In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

4

Gunfire, the clear source of my awakening, sent a ringing throughout my eardrums, denying them the chance to process any other sounds. With my ears out of the equation, I scrambled for cover, knowing my eyes were not at all fast enough to dodge incoming bullets.

I didn't have to try very hard to remove my body from the couch, as Steve, who I later learned was standing behind me, had already been in the process of prying my body over the couch. I hit the hardwood floor roughly on my knees. Steve nudged my thigh with his hand, pushing my body forward. I crawled into the kitchen.

The gunfire ceased.

"The next target could be us," he whispered.

"'Next' ?" I repeated, stuttering. "Next? Where's Fury?"

I tried to crawl over his body, wary about the condition of our boss. Steve threw his hand out, wrapping it around my bicep. All it took was a slight shake of his head to break my calm attitude. I whispered a variety of words, pestering him to let go of my arm.

"Nobody deserves to die alone!" I had said, and Steve's grip loosened, a little, but enough that I took the chance to run. He wasn't able to grab me again.

On the rug, bleeding profusely from his wounds, I found Fury, hand twitching against his chest. Crawling on my stomach, I grabbed his hand to alert him of my presence. I popped to my feet, gripped the collar of his jacket, and dragged him into the safety of the kitchen.

I cradled his hands in my own, aiming to comfort him in the time he had left. His hands didn't release from being clenched. I ignored it, at first, thinking it was his way of condoning the pain. I was wrong. His last bit of strength was used to open his hand, revealing a hard drive to Steve and I. Enough time was not granted to ask what it was. At last, his erratically moving chest fell still.

I knew nothing else I was capable of doing except staring blankly at his closed eyes, knowing that his life was not the only thing we lost. Along with Fury went our only chance at saving S.H.I.E.L.D. from being torn apart from the inside and out.

Steve's reaction differed. He bowed his head for a single moment, then he was on his feet, scooping his shield from the floor.

"Clara, we have to go," he said softly.

"You go. I'll stay," I muttered.

He didn't argue, verbally, at least. His feet tapped back and forth against the floor, hesitant to leave.

"Go," I said again. I didn't bother to face him. "Find the person who did this."

Steve needed nothing more from me to leave.

When he left, in came a woman in pink scrubs. Her gun lowered instantly after recognizing my face. She slid the gun into the waistband of her pants.

"Foxtrot's down, I repeat, Foxtrot is down. Send an ambulance," she ordered into a walkie-talkie.

"Do we have a twenty on the shooter?" asked a voice.

"Captain's in pursuit," I said.

The blonde crouched on the opposite side of Director Fury. Her sleek fingers dug underneath the skin on his neck, checking for a pulse.

"My name is Agent 13. I was assigned to protect Captain Rogers," she introduced.

"Yeah, you're doing a splendid job," I praised sarcastically. I rubbed my eyes. "That was mean. Sorry. On whose orders?"

Agent 13 nodded at the still body of the Director. She withdrew her hand.

The arrival of the ambulance called for a rushed movement of Fury from the floor, into a gurney, then into the truck. I climbed in with him. A diagnosis from the medic said the only way left to save him was an emergency surgery. I stayed out of the way as they prepped him.