped Quake would take the bait.

"I've got a slow day today. And if you're benched, or injured, or otherwise out of the field, then SHIELD sends some scrub to fight me and I miss out on the nemesis bonus in my sponsorship deals. Trust me," Melinda assured her, despite the lies she was spitting, "getting you back on your feet and in good standing at SHIELD is a purely self-centered interest for me."

"Whatever," Quake shrugged. To Melinda's surprise, she felt something not dissimilar to disappointment clouding around the kid. She wasn't sure what that meant – maybe that Quake could tell she wasn't being honest and was disappointed in her for lying, maybe that Quake just didn't like her answer. Whatever the reason, Melinda didn't have time to dwell on it.

The ride over toward the grey, formidable building that housed SHIELD headquarters (something of a Metro City landmark) was uneventful, and Melinda dropped Quake off a few blocks away with little fanfare. Once she had tailed the kid long enough to make sure she made it safely inside the building, Melinda guided her car back into traffic and headed for Circlegrove Park – a large, sprawling public park at the center of the city.

She had only been half truthful when she'd told Quake she had a slow day today. She didn't have any assignments or meetings scheduled for work today, true, but there was another matter that Melinda was determined to attend to today, and the park was the place to do it.

Melinda parked in a public lot a block away from the park and approached the rest of the way on foot. She followed the winding, circular path deep into the interior of the park, and settled on a bench near the large, decorative fountain. The water had been drained from the fountain for the winter, and the wind that kicked between the trees had a bitter bite to it, so there weren't many passersby in this part of the park. A couple of curious pigeons bobbed over to her while she waited, but didn't stay long once it was clear she didn't have anything to offer them.

"Couldn't have picked a coffee shop, could you?" asked a man's voice nearby. "It's freezing out here." Melinda didn't turn to acknowledge him, but a quick cut of her eyes confirmed the owner of the voice.

"You know I don't like coffee," she said plainly. The man took a seat next to her on the bench.

"How could I? The infamous Face-Off slip-up," he chuckled. Melinda felt herself crack a small smile.

"At least you figured out which one of us was the real one eventually," she said. One last sweep across their surroundings to make sure no one was watching, then she finally turned slightly to speak to him face to face. "Thanks for coming, Coulson."

"I was certainly surprised to get your message last night," Coulson admitted. He was scanning the landscape, too, no doubt looking for the same things Melinda was. "It's been a long time. Over a decade."

"I know. And I wouldn't have made contact, but this… is important."

"Look, I told you all those years ago that the commlink was for you to use whenever you needed me. I meant it. After everything…"

"You always were a man of your word."

"I try to be. But I have to admit, some of what you're asking me for, I don't know if I can—"

"I know I'm asking for a lot. But I'm hoping you'll hear me out."

Coulson didn't say anything, which Melinda took to mean he was willing to listen. Coulson had been her handler at SHIELD for a number of years, before their individual career trajectories meant their paths diverged from one another within the agency. And then of course everything had gone to shit and Melinda had left it all behind. Coulson had stayed, because of course he did. That was the kind of person he was – the loyalist, the company man. That's part of what made this conversation so difficult.

"First, you should know, I'm making a record. Of everything. Everything that happened with EnReD, with the girl, with me."

"May—"

"I'm not planning on using it," she said quickly. "Not unless I have to. Mostly it's about just getting it all down. The truth. But I'm not going public with it. I know how that story ends."

"Too easy for SHIELD to turn it all back onto you," Coulson nodded. "Pin it all on a bad seed."

"Which they basically already did. I just was given the benefit of my own death to help cover it all up."

"Quiet is better than honest," Coulson murmured. "Standard operating procedure for SHIELD PR. So if you're not taking your account of things public, why make the record to begin with? And what does this have to do with the information you requested?"

"There needs to be at least one honest record of everything that went down. Maybe someday I'll find the right person to share it with, and the truth won't die with me. Then at least someone will know what really happened."

"I know."

"Yeah, but you won't do anything about it," Melinda said, more sharply than she meant to. She saw the muscles in Coulson's jaw tense, and she could feel the discomfort oozing out of him. "I'm not upset about it, Coulson. You did what you had to. You had your orders, just like I had mine."

"Maybe, but I'm the one who's still following them. You walked away."

"You aren't following them now," Melinda pointed out. "You're talking to me."

"Maybe this is my misguided attempt at atoning for the past."

"You weren't even part of the team at that point—"

"Doesn't mean I don't still lose sleep over it," Coulson said softly. "Over what happened to you."

"Help me out with this and you might start sleeping better," Melinda told him.

