Vengeance [Avengers Fanfiction]

[Chapter 26]

[A/N]: I still have to go back and edit, so please comment if you see any mistakes or a confusing part that I should clarify more. Thanks!

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[Steve]

    My eyes burned a hole into the ceiling as I stared at nothing in particular, my mind whirling as I lay in bed. The sheets were tangled around me from my tossing and turning as I tried but failed to sleep, eventually giving up to my chaotic thoughts. I sighed as I realized sleep wasn't going to come. Not that I was tired, anyways. The thought of having dreams was enough to keep me awake.

    My thoughts drifted from my past, to the war and my now long gone friends, to Quinn. Her stony silence was beginning to gnaw at my mind, slowly eat away at my conscience. I sighed. Was it something I did?

    Of course, idiot, my inner voice scolded. First you kiss her out of nowhere, then you push her to talk when she doesn't want to. But she was in pain, I reminded myself.

    Quinn may not have shown it, but she was in agony. One glance at her clenched jaw, stiff movements, and bright, gray eyes told me all that she wouldn't. But why was she having random moments of pain? It had happened before in the training room and the elevator. What wasn't she telling us?

    Tap.

    I sat up in bed as my hearing picked up a soft, almost imperceptible tap on my door. Did I hear that, or am I imagining things?

    My bare feet met the plush carpet as I slid out of bed and walked to the door. My fingers brushed the cool metal of the doorknob as I opened the door, eyes scanning the empty, dim hallway. Shaking my head, I began to shut the door when I caught a glimpse of something on the floor.

    I bent over and picked it up, examining it in the faint light of the hallway. My eyebrows creased when I realized I was holding Quinn's switchblade.

    "This is my favorite switchblade, and I never go anywhere without it." Her voice rang in my head from the first time we went hunting together.

    I turned to look at Quinn's room, noticing a thin sliver of light illuminating the floor from her slightly cracked door. Something's wrong, I can feel it.

    "Quinn?" I whispered as I hesitantly opened the door and stepped inside, my heart pounding so hard I was sure the heavy thumping could be heard from miles away. The bed sheets were twisted and tangled with no Quinn in sight. Bathing the room in a yellowish glow, the lamp on the bedside table was on, its lampshade slightly skewed and tilted.

    On the nightstand were Quinn's daggers, and all of her Phantom clothes were in a pile on the floor. A feeling of foreboding washed over me as I checked the bathroom. No Quinn. Where was she? I was about to leave the room when my eyes landed on something on the bed. Blood was smeared across the crisp, white sheets, staining them crimson. My foot touched something on the floor, and I looked down to see a discarded, empty syringe laying on the carpet.

    "Shit." I muttered to myself as I rushed into my room, pulling on a pair of sneakers and not bothering with anything else because I was sleeping in a pair of navy sweats and a dark gray t-shirt. Picking up my cell phone on my dresser, I quickly dialed Phil Coulson's number as I silently thanked Stark for teaching me the basics of how to use a cellphone.

    "Hello? Captain?" Phil yawned. "Why are you calling me at three-twenty in the morning?"

    "Something happened to the Phantom." I reported as I slid the switchblade into my pocket and strode back into her room, picking up her daggers. If I found her, she would want them.