06. | BITTERSWEET FAVOR

FURY STEPPED INSIDE a secure elevator deep below the streets of Washington D.C. He leaned in to the retina reader, which scanned his good eye. "World Security Council," Fury said.

The elevator doors closed and the machine hummed to like, the car accelerating until he was high above the city.

Almost fifty stories above D.C., a very important meeting was unfolding inside the World Security Council Chambers. Four holograms represented council member from around the world: American, India, China and Great Britain. All powerful. All with an agenda. All upset with S.H.I.E.L.D.

"This failure is unacceptable," said the Chinese councilman.

The Indian council member folded his hands and leaned in. "Considering the attack took place a mile from my country's sovereign waters, it's a bit more than that. I move for immediate hearings."

"We don't need hearings," said the British council member. "We need action. It's this council's duty to oversee S.H.I.E.L.D. A breach like that raised serious questions."

The American councilman didn't look pleased. "Like how the heck did a French pirate manage to hijack a covert S.H.I.E.L.D. vessel in broad daylight?"

As the four holograms argued about what had occurred with the Lemurian Star, the only real human in the room, Secretary Alexander Pierce, cleared his throat. "For the record, councilman, he's Algerian. I can draw a map if it would help."

He gave a wry smile. The other council members became quiet as Pierce continued to hold the floor. "I don't need to remind you that our world, on its best day, is chaotic. And on its worst...worse. If the council intends to fall to rancor every time our mission is tested...then maybe we need someone to oversee us. Frankly, despite the size of this facility, I don't think they've got the office space."

The council members frowned. They had been put in their places. But their scolding was interrupted by an assistant who stepped into the room and whispered into Pierce's ear.

"More trouble, Mr. Secretary?" asked the British councilman.

Pierce smiled and stood. "That would depend on your definition."

The secretary stepped out to find Nick Fury waiting for him in the hall. Pierce looked at his old friend. "I work forty floors away and it takes a hijacking for you to visit."

Fury smiled. "Nuclear war would do it, too."

"What's wrong with Christmas?"

Fury chuckled. "You busy in there?"

"Nothing some earmarks from the discretionary budget can't fix," Pierce said.

Nick Fury turned serious. "I need to ask for a favor and it's not small."

Pierce's smiled faded. "I'm listening...and I'm nervous."

"I'd like for you to call a vote." Fury's face became tight. He was unsure how Pierce would react. "Project Insight has to be delayed."

"Delay Insight?" Pierce said with severity in his tone. "That's not a favor, that's a subcommittee meeting. A long one."

He wasn't taking it well, so Fury tried to reassure him. "It might be nothing. It probably is nothing. I just need some time to make sure it's nothing."

"But if it's something?" Pierce asked.

Fury sighed. "Then we will both be damn glad those Helicarriers aren't in the air."

Pierce stared at Fury for a few seconds, considering his request. Finally, he broke the silence. "Fine. But you got to get Iron Man to stop by my niece's birthday party."

Nick Fury nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Pierce turned to head back into the meeting. "And not just a flyby. He's got to mingle."

▲▽▲

After leaving the Smithsonian, Steve went to visit the only person still alive from a time no more.

He sat by Margaret "Peggy" Carter's bed, staring at the framed photographs of her and her husband on her beside table. "You should be proud of yourself, Peggy," said Steve softly.

Peggy hummed. "I have lived a life. My only regret is that you didn't get to live yours." She watched him carefully and immediately noticed the frown on his lips, eyebrows pulled down. "Steve, what is it? How's Christina? I haven't heard to talk about her in awhile. I do wish you'd introduce me to her."

"Things aren't going so well between us, Peggy," said Steve. "I messed up after New York and now it's too late. She's been going on dates with another agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. I waited too long to say something."

"I don't believe that for a second," replied Peggy strongly. "And from what you told me about her, she doesn't seem like the type of person to move on so quickly. It also doesn't sound like you to give up so easily."

Steve shook his head after a long moment of silence. "For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to do what was right. I guess I'm not quite sure what that is anymore. And I thought I could just throw myself back in and follow orders. Serve. It's just not the same."

"Always so dramatic," said Peggy. "You saved the world, Steve. We rather...mucked it up."

"You didn't," Steve disagreed softly. "Knowing that you helped found S.H.I.E.L.D. is half the reason I stay."

