The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

Avengers: Chapter Two

The best place to hide in the helicarrier was the pump room. Marie could curl up in a small corner, behind dozens of steamy pipes, without fear of someone finding her. Sure, the humidity was stifling and the whirring pumps were loud and it was impossible to think, but she didn't want to. The moment she allowed her thoughts to wander, memories swamped her, and Marie would become lost in a world of screaming, heat, pain, and fear.

Guilt was drowning her; filling her lungs and dripping down her face.

She should have done something; she should have protected Barton and Fury; she should have anticipated Loki's moves and tried to stop him. She didn't do anything. She hid in the shadows like a coward and allowed one of the few people who cared about her to be taken away. She hadn't tried to fight.

Marie pinched the skin on her forearm. She grit her teeth and tore at the skin until it burned and the color of her regret slid down her arm. Red.

Marie avoided Agent Romanoff the moment she arrived at the helicarrier. Director Fury was too wrapped up in finding the Tesseract to care, sending Agent Hill and Coulson to various corners of the world for one reason or another. No one noticed Marie's disappearance; she was of little use to them now.

"Agent Devnner," her earpiece crackled. The sharp squeal made her wince. The earpieces didn't like the pump room.

"Yes, Direct-Director?"

"Report... runway... Romanoff."

Marie closed her eyes and hugged her knees tighter. A lump lodged itself in her throat.

"Yes, sir."

Marie forced herself to her feet, ducking under pipes and allowing her shadow to slip under the door. She walked slowly towards the main hanger, the florescent lights glaring down at her. She was convinced Fury heightened the brightness to discourage her from sneaking around.

Her hands were slick with sweat as she approached the hanger door. Which was worse: disobeying a direct order from Fury, or facing a potentially angry Russian assassin? Marie grasped her key card, hesitating.

"Devnner, are you going to stand there all day or actually go outside?"

Marie whirled around. Agent Romanoff stood behind her, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in her direction. Marie opened her mouth to say something. The woman moved past her, opening the door and stepping into the sunlight.

"Right. Yeah," she muttered.

Wind blasted them from all sides, aggressively swirling Marie's curls in her face. She spat several strands of hair from her mouth and tucked them behind her ear. She struggled to keep up with Romanoff's pace.

The roar of an approaching jet filled the runway. Marie came to a silent stop beside Agent Romanoff, peering at her face. It was tactically blank, per usual, only a hint of tension visible in her shoulders.

"A-Agent Romanoff, I just want-wanted to say that—"

"I know," she cut in smoothly. "There was nothing you or anyone could have done."

Marie gnawed at her lip and pulled at her fingerless gloves.

"But if I had—I didn't even—I just—" Marie stopped, the woman's gaze finally meeting hers. "I-I'm sorry."

The wind carried her voice away, where it was sucked into a jet engine. Marie breathed deeply and shuffled her feet. Romanoff didn't want to talk. She could take a hint... sort of.

A hand brushed her shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."

Marie turned to face Romanoff, but she was already moving towards the lowered jet ramp. Two men approached them. Coulson, in his ever-present suit, flashed Marie an easy smile. It was impossible not to muster a small grin in response.