The Lost Agents

1

"It'd be nice to have a new name, to start with, one that's not all worn out from being called so much." —Winnie Foster, Tuck Everlasting.

Londyn sighed, closing her apartment door with her foot. Her arms were loaded with two plastic bags of groceries she had just bought. Her home was modern and compact, just the right size for her. The décor was straightforward, black and white, minimal. She loved the way it looked, even if none of it reflected anything about her. It seemed empty, and she liked it that way. She set the groceries on the black and white granite countertop, then turned to open her silver fridge. She had only unloaded the bread and grapes when there was a knock on her door.

Was that... my door? No one ever came to visit her except for David, who always checked ahead with her. She waited a second, until another rapping noise came. Who on Earth could be here? I don't have any repairs and my rent is paid. I don't know any of the neighbors that well. Maybe someone has the wrong door. Closing the fridge, the woman strode over to her door and slowly opened it. There was a trim man with shaved blond hair and sage green eyes waiting at the door. He was still young, around thirty—the same age as her. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm looking for Agent Londyn Justice?" The man folded his hands genteelly in front of his waist as he made his inquiry. There were papers in his hands still. They crunched as he held them in one fist.

Her heart began to beat fast as memories flashed before her mind's eye for half a second. A half second that felt like a lifetime. A black man in a long coat and an eyepatch striding up, barking her name. Another man, smiling, affectionately using the title. A scream. A badge of courage. She quickly refocused on the present and shook her head. "No."

"I'm sorry?" Her visitor looked confused and consulted the papers in his fist. "I was informed that Agent Justice lives here."

"No. No one by that title lives here." Londyn began to close the door, but he held it with a strong hand. She should have felt threatened, but she didn't. She knew S.H.I.E.L.D.'s code of conduct, she knew their morals. He wouldn't hurt her. Nevertheless, she tried not to look him in the eyes, instead latching her gaze upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. badge on his chest. It brought back so many memories. A badge of courage.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but what is your name?" His polite voice snapped her back to the present again.

She hesitated, then sighed in defeat. "Londyn Justice. But that's not my title." Not anymore. "Hello, agent." "Hello, fellow agent." No. that's not my title. 

Now he was definitely confused. "Then what is?"

The woman raised her chin, meeting his green eyes with her own, and brushing a strand of coppery hair out of her face. "Ms. Londyn Justice. And I don't think I can help you."

"Oh, my... my apologies, Ms. Justice." His tone was respectful, even though she had tried to catch him on a minor technicality. "My name is Quinn Kitt, I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I was hoping to have a word with you."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Londyn laughed a little, trying to play innocent citizen. "Should I know what that is?" Just saying the name out loud made her want to bite her tongue off. How many times had she used the word like he did? She had been just the same, saying it so casually, allowing it drip off her tongue like an empty condolence at a funeral.

He looked at her strangely. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Don't you...?"

"I have things to do," Londyn interrupted, gripping the door tighter. His eyes flickered to her knuckled observantly, but he made no mention of it. "Is there anything you really need or are we done?" If only he would go away. Everything about him reminded her of S.H.I.E.L.D. His shaved hair, his smart uniform, his polite attitude, his build, the gun, the badge—everything.