Fallen Heroes | Marvel/CATWS {2}

Chapter 5: Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Always trust your gut. It knows what your head hasn't figured out yet. –Unknown

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I can't bring myself to stay in the room where the hospital staff moved Fury's body. The sight of one of the strongest people I know just lying there, unbreathing, makes me sick to my stomach. I stay long enough to say goodbye, then run to the nearest ladies' room and splash cold water on my face, trying to calm my stomach.

After taking a few deep breaths, I look up at my reflection in the mirror over the sink. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy, mascara runs down my face, the apples of my cheeks and my nose are bright red from crying, and my hair is a wreck from flying after the monster that murdered Fury.

Just thinking about him makes my hands shake and threatens to bring new tears. You're just as guilty as he is, a voice in the back of my mind mocks me—it sounds like that of my biological aunt, the Seraph Estelle. You could have saved Fury. A healing spell isn't difficult. You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.

I shake my head, trying to silence the voice. I splash more water on my face, trying to clean away the remains of my smudged makeup. While I'm drying my face with a rough paper towel, Natasha walks into the room. "Rumlow's looking for you," she tells me. "They want to talk to you and Steve at the Triskelion."

I nod in understanding; I've been wondering when they'd call us in. "Okay." I wipe my eyes one more time, then turn to exit the room.

Natasha steps in front of me, blocking my path. "Why was Fury in your apartment?" she demands. "And don't say you don't know, because I know you do."

I hesitate to answer. While I can't bring myself to believe Natasha is involved in whatever conspiracy Fury was warning us about, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents could have easily bugged every room in this hospital after Fury was rushed in. If S.H.I.E.L.D. truly is compromised—and I don't see why Fury would tell us if he wasn't absolutely sure—I can't risk saying anything the wrong person might hear.

I shake my head, deciding it's not worth the risk, but I know in my heart I can trust Natasha. "I can't talk about it now," I say. "Meet me for lunch at the usual spot?"

Natasha immediately nods in understanding. "Meet me for lunch" is the phrase she told me to use if something ever happened that no one, not even anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D., could know about. On the off chance that someone is listening, they'll be looking at restaurants and cafes where we sometimes get lunch, while she knows to meet me here. "I'll be there," she promises.

I step around her and walk into the hallway, feeling her eyes on the back of my head as I go.

***

After taking a few moments to change out of my leggings and scrub shirt and into my uniform, I go to meet Secretary Pierce. Steve and I are being interviewed separately—we were told that it's standard protocol to separate witnesses after an event like this, that it isn't anything personal. If this isn't personal, then my eyes are blue.

Secretary Pierce is standing in the hallway, waiting. "Agent Reid," he greets, offering a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"All lies," I say, trying to act as if nothing's out of the ordinary. The last thing Fury told me was to not trust anyone—as far as I know, that includes Pierce.

Pierce chuckles, gesturing for me to come into the office. "Please, sit."

I walk in and sit in one of the uncomfortable leather chairs, resting my elbows on my knees—I'm too tired, both physically and emotionally, to bother with proper posture. "Have they had any luck finding the shooter?" I ask. "Forensics get anything off the roof?"

"As far as I'm aware, no," Pierce replies at he sits down across from me. "I understand you personally went after the shooter."

"Yes, sir." The thought of my failure makes my hand involuntarily curl into a fist. "I didn't get a look at his face. I think he was wearing a mask, but I couldn't get close enough to know for sure. I'm sorry I let him get away," I add, just to make myself sound pathetic—one of the many things Natasha has taught me is that if you want someone to tell you something without them realizing it, you make them think you're the weak one.

"You did the best you could, Agent." His voice sounds sincere—encouraging, even—but I can't help but think it sounds a little too sincere, like he's trying to get me to trust him. "Do you know why Director Fury was in your apartment last night?"

"He was there when I got home," I answer, shaking my head.

"Was he acting strangely?" Pierce presses.

I act like I think for a few seconds before shrugging. "He acted like it hurt to move. Like he'd been in a fight or something."

"Car accident, actually," he corrects. "We believe it was an earlier attempt on his life."

I shake my head again, feeling tears well in my eyes, and silently thank my sixteen-year-old self for learning how to cry on demand to get out of parking tickets. "I could've stopped this. I was almost blocking that shot. If I'd just been standing a little to the right—" I cut myself off with a sob that I think sounds pretty freaking real, letting a few tears escape my eyes before quickly wiping them away.

Pierce takes a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and hands it to me. "I doubt he would have hesitated to kill you to get you out of his way," he suggests as I dry my tears with the handkerchief. "This is the first time since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. that you've seen someone you know die, isn't it?" he guesses.

I keep crying, thinking that I could win an Oscar for this little display of emotion. "I barely knew Fury," I say in a choked voice. "Why does it still hurt?"

Pierce seems to think for a moment before announcing, "I think we're done here. You're obviously taking this very hard, so why don't you take the rest of the day off and give your statement tomorrow?"

Okay, now I know something's up. Even though I've only been with S.H.I.E.L.D. for about a year, I've never heard of someone being allowed to take the day off just because they're grieving. If anything, agents are expected to channel their sorrow into efficiency. I shake my head and attempt to argue, "No, I'm fine—"

"I insist, Agent," he interrupts.

He wants me away from the Triskelion, I realize. Trying to get me to let my guard down. Deciding to play along, I nod and stand. "Thanks," I mumble as I try hand the tear-stained handkerchief back.

Pierce shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. "Keep it," he offers. "Please send Captain Rogers in on your way you."

I nod and walk out of the office. Steve is standing in the hall and looks up when he hears me approaching. He stands and, seeing my fake (yet convincing, if I do say so myself) tears, engulfs me in a hug. I stand on my toes and pull him down, resting my chin on his shoulder. "Don't tell him anything," I remind him in a whisper.

Steve nods and steps back and says, "It'll be okay," before walking towards Pierce's office. I walk towards the elevator, wiping away the remains of my crocodile tears. He's right; everything will be okay. Everything will be okay as soon as we figure out who is responsible for S.H.I.E.L.D. being compromised, who had Fury killed, and find the metal-armed assassin.

And as soon as I find him, I think as I step into the glass elevator, I'm gonna make him pay for taking someone else away from me.

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I wrote this while watching a Jurassic Park marathon.

Next few chapters will be on the short side.