CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHIELD COMPROMISED

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     Natasha was not answering her phone.

That in of itself wasn't strange. Riley had known her a handful of years, and he knew that she didn't answer her phone often, if at all. Not unless she was on a mission and it was her job phone, of which she answered plenty. But Riley knew for a fact that she wasn't on a new mission, because she always said goodbye to him before she went off. He grew more and more nervous as he tried and failed to get her to answer her phone. He had avoided taking his car, instead slipping into a hoodie and jogging pants and slipping out onto the open sidewalk. He kept a lookout for anyone following him, and altered the light around him to make himself invisible whenever he thought it was needed. Nathan had tried to follow him at first—still doing his job, even after he'd been caught—but Riley lost him fairly easily, with a little light trick and slipping into the right building and out the back. Now, he had his hoodie up and his headphones in. He was nothing but a late-night jogger, keeping his head lowered to avoid directly looking at road cameras.

His mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to make sense of everything he had learned the last few hours. Nick Fury had been in a car accident, and he'd been having both Steve and Riley watched by agents. For their protection, Nathan had said, but protection from what? Steve's identity as Captain America was already out there—he had been doing commercials and such for money until his paychecks from S.H.I.E.L.D. had started clearing—and his name had been clear in the credits. Not to mention he was a historical hero; the press had a field day when they finally figured out that the great Captain America was seemingly back from the dead. Riley's identity as Solar, on the other hand, was secure as ever. He checked every other day, and any camera footage anyone had gotten of his face was fuzzy at best. The only one who had gotten a clear look at him was the kid, Miles Morales, who had done nothing but give him the name Solar. Natasha was the same way, and any enemies who did recognize her face never lived long enough to tell anyone else.

Riley puffed his breath evenly as he continued jogging, as he continued thinking. He was missing something vital here, so he went back to Nathan. Nathan had been appointed for protection by Nick Fury. Steve had been assigned Sharon Carter for protection as well. As far as he knew, Natasha didn't have the same treatment, but Riley and Steve had something that Natasha did not—powers. Steve had everything a super serum entailed, and Riley could control elements from the sun. Perhaps they were being protected because of that; from potential threats from enemies that disliked their superpowers. But that didn't explain Nathan's lack of...well, talent. He had been so easy to lose when he had tried to follow. Even without his powers, Riley could've lost him with his eyes closed. Why would Fury have chosen an agent less skilled than Riley himself to protect him? It made no sense.

Unless Nick Fury didn't trust any of the agents, so he chose people that Steve and Riley could protect themselves against. Riley came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, making a show of bending down to rest his hands against his knees, as if he was catching his breath. That made more sense. Fury was infamously paranoid. And Riley knew now it wasn't without reason, considering someone had tried to assassinate him through his window. Fury's car accident didn't seem like an accident now. If Fury knew something he wasn't supposed to, was suspicious enough to distrust his own agents, then they'd probably targeted him, too. After all, Fury's car was built like a tank, and he was a careful driver. No accident would make Fury go missing.

Natasha was nowhere to be found—no doubt too busy worrying about Nick Fury—so Riley altered his route and went to the only other person he could trust. If Riley's growing paranoia was right, then Steve was probably next, working under the assumption that the same people after Riley were the same people after Steve. Riley only made a detour down the opposite block to throw his phone into a trashcan, and then he was circling around and around, taking random routes until he found one that would lead him to Steve's apartment. When he reached the building, he ran up the stairs, taking three at a time until he reached Steve's floor. He was panting for breath by then, sweat sticking to his skin. It was only when he was in Steve's hallway, with the lack of cameras and the lack of windows, that Riley finally threw the hood of his hoodie back.

There was music coming from inside Steve's apartment, some old record from the time he had been frozen. Riley, forfeiting manners for a moment, tried the handle to his apartment door, only to find it locked. Frustrated, Riley regained some of his senses and chose to knock instead of kicking Steve's door down. There was no response, so Riley knocked harder. He barely stopped himself from continuing and shouting, and that was only because it would definitely draw unnecessary attention to himself. Grunting, he slumped down in the hallway corner and brought his knees up to his chest. Steve wasn't answering the door, which likely meant he wasn't even home. Riley would sit here all night and wait if he had to.

He didn't bother trying to contact Natasha again, with a payphone or otherwise. It had been half an hour since he had first started to call her. If she hadn't responded yet, it meant that she was off the grid entirely. Aside from Maria Hill, who was in New York, he had no idea who else to call. The Avengers? What could he even say? That his boyfriend turned out to be a spy and now he was experiencing Nick Fury-level paranoia? Tony would laugh in his face, Bruce would just reassure him, Clint was with his family, and Thor was on an entirely different planet. All he had was Steve and Natasha.

He heard something then. A grinding sound. He glanced up, then sighed in absolute relief when the elevator doors opened and Steve came out. He seemed fine, even in a good mood judging from his low whistling, but that would likely change in a few minutes. Riley didn't care. He was on his feet instantly. He didn't know what came over him then. Relief, maybe. His adrenaline crashing on him, surely. He wasn't sure. All he knew was that, the second he was in reaching distance, his careful control fell apart. He was throwing himself at Steve a second later, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding on as tightly as he could. Steve wasn't Natasha, but he was good enough.