"May, I can't just give you information about one of our heroes, and especially not one assigned to fight you. It's a huge conflict of interest. Can you imagine the chaos… the PR nightmare if it got out that a SHIELD agent was leaking classified information about its heroes to the villains that battle them? I can't put one of our own at risk like that."

"I don't want it to hurt her," Melinda insisted. "I want it to help her. I know you don't believe I would actually—"

"No, not you. But this is a slippery slope—"

"Bullshit," Melinda cut him off. "Slippery slopes are excuses people give when they don't think they have the resolve to set boundaries."

"What if I am setting a boundary?" Coulson shot back. "What if I've resolved not to give you any information on Quake, purely on principle?"

"If you were setting that boundary, you wouldn't be here."

Coulson was silent, and Melinda could sense him pouting. She could feel his curiosity, too, though, and she kept silent herself, determined to draw him back out into the conversation. She knew he still wanted answers from her.

"Why exactly do you want access to Quake's file?" he finally asked. "And what does this have to do with… your story?"

"I can't tell you everything," Melinda cautioned. "It's not safe for any of us if you have the full story, but this is what I can say. I learned some things about Quake last night. Some… personal details, let's say. And what I learned was enough to concern me. I'm worried I'm seeing a pattern. I want her file to make sure that she's not being set up to go through what I went through, and to make sure that SHIELD isn't still running programs it promised to kill years ago. I need assurance that things are different there now, for her."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say it sounded like you cared about her."

"Not caring was never my problem."

"That's true." Coulson went quiet again, and Melinda could feel him wrestling with indecision.

"I suppose it wouldn't be enough for me to give you my word that things are different now?" he offered.

Melinda shook her head. "I need more than that. Some of the things she said—"

"You've talked to her about SHIELD?" Coulson's eyes went wide. "And she told you things? How? When?"

"Don't you go reporting her," Melinda said sternly. "Nothing she said was classified or compromising. It was just, you know, shop talk. But I know enough about how SHIELD operates for some of that shop talk to raise some red flags. And it's not just SHIELD. She doesn't have anyone looking out for her on the outside. I just… I don't want her slipping through the cracks the way people have before."

"I must be losing my mind," Coulson muttered with a shake of his head. "I could lose my job for this."

"You're a good man, Coulson. SHIELD badge aside," she smirked. "I promise, this won't get back to them."

Coulson reached inside of his coat and withdrew a thin datapad. He passed it to Melinda without a word.

"I'll destroy this when I'm done," she told him, getting to her feet. "Do you want confirmation?"

"I trust you," Coulson said. He looked up at her, locking eyes. It didn't take an empath to know there were layers to that statement.

May gave him a small nod, then slipped away down the path, tucking the datapad into the purse she'd brought as a part of her civilian getup. She knew Coulson would wait several minutes before moving himself, to avoid drawing attention to their rendezvous by leaving at the same time. They'd gotten the same training, after all.

Melinda waited until she was home and tucked safely away in her office before activating the datapad. It was a newer model than she had last used, but Melinda recognized the design enough to know this particular device was little more than a glorified digital storage device. Something that specific information could be loaded into for sharing, but without any larger network connectivity or access. She wasn't surprised. Coulson might have been willing to give her the information she requested, but he wasn't flexible enough to hand her free reign of the full SHIELD system.

She flicked through the basics first – Quake's personnel file, which, as far as Melinda could tell, was entirely filled with false information. It made sense – if you were creating a new identity to apply to SHIELD with, why leave any fingerprints of your old life among the details? The date of birth was clearly made up, since it made Quake look three years older than she was, and the address listed in the file was not remotely close to the crumbling shanty-stack Quake called home. Melinda wondered about the name listed on the file: Skye Powers. Probably a fake one, made up when Quake invented an identity to use for her SHIELD application. It certainly sounded like the kind of name a young teenager would make up on the spot if she was trying to get into a superhero program, Melinda thought with a faint smile.

Notably, there was no one listed as next-of-kin, and the emergency contact section was filled in not with the name of a friend or family member, but with the same names Melinda found listed as Quake's handler and SO. The handler was someone she knew – Jasper Sitwell, a pencil-pusher of an agent she'd crossed paths with a few times back in her SHIELD days. Melinda wasn't shocked that Quake considered him an obnoxious stickler, and she wasn't shocked that Sitwell was the type to threaten benching a hero for tardiness. Twenty years ago, people around SHIELD had joked about the stick up Sitwell's ass; obviously he hadn't changed much.

The SO on file wasn't someone Melinda recognized, someone named Grant Ward. The fact that he had a codename – Berserker – led Melinda to believe that he must be a hero rather than an agent. She wondered briefly about the supervision structure that seemed to be in place. In her experience, most people working at SHIELD had either a handler or an SO, depending on their role, but not both. And certainly not one who was a standard agent and one who was a possibly Enhanced hero. She made a mental note to try and learn more about the change, either from Quake, or possibly from Coulson, if she had to shake him down again.