"And the other half?" Peggy questioned boldly, but Steve remained silent. "The world has changed so much and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over."

"I don't know what to do, Peggy. I don't know what's right anymore."

▲▽▲

"Secure office," Fury called out.

Christina watched as the windows went black and metal shields dropped over the doors. She received a call from Fury to meet him in his office thirty minutes ago—and for thirty minutes he just stared at her from across his desk. She felt horribly exposed under his gaze and it made her inwardly squirm. She knew better than to show her discomfort as he was assessing her resolve.

He was watching her like she was fly caught in his spider-trap.

Growing agitated by the silence, Christina boldly spoke out: "You wanted to see me, sir."

"Yes, Agent Sitma, I did," replied Fury curtly.

Christina was on the urge of screaming, she knew that she was being accused of something, so he might as well rip off the band-aid and say it. "May I ask why?"

"Of course," said Fury and Christina opened her mouth, but he started speaking again. "But that doesn't mean I will answer."

"Why is that, sir?"

Fury sighed. He opens a drawer, takes out a bottle of bourbon, and sets it on his desk. His hands shake as he pours the amber-colored liquid into a glass. He brings the glass to his lips and takes a small sip, enjoying the way the liquid burns.

S.H.I.E.L.D. sound good on paper. They sold it to him well. He'd get to train young spies. Continue to serve his country.

The Russians have had programs like this for decades, taking orphans, delinquents, or high IQ students and training them. Stripping them of their names and families. Teaching them to be killing machines. To have no consciences. To only do what they are told is best for their country.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to be different—a combination of higher education, clandestine training, boot camp, and finished school. Its graduates would be elite, intelligent, and most of all, lethal.

What he never expected was for them to send her.

At only sixteen.

Her parents had been murdered in Italy when she was only two years old. And somehow, she managed to escape the burning car and live. According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. director at the time, she wasn't allowed to know of her parents or where they came from, so she was told a lie and her parents were given stars on a wall in an office deep underground and a few moments of silence.

During her time training, he's grown to care deeply for Christina and feels more proud of her than he knew possible. He was hard on her, but she had amazed him with her abilities at every turn. He wanted to tell her the trust today. The trust about her. The truth about her parents.

Fury leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on the desk. "Enough questions, Agent Sitma. I have questions of my own to ask now. But before I do, I want you to know that if you tell me, I'll keep you safe."

Christina scoffed loudly before she could stop herself. "What's that supposed to mean? Keep me safe from who?"

"From the person you told you to do it," said Fury simply.

"The person who told me to do what, sir?" asked Christina. She knew that she didn't have much longer before Fury stopped talking, so she needed to try and get as much information out of him while she could. She needed to know why he was accusing her of...whatever he was accusing her of.

"Just give me his name. Atone for what you've done."

"I'm afraid I'm not privy to what you think I've done, sir."

"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be, Agent Sitma," Fury said and she had to fight the smile from forming on her lips. She was making him frustrated—he did not show it—but she knew him too well not to see that her evasive answers were getting under his skin. "Tell me who is giving the orders and I'll keep you safe. I'll keep Captain Rogers safe, as well."

"Sir, may I speak freely before I answer your question."

"Yes, you may."

"It is awfully low of you to bring my relationship with Captain Rogers into this interrogation, sir," said Christina boldly, cheeks reddening with anger. How dare he bring Steve into this, she thought wildly. The man she trusted with her life was now questioning her loyalty.

"Just answer the question, Agent Sitma. Who was the last person you talked to that gave you an order?"

Christina chuckled despite herself. "Well, you did, sir. You gave me the order to assist Agent Romanoff in the task of collecting S.H.I.E.L.D. intel off the pirated Lemurian Star and to hand the hard-drive directly to you."

Christina's never questioned her orders, but in this case, she can't help it. She begins to wonder if her and Natasha shouldn't have gathered the intel off the Lemurian Star at all, or if they handed the hard-drive to the wrong person.

Christina watches as Fury takes another drink, greedily gulping it so he can bring himself to say the words. "Did you know that the hard-drive you and Agent Romanoff gave me was encrypted?"

"And you're suggesting that either Natasha, or myself encrypted it, sir?" Christina asked tensely.

"That's not what I'm suggesting—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but that's bullshit." Christina snapped, teeth clenched. "You think that I don't know what you've been doing this entire time? You didn't train me to be stupid, sir. You trained me to always be aware."

