TW for fighting/violence (canon-typical, mostly hand-to-hand)

Melinda returned to her apartment on autopilot, barely thinking about what she was doing as she steered the car back across town and rode the elevator in numb silence. What she was thinking about was the battle with the alien in the street, and what she was thinking had her rattled.

It had been years since SHIELD – since anyone – had seen an alien threat as deadly as what they had encountered today. That on its own was enough to be unnerving. The life-sucking mist and overpowering ease with which the alien had picked the heroes off was enough to keep anyone up with nightmares for the rest of their life. The way it had just retreated, like it was tired of playing with its prey for the day and was off to find something more fun to do, was unsettling, too. But what had Melinda the most shaken wasn't either of those things. It wasn't even the alien itself. No, what had her feeling like the ground was falling out from under her feet was the way SHIELD had handled the situation.

Sending four young, inexperienced heroes to go and assess a completely unknown threat, with no backup or extraction plan… And there obviously hadn't been any order given for them to retreat after the first one went down and it became clear they were dealing with something far beyond their ability. Quake had an SO, and presumably did all of the other members of her team, so where was he? Why had those heroes been left to fend for themselves for so long? Why had they been practically left for dead?

Melinda felt sick as she changed out of her torn skirt and ripped nylons and into something more comfortable. She couldn't get the sound of Quake's anguished cries at the grate or the crumpled, broken look on her face as she'd bent over her teammate's body out of her head. She felt like she knew the kid well enough to know that Quake wouldn't just feel the loss deeply, she'd take it personally. She'd feel responsible. Melinda knew how that feeling could eat you up from the inside out.

Her hands shook slightly as she wadded up the ruined clothes and tossed them away. The image of Quake kneeling over her teammate blurred together with another image that had been swimming in Melinda's mind for fifteen years, albeit more sharply these past few days. Dark hair. Pale face. Red, red hands. And guilt. So much guilt.

She sat in front of the windows in the living room, watching the sun set over the city but making no moves to turn on a light. The sun turned a vibrant crimson color as it sank behind the skyscrapers, and Melinda had to squeeze her eyes shut against the memories that tapped at her skull with all the sensitivity of an ice pick.

Hours passed, and Melinda waited. She wasn't sure how long Quake would be in debrief, but she figured it would be good for the kid to have someone waiting up for her when she came home. Someone to understand. But the sky faded from red to purple to black, and Quake never appeared.

Maybe SHIELD kept her for overnight observation, Melinda considered. Maybe they were quarantining her to make sure whatever it was that alien could do hadn't infected anyone. Maybe Quake wasn't ever going to come back here. Maybe she would just pack up and run, start over once more.

Melinda gave herself a shake. No. Disappearing was her move, not Quake's. And besides, the kid would never take off without her stuff. The laptop, the hula dancer, and the elephant all still sat in the guest room, waiting for Quake's return the same way Melinda was.

They didn't all need to wait.

Melinda stood then and moved into her office, new resolve pumping action into her body. It was silly to sit around doing nothing. Quake would come back when she was ready, and Melinda was wasting time. She had things she'd meant to accomplish tonight, and everything she knew about Ros told her that the ATCU would be buzzing with activity after that alien showed up today. They'd appreciate expediency on Melinda's part – one less thing to worry about right now, when there was clearly something much more pressing taking the ATCU's agents' time and energy. And besides, she'd already put her plan in motion that afternoon. If she waited now, she'd have to start over, probably have to wait another week to avoid suspicion.

She scanned her handprint on the hidden panel in the wall of her office to reveal her collection of suits and gadgets, and began to gear up.

Breaking into Cybertek was so easy, Melinda would have laughed if she hadn't been operating in silence. Her refraction cape cloaked her from the motion sensors as she jimmied open the emergency exit with the loose screw in the handle that she'd clocked earlier that day, and the business card with the security guard's fingerprints was sitting exactly where he'd left it. A simple scan from the replicator she'd brought gave her a perfect match on a SteriSheet that she slipped over her own, gloved finger. From there, it was easy to scan into the system with his credentials and reroute the cameras to run a playback loop, recording over tonight's footage with footage from the night before.