"Woah, hey," Steve said, surprised. Riley was shaking, though he wasn't crying. He had more control than that, at least. Steve hesitated, only for a second, and then carefully hugged Riley back, as if he was afraid he would hurt him. One hand rubbed at Riley's back, and the other landed on the back of his head. "Riley, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Riley let out a hollow laugh. The answer to that last question depended entirely on what type of hurt Steve was referring to.

"I need to talk to you," Riley murmured into his chest. "I really need to talk to you."

"Okay," Steve said immediately. He dug his keys out of his jacket pocket, and Riley finally pulled away from him. He was mildly embarrassed over the hug now. Riley had just desperately needed something comforting, and Steve was good at that. At comforting people, making them feel safe. Steve kept a hand on Riley's shoulder as Riley turned to head for his apartment door. It was a solid thing, grounding. Riley clung to it and took a deep breath. Steve offered Riley his apartment door keys, and Riley took it with shaking fingers. He was trying and failing to get the key into the lock—Steve would protect his back if something happened—when his neighbor's door opened, and a woman's voice floated out. Riley whirled, nearly dropping the keys. Steve squeezed his shoulder comfortingly and turned to speak to Sharon Carter, who was coming out of her apartment wearing scrubs and holding a bin of laundry.

"My aunt," Sharon said sheepishly, holding up her phone once the call ended. "She's kind of an insomniac." She and Steve shared a smile, and for a brief moment, Steve completely forgot about Riley's existence. Riley rolled his eyes and turned his back to the two of them, shoving the key into the lock.

"Hey, if you want..." Steve said hesitantly. "If you want, you can use my machine. I'm sure it's cheaper than the one in the basement."

"Oh, yeah? What's it cost?"

"A cup of coffee?" Steve asked hopefully. Any other day, Riley would've teased him for it, made a joke. Now, Riley was just frustrated. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline crash.

"Thank you, but, um, I already have a load in downstairs, and you really don't want my scrubs in your machine. I just finished a rotation in the infectious disease ward, so..."

"Ah, well," Steve said cheerfully, "I'll keep my distance."

"Hopefully, not too far," Sharon said. She turned to leave. Riley was about to turn and shove the keys into Steve's hands when Sharon added, "Oh, and I think you left your stereo on."

"Oh, right," Steve said. "Thank you." They waited until Sharon was gone, and then Steve was reaching over Riley's shoulder and taking the keys from his grasp himself. A moment later, Steve was moving Riley behind him completely. Steve had shifted so quickly into a fighting stance that it took a moment for Riley's panicked brain to catch up. "I didn't leave my stereo on," he explained quietly, and just like that, Riley was focused again. His panic went somewhere else, behind a locked door Riley wouldn't open again, and then he was reaching for the gun at his hip. Steve eyed him curiously. "Can you pick a lock?" Riley shot him a disbelieving look, because of course he knew how to pick a lock. Steve shook his head. "Come on. We're going in through the fire escape."

Steve led the way. They had to go down another level to find a window in the hall that led to the fire escape, and then Steve showed him how to climb up to Steve's apartment window. Riley picked the lock easily—it was barely a lock at all, and Riley told Steve so—and then Steve was easing into his apartment, right into the kitchen. Riley followed him through the window, then watched as Steve smoothly picked up his shield. They fell into formation so easily that one would've thought they had trained together all their lives. The music was still playing. Steve peered around the corner first, and as soon as Riley saw his body relax and lean against the wall, Riley peered around Steve's shoulder as well. His breath rushed out of him in relief. Nick Fury was sitting in a chair pushed against the corner, right beside a record player.

"Oh my god," Riley breathed, lowering his gun and stepping further into the room. The only thing that stopped him was Nick Fury raised a single hand. The order was clear. Stop. Riley did, rocking back on his heels. He was confused, only briefly, before he realized: a window was separating them. He didn't want Riley stepping in front of it. Remembering being shot at through his own window just a few hours ago, he stepped back to Steve's side, choosing to stay there for the time being.

"I don't remember giving you a key," Steve said as a hello. Nick grunted in pain as he pushed up from the chair, though he didn't stand, not yet.

"Did you really think I'd need one?" Fury demanded, resting his weight on the armrest. After a brief moment of silence, Fury said, "My wife kicked me out." There was a beat of silence. Riley frowned at him.

"Didn't know you were married," Steve commented. He was still leaning casually against the wall, but he hadn't dropped his shield. Not yet. Riley's grip tightened on his gun, his finger lying flat beside the trigger.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," Fury said, which was true, at least. Riley studied the shadows of Steve's apartment. He couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched. Fury surely felt it as well. Why else would he be speaking in code? Nick Fury would never admit to anyone if he had a wife.