▲▽▲

"The thing is, I think it's getting worse. A cop pulled me over last week. He thought I was drunk," said a woman in the veterans' support group circle. She wrung her hands as Sam listened to every word, nodding for her to continue.

The woman went on. "I swerved to miss a plastic bag. Thought it was an IED...in Falls Church, Virginia," she said, referring to an improvised explosive device. She thought about the numerous times her assault vehicle had to swerve to avoid mines that had been planted in the ground, hidden from sight.

Sam nodded again. He understood all too well how this was second nature to her: to avoid and survive. He turned to group and addressed them. "The deal is, some stuff we leave there. Other stuff we bring back. Our job is to figure out how to carry it." Sam noticed Steve slip in through the back door. "It is going to be in a big suitcase or a little man purse?" Sam said. "It's up to you..." he thanked the group and the meeting ended.

Steve watched the veterans leave, giving them each a thin smile as Sam approached and said, "Look who it is. The Running Man."

"Caught the last few minutes. Pretty intense," Steve said, referring to the meeting he just saw wrap up. He helped Sam fold up the chair from the circle.

"Yeah, brother, we all got the same problems. Guilt...regret..." Sam suddenly became quiet as emotions took over. It was a meeting again, Sam in the circle this time.

Steve saw the change in Sam's face - he knew that look. "You lose someone?"

"My wingman," Sam replied, his face drawn. "Riley. Flying a night mission. Standard PJ - rescue op, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before. Till an RPG knocked Riley's dumbass out of the sky." He shook his head.

"Nothing I could do. It was like I was up there just to watch."

Steve sighed. Soldiers shared a lot with one another. And often one of those things was losing a friend in battle. "I'm sorry."

"After that, I had a really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?"

"But you're happy now, back in the world?" Steve asked.

"The number of people giving me orders is down to about zero. So, hell yeah." He stacked his last chair and realized this wasn't idle talk. "Are you thinking about getting out?"

"No." Steve answered, trying to deny the fact that the thought had crossed his mind. "I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I would do with myself if I did."

"Ultimate Fighting? Just a great idea off the top of my head." Sam said, and Steve chuckled at the idea. "But seriously, you could do whatever you want. What makes you happy?"

Steve thought for a few seconds but only one person came to mind: Christina. Steve slowly shook his head and decided he didn't want to discuss that topic, so he lied. "I don't know."

▲▽▲

Washington D.C. passed by in the reflection of Nick Fury's sleek, state-of-the-art black S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV as he drove a little faster than he normally would. A complex Heads-Up Display, or HUD, flashed on his windshield: altitudes, headings, and numerical codes. It read license plates of passing cars. It scanned faces that walked by on the streets, bringing up their entire history right before Fury's eyes. but he paid this unlimited information no mind. He was bothered by Steve's comments back at the Triskelion. Was Steve right? Would more lives be in jeopardy due to Project Insight?

Fury sighed. Then he spoke to the digital windshield. "Open secure line 0405."

A live feed of Nick Fury's second-in-command, Maria Hill, appeared in the corner.

"This is Hill."

"I need you in D.C.," Fury said. "Deep Shadow Conditions."

Hill knew this was serious. "Give me four hours."

"You have three. Over."

Fury hung up the call and stopped at an intersection. A police car pulled up alongside his SUV and the cop leaned in a bit toward Nick. He eyed the officer suspiciously.

"You wanna see my lease?" Fury said nonchalantly.

The cop glared; then his partner picked up a call. Their siren blared and they squealed away. Fury smirked. "Humph."

Suddenly...

BAM!

A police car smashed into Fury's driver's-side door, causing the SUV to sideswipe a nearby mailbox and crumple a phone pole. Fury, wearing a seat belt, was shaken up but unharmed. He looked around, then, suddenly...BAM! A second cop car slammed into the SUV, this time from the front. Then a third car crashed it from behind. This was an attack.

Fury clawed his way out from behind the air bag that had exploded to protect him. Fractured date splintered across his spider-webbed windshield. Numbers and colors flickered as a warning sign flashed in the corner.

"Ulnar fracture detected," said a computerized voice as an image of Fury's wounded arm appeared on the cracked HUD. A first-aid kit popped out from a hidden console. Fury grabbed a syringe and jabbed it into his arm, helping relieve the immense pain from the fracture, if just for a few minutes. He turned and watched the first cop car screech backward.