Just as Ros had indicated in her files, there was no night watchman working in the building – Cybertek was confident enough in their state-of-the-art security system that they had eliminated the human element years ago. Fine by Melinda, it meant the job was just that much easier, and she wouldn't have to knock anybody out, which her joints always appreciated.

Thanks to her guided tour from the afternoon, she had no trouble making her way to the executive suite. Unfortunately, the security guard's fingerprint didn't unlock the door to the CEO's office, so Melinda had to resort to plan B. Pulling a small electric drill from her belt, she set to work unscrewing the hinges to the door. This would set back her timeline somewhat, but she wasn't too worried. She always gave herself extra time in case she ran into setbacks like this.

Eventually, she detached the large glass door from its frame. It was heavier than it looked, and she nearly dropped the whole damn thing when she lowered it to the floor. Thank god for super strength and good reflexes. She crossed quickly to Quinn's desk and booted up his computer.

This was the tricky part. Melinda knew enough to get the job done most of the time, but tech had never been her area of expertise. Luckily, there were enough gadgets and doohickeys on the market these days that it didn't require her to be a master hacker to get what she needed out of a computer, but this part of the job was always the one she had the least amount of confidence in.

She fed the decryption device into the machine first, let it run whatever algorithm it used to pinpoint Quinn's password and unlock the computer for her. She kept an eye on her watch, counting the precious seconds that the device used before it struck gold. She was going to be cutting this one close.

The device flashed green and the computer pinged. Melinda unplugged the decryptor and switched it out for the seek-and-store tool she'd picked up (okay, stolen) from Stark ages ago – a handy little thing she called the Fishing Net. It was designed to track down, copy, and store any files that met whatever set of parameters she told it to look for. She tapped away at the screen for a moment, setting the Fishing Net to seek out any and all financial documents, shipping orders, funding streams, and production chains.

The Fishing Net was a fast tool, but the process was still a slow one, as the device sifted through what were potentially terabytes of company data, searching for what Melinda wanted. Hoping to occupy herself while she waited, Melinda began combing through the rest of the office. She wanted to get a better sense of who Ian Quinn, CEO, was, and what might make him tick. She also wouldn't say no to some hard copies of anything useful – a ledger book, incriminating memos, something like that.

Most of the office was clean, sleek, and minimalist, lots of glass and smooth lines. The desk had no papers sitting on it, and the drawers – which were easy to pick open – were filled mostly with useless stuff. One had magazines and newspaper clippings of articles spotlighting the company's success or lionizing its brilliant, philanthropic billionaire-CEO, so she could apparently strike 'humble' from her list of adjectives to describe Quinn. Another drawer had a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses inside it. Gross.

She moved on to the bookcase, sliding her finger across the spines of the books. A lot of them seemed mainly decorative, titles brimming with buzzwords about business success, but a few stuck out – Atlas Shrugged (typical), Machiavelli's The Prince (also typical), 1984, Heart of Darkness, and, perhaps most unusually, a textbook titled Standards of Physical Science, Grade 8.

Melinda pulled out the textbook and began rifling through the pages. There were handwritten notes in the margins, conversations between two children that had clearly been written years and years ago. The cracked spine fell open to a page near the back, which listed important physicists and their discoveries. At the bottom of the list, the two different handwritings had penned in "Ian Quinn and Franklin Hall – Princes of physics and future Nobel Prize winners!"

Something tickled at the back of brain at the names, but Melinda couldn't place it, so she reshelved the book and, motivated by the phrase "princes of physics," pulled out The Prince instead. The book itself was thin, but it felt oddly bulky in her hand. When she flipped this one open, she found several loose sheets of paper folded up and tucked inside. She spread the pages out and felt her stomach drop.

One held schematics for an exosuit that bore a striking resemblance to the one SHIELD had modeled in their Deathlok project. Another held a chemical formula that she recognized from her days in EnReD – a model for a stabilized Extremis formula. A third showed designs for something that Melinda didn't recognize, but that looked suspiciously like a very large weapon.

Folding the pages back up, she stuck them in a pocket on her suit and tried to keep her heart and her mind from racing. Why did Quinn have SHIELD tech designs squirrelled away in his office? Was he ex-SHIELD and she didn't realize, or was there a leak at SHIELD?

She reshelved the book and crossed back over to the computer. The readout on the Fishing Net indicated it was nearly finished with its search, thankfully. She couldn't wait to get out of here.