Finishing with the sparse personal and biographical information, Melinda swiped at the datapad until she found the section of the file she was most curious (and worried) about: Quake's medical logs and her program records.

The first thing Melinda noticed was the absence of EnReD in Quake's program enlistments. On the surface, a good thing. It meant that at least on paper, SHIELD was sticking to its vow to dismantle the godforsaken program. But Melinda knew better than to think that just because the name EnReD was missing from a list didn't mean that the spirit of the program – and the spirit that had created EnReD and other programs like it in the first place – wasn't still alive and well within the organization.

She read carefully, making note of the things that weren't familiar to her. The Initiate program was standard practice for people first joining SHIELD, as was the Rookie Hero bootcamp, tac/combat training, and specialist intensive that Quake had notched in her file. But a few of Quake's resume items stuck out – a program labeled only "BUS" that she had been a part of for a year, immediately after the end of her basic training, something named "Caterpillars" for six months after that, and Quake's current program assignment, which was called "Secret Warriors."

Melinda didn't recognize any of those operations, which was necessarily surprising. It was reasonable that SHIELD would have countless new projects and programs in the fifteen years since she'd worked there. Still, she couldn't help but speculate on what exactly Quake had been involved with in her two years at SHIELD, and what might have been asked or expected of the kid. Her mind raced at the name 'Caterpillar,' conjuring up images of furtive labs and shadowy tests, determined to metamorphosize SHIELD's young heroes into extra-enhanced butterflies. Into Secret Warriors, perhaps.

A shiver ran down her spine, and Melinda gave herself a shake. She was jumping to conclusions. Coulson seemed to be under the impression that things were above-board these days. She wasn't sure she fully trusted his assessment on that front, hence the file snooping, but maybe it would do her some good to at least give his word more weight than she might otherwise be inclined to. She swiped into the medical logs, hoping that Quake's medical record would, if not shine some light on her SHIELD history, at least ease some of Melinda's consternation about Quake being the subject of twisted experimentation.

A lot of the logs were basic vitals and biological data, tracked carefully since Quake's admittance into SHIELD – height and weight, blood pressure and heartrate, all sorts of blood chemical levels that meant little to Melinda, and, interestingly enough, regular bone density scans. She wondered if those were special-ordered because of Quake's powers. Not long after Quake had cleared her first round of training, Melinda found a note for regular prescription of CalciFi – the bone-healing drug that Quake had mentioned a few times. Its administration seemed to be highly regulated, but Quake's bone density readings did seem to level out once she started receiving the drug.

Maybe SHIELD really had learned its lesson. Maybe they were sticking to the straight and narrow.

Melinda continued reading, scanning briefly through Quake's psych evals (all of which seemed very surface level and very much like the kinds of answers Quake would have practiced giving ahead of time, to ensure no red flags popped on the evaluations) and the logs of her various injuries and treatments. Most of those weren't surprising, after their conversation last night – hero-typical injuries and wounds, many of which Melinda had seen evidence of with her own eyes. Stitches here, SteriStrips there, one round of concussion protocol after that Gravitron fight last spring. Plenty of braces and soft casts on bone fractures and breaks, with healing sped up by additional doses of CalciFi. Nothing that stuck out as alarming, until Melinda found the log of the gunshot wound.

Being a medical record, there was no mention of who had pulled the trigger, or what mission Quake must have been on when she'd been shot, but there was a date – one that aligned with her time in the BUS program. That wasn't what frightened Melinda. No, the injury didn't scare her. Enraged her, definitely, that someone would do something so deplorable to a kid who was barely sixteen at the time, but sadly not as shocking as it should have been. It wasn't the injury that made her heart leap into her throat; it was the treatment plan.

Standard GSW protocol ineffective. Extraordinary measures implemented. G.H.325 administered under the advisement of Dr. Streiten and Agent Sitwell. Response immediate and effective, rehabilitation and full recovery expected. Patient's response indicates potential receptibility to Terrigen: pending recovery, patient will be recommended to Project Terrigenesis.

Melinda felt like her stomach had been turned to ice. How stupid she had been to trust Coulson, to give SHIELD the benefit of the doubt. How naïve she had been to think they'd keep their word and shut down all that insidious shit that had ruined so many lives. After everything that had happened, they were still playing mad scientist, still hurling kids toward the sun and hoping they'd grow wings before they crashed and burned.

She slammed the datapad to her desk and reached for the old commlink she had never expected to use at all, much less twice in twenty-four hours.

Coulson had some explaining to do.