Was it preparing to ram the SUV--again?

Fury braced for impact.

Suddenly, a SWAT van pulled up at his side and full-body-armored police piled out armed with assault rifles. The bulletproof glass cracked as thousands of rounds hammered Fury's window.

"Get me out of here." Fury demanded.

"Propulsion system offline," the computer replied as the video screen went blank.

"Then reboot, dammit."

Suddenly, the guns stopped firing.

Fury caught his breath, but only for a second. Two cops jumped out of the SWAT van and carried a large, menacing device to Fury's SUV.

Metallic legs sprang from the device and anchored to the asphalt.

BLAM!

A high-tech battering ram smashed into Fury's window.

"Warning. Window integrity compromised. Door damaged."

"You think?" Fury fired back at the computer. "How long till propulsion?"

"Calculating."

The futuristic-looking ram hummed as it recoiled back and then violently bashed the window again.

BLAM!

"Window integrity thirty-one percent. Deploying countermeasures--"

"Hold that order!" Fury shouted.

BLAM!

The glass splintered. Dozens of cops moved toward the crackling window.

"Window integrity at nineteen percent. Countermeasures advised," the computer stated.

"Wait," Fury said calmly as he watched the cops close in even more, crowding the driver's window. Facial recognition scans read: "Assailants Unknown."

The ram hammered again.

BLAM!

"Window integrity one percent."

"Now!"

An assault rifle sprang from the center console and Fury opened fire, shattering the window and pushing back the "cops." He reached for a grenade launcher and blasted the SWAT vehicle, flipping it in the air. The digital HUD within the SUV flickered back to life: "Propulsion reboot complete. Propulsion system online."

"Full acceleration!" Fury cried. The SUV squealed away, steering itself, which was ideal for Fury since he couldn't see through the splintered windshield anyway.

"Hostiles in pursuit," said the computer as Fury looked back to see the "cops" tearing after him in hot pursuit.

Fury turned back to the HUD. "Initiate vertical takeoff."

"Flight system damaged," the computer responded.

"Then activate guidance cameras and give me the wheel," Fury demanded as he grabbed the wheel, a string of groans escaping his mouth as his fractured arm smacked against the console.

A small video screen rose from the dash. Cameras displayed alternate angles of the car's rear, side, and front views. Fury weaved through the traffic, navigating by the screen.

"Multiple pedestrians, fifty yards."

Fury swerved, laying on the horn. Two cop cars pulled up on either side of him. A gunman leaned out of the squad car and opened fire at his driver's window. Fury dodged the attacked and leaned out, punched the gunman, who fell back into his car as the three vehicles, now tightly locked together, barreled down the street. The video monitor blinked as it showed an oncoming intersection just a few hundred feet away.

"Intersection approaching," the computer warned him. "Multiple collisions expected."

Fury slammed on the brakes and sent the two police cars hurtling into the intersection, unable to stop. Their tires screeched as smoke rose from underneath the vehicles. CLASH! The cars smashed and flipped into each other, causing traffic to come to a squealing halt.

Fury spun his SUV around a corner. The screen flashed to its rearview angle and showed nothing coming. Fury smiled, momentarily clear. Then, suddenly...

"Obstruction ahead. Ninety-five yards. Origin unknown."

Fury's screen snapped back to forward view and revealed a masked man with a high-tech launcher standing in the middle of the road. The assassin fired and a black disk slid into the street.

"Incoming projectile detected."

The disk shot under the SUV and unleashed a fiery explosion, causing the vehicle to cartwheel and skid down the street. Sparks flew everywhere as Fury shielded his eyes. Finally, the SUV came to a stop upside down with Nick hanging from his seat belt as his screen went dark. In the rearview mirror he saw black combat boots approaching.

His face in shadow, the assassin walked calmly toward the SUV, his boots impacting debris and crunching glass beneath his feet.

The assassin dropped the high-tech launcher and pulled out a pistol and, with his other hand, which was made entirely of metal, wrenched the driver's-side door clear from its frame. But Fury was gone. Inside, a perfect square that glowed blue where Fury had sliced a hole in the roof of the SUV and the street below.

The assassin stared at the hole--listening to the sewers. Fury had escaped. For now.

▲▽▲

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