Just as the Fishing Net beeped its completion and she pulled the device out of the computer, a voice from the doorway made her nearly jump out of her skin.

"So are you going to hand that over to me, or am I going to have to take it?"

Melinda looked up and saw Quake leaning in the doorway, in the empty space where the door Melinda had removed should have sat. She was still suited up in her hero costume, but there was a definite droop to her shoulders, and she didn't have the cocky swagger Melinda was used to seeing when she normally encountered Quake in situations like these. Not surprising, after the afternoon the kid had.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Could ask you the same thing," Quake volleyed easily. "Because to me it looks like you're taking something that doesn't belong to you."

"I didn't know SHIELD was interested in protecting Cybertek assets," Melinda said. "Didn't think SHIELD had any business with Cybertek."

"We have business with stopping villains from stealing information from weapons and tech developers," said Quake stiffly. "Who knows who you might sell that data to? What kind of tech might end up in the wrong hands because of it. Who might die because of it." Her voice cracked slightly on her last sentence, and Melinda swallowed hard.

"I'm surprised you're still out working tonight… I heard you had a busy day."

"I've got a job to do," was all Quake would say. Her voice was flat, and when Melinda reached out with her powers to try and get a sense of Quake's feelings, she was met with a hard, mental wall. Quake was locking things up tight.

"Look, I don't really want to fight you—" Quake began.

"Nor do I."

"—but I can't let you walk out of here with whatever that is," she finished. "It'd be easier for both of us if you just gave it to me."

"I can't do that. I have a job to do, too, and I think whatever's on here might be more important than either of us realizes."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know exactly," Melinda admitted. "But something's off about this place. I'm hoping my employer can shed some light on the situation."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me who that is…"

"Afraid not."

They were both quiet for a tense moment. Quake looked around the office, a faraway look in her eyes, and gave a little shudder. "I hate this place. Can we speed this up? The less time I spend at Cybertek, the better."

"What do you propose?" Melinda asked, tilting her head to one side. Surreptitiously, she slid the Fishing Net into her hip pocket. Quake was too distracted looking around the room to notice. "Rock-paper-scissors?"

"Ha ha. The usual, I guess. If you won't make it easy on us."

Another pregnant silence fell between them, neither one really wanting to make the first move, but neither one able to just give in, either.

"All right, then," Melinda finally sighed. She reached behind her and placed a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Count of three?"

"Three."

In one fluid motion, Melinda unsheathed her sword and swung it in a smooth arc, holding it at the ready. At the same time, Quake sent a little ripple at Melinda's feet, shaking her balance.

"Don't tell me you're going easy on me," Melinda smirked, before she could really think about what she was saying. Something about combat messed with her filter.

"I'm not going easy," Quake frowned.

"I could make waves bigger than that by stomping my foot. If you want to stop me, then go ahead and stop me. Otherwise, you might as well just let me walk."

"You're not trying either. You haven't taken a single swing yet," retorted Quake. "It's weird, okay?"

"I know."

Quake winced briefly, put a finger to her ear. She dug around for a minute, then extracted her comm and crushed it under her boot. "Stupid handler is yelling at me to hurry up."

Resigned to the fact that there wasn't going to be a good way to handle this, Melinda gritted her teeth and tucked into a roll, popping up in front of Quake and ready to grapple for position. If she could just get to the other side of the door, she could make a run for it and get out of here without having to fight the kid.

Melinda swung the flat of her blade, trying to use it to push Quake out of the way, but Quake was ready for her. She caught Melinda's wrist and twisted her arm until the sword clattered out of her grasp and to the ground.

Melinda let out an angry huff. She didn't appreciate being disarmed, and the ease with which Quake had done it pissed her off more than she cared to admit. Using the arm that Quake wasn't holding, Melinda twisted and swung up with her elbow. She remembered Quake saying she forgot to cover herself from stray elbows yesterday. Her elbow caught Quake lightly on the jaw – not hard enough to really hurt, more just to catch her by surprise – and Quake let go of her arm. Something flashed dangerously in Quake's eyes, like something had changed.

Melinda used the moment to try and dart out into the hallway, but Quake swept a leg out and tripped her up before she could get anywhere. Melinda rolled as she fell, avoiding a hard collision with the floor, and landed next to the detached glass door, still laying where she'd left it.

"Would you just come on and fight me?" Quake said angrily, taking a step toward her. Her fists were bunched. "Cut out the cat-and-mouse shit and let me do my job!"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"We're supposed to fight!" Quake insisted. She sounded almost desperate. "I'm supposed to fight villains!"

Melinda could feel the situation starting to slip out of her control. Quake was emotional – angry, frustrated, reckless. Melinda wasn't sure she knew how to handle this. She didn't really want to fight Quake, but not fighting her seemed to be making things worse.

"Stand up and fight me," Quake ordered, taking another step toward her.

"We don't have to do this."

"Get up!" Quake snapped. The ground underneath them started to vibrate slightly.

Melinda glared. She didn't like being told what to do under the best of circumstances, and certainly not by a child on the verge of a meltdown. Maybe she needed to show Quake she ought to be careful what she wished for, snap her out of whatever funk she was in. "Fine. You want to fight, let's fight."

Melinda popped up from the ground and cocked her fists. Quake swung first, a right hook that Melinda caught easily, and soon they were trading punches. Melinda was trying to hold back – she genuinely didn't want to hurt the kid, especially after the day she'd had – but Quake seemed to be losing more and more control the longer they fought, and it was getting harder to keep her moves light when Quake's punches were coming harder.

"Fight back!" Quake cried. "Just hit me, would you?"

Quake was hitting hard and fast, now, real hits that had seismic energy behind them. All Melinda could do at that point was play defense, blocking and dodging as much as she could, and absorbing what she couldn't. She wouldn't have had an opening to try and hit Quake back even if she'd wanted to.

Quake's next swing caught Melinda cleanly on the shoulder with the force of a small earthquake, sending Melinda down to the floor by the glass door for a second time that night, and it was followed by a quick, sharp punch to the side of the head that made Melinda see stars.

That one hurt.

Melinda knew this couldn't go on much longer. Quake was red in the face, expression twisted with fury and desperation, totally out of control as she kept swinging at Melinda on the ground. A sock to the nose, a swift hit to the ribs... Someone was going to get seriously injured if Melinda didn't find some way to stop this.

With a sudden stroke of inspiration, Melinda twisted on the floor and lifted the huge glass door like a shield, hoping to give herself a momentary break from the barrage of Quake's punches and a thin window of time to move away, get her sword back, and get the hell out of there.

Quake was already throwing another punch by the time Melinda had hoisted the door up in front of her, and with a bellow of rage, a blast of energy caught the glass door midair an instant before her fist did. The glass exploded, sending shards spraying in all directions. Melinda curled inward instinctively, flattening to the floor and covering her face to shield it from the flying glass.

The sound of glass raining down on the polished tile of the Cybertek hallway sounded almost musical, but the song was a sour one. There was a thick silence after the sudden cacophony of shattered glass, and Melinda risked a glance up from her defensive position.

Quake stood at the center of the wreckage, glittering slivers of glass caught in her hair and on her suit. She stared down at Melinda, stricken, her face colorless and her eyes wide and rapidly filling with tears.

"Oh my god," she choked out. "I… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her knees wobbled, then buckled, and she sagged to the floor, hands hanging limply at her sides while her shoulders trembled.

Gingerly, Melinda collected herself and stood, dabbing at the blood streaming from her nose and the cut above her eyebrow. She hesitated for a second, then crossed over to the shell-shocked teenager. She knelt in front of her, glass crunching under her armor, and took Quake by the shoulders.

"It's okay."

Those apparently were the magic words, because Quake completely dissolved then, falling into Melinda's arms and shaking violently as she cried.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Melinda held on tight, cupping the back of Quake's head with one hand and rubbing circles on her back with the other. A tidal wave of guilt and grief swelled up out of the girl. It crashed over the top of Melinda's head and pulled at her stomach with the force of a deadly undertow.

"Let's go home," she murmured, easing them both to their feet. Things would be made ten times worse if they got caught here in this mess. Quake clung to her, still crying those jerky, gasping kind of sobs that Melinda associated with people so overwhelmed by emotion that they had a hard time remembering to breathe. "You've had a hell of a day. So let's just get you home, okay?"