"I know, Nick," Steve sighed, pushing away from the wall and flipped a light switch. It turned the lamp beside Fury on. "That's the problem." Steve turned to continue questioning him, but paused when he saw Fury's face. His face was cut and bloody, and he was nursing his left arm against his abdomen in a way that suggested it was dislocated. Steve sucked in a sharp breath to ask what happened—he clearly hadn't heard of Fury's car troubles—but Fury raised a hand to shush him, before slowly leaning over to flick the lamp back off. Nick then pulled out his phone and started typing; Riley and Steve both leaned forward. Fury had typed only two words.

EARS EVERYWHERE.

Steve's apartment was bugged, then. Riley wondered if his own apartment was bugged as well. Probably. SHIELD tended to bug all their agents, in some way. Steve started looking around his apartment, as if he could see where they had bugged him. Where SHIELD had bugged him. Riley frowned and motioned for Nick to throw him his phone. He did, and Riley typed out his own question, his own theory. Nick Fury was hiding, and he was hiding inside of Steve's apartment for a reason. He had told Steve that SHIELD had bugged his apartment. Biting his bottom lip, Riley returned the phone to Fury, who caught it in one hand.

IS SHIELD COMPROMISED, was what Riley had asked.

Nick Fury gave him a single nod, and Riley felt his heart break in two.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," Nick continued, erasing only one word in Riley's message before turning it toward Steve, "but I have nowhere else to go." Riley watched Steve read the message of SHIELD being compromised, his own lungs feeling constricted. He had been with SHIELD since he was eighteen, fresh out of a horror movie, and it had been his home ever since. He couldn't quite wrap his head around this. Around enemies being inside of SHIELD. Controlling things, judging by the attack on Fury, the attack on himself.

"Who else knows about your wife?" Steve asked carefully. Nick rose from the chair, painfully, and Riley fought the urge to go to him, to help.

"Just..." Fury turned the phone as he approached them, revealing that only the three of them knew. It was only supposed to be Steve, Riley realized with a start. Nick hadn't foreseen Riley being here with him, hadn't planned it. He must have decided to trust him, at least with this much. He didn't think Riley was his enemy. He wondered if he should feel touched. "...my friends."

"Is that what we are?" Steve asked carefully. "Friends?"

"That's up to you," Nick offered—and then a gunshot rang through the air, the wall at Nick Fury's back exploding inward in drywall and dust. They had been so focused on the window that they hadn't even thought the bullets would come from somewhere else. Riley ducked instinctively, diving behind the couch nearby, as two more gunshots rang out. They had hit Nick, all three of them. One had hit his shoulder, and the other two had gone into his back. As soon as they had all fallen to the floor—below the line of sight of the window, Riley noted—the gunshots ceased. The assassin sent had no clear line of sight anymore; they had calculated where Nick Fury was by watching Riley and Steve through the window, watching where their eyes followed. There was only one assassin Riley knew of that was that good, but he couldn't think of that now. He just grabbed one of Nick's wrist, Steve grabbing the other, and together, they dragged him out of the living room and into the kitchen, where there was more cover and less windows.

When they were finished, Riley knelt beside Nick and tried to find any exit wounds. There weren't any, not on his front, but blood was collecting below him on Steve's kitchen floor. Riley reached for his phone to call an ambulance, but cursed himself when he remembered he had ditched it. He reached for Nick's phone instead, patting at his pockets, and he only stopped when he saw Fury grab at Steve's wrist when he rose up to leave. To give chase to the shooter, most likely, knowing him. Riley raised his eyes and saw that Nick was offering Steve the very flash-drive Riley and Natasha had risked their lives securing important information onto.

"Don't..." Nick breathed, blood on his lips, "trust...anyone."

"We know," Riley said, shooting Steve a look. Steve looked stunned, unprepared. Riley had expected him to snap into focus by now, but he hadn't been prepared for this. For people coming after any of his friends, watching his apartment. Riley hadn't had time to explain. Riley was idly aware that someone was banging on Steve's front door, but he ignored it to look down at Nick again. "Help will be here soon. You're gonna be fine, Nick, and then I'm gonna yell at you about my boyfriend. That was sick, you piece of shit." Nick chuckled weakly, more blood flying from his mouth. A bullet must have punctured a lung.

"Didn't tell him..." Nick struggled to say, "to...date..."

"Yeah, yeah," Riley dismissed. His hands were shaking, but he took one of Nick's regardless, gripping it tightly. He heard the front door kick in then, banging against the wall. Riley looked up. Steve as peering around the corner. A familiar voice floated through the apartment.

"Captain Rogers?" Sharon called. Riley peered up around the island counter and saw her turned from the small hall in front of the door, a gun raised and aimed. She saw Steve and slowed, though she kept approaching, her gun raised and ready. "Captain, I'm Agent 13 of SHIELD. Special Service."

"Kate?" Steve asked, confused. Sharon must've seen that the danger hadn't come from inside the apartment, because she lowered her gun and sped up.

"I'm assigned to protect you," Sharon explained quickly, brushing past him. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Nick bleeding out, and Riley kneeling beside him, holding his hand.

"On whose orders?" Steve demanded immediately. That was important, Riley realized. He found that he was dazed, his focus gone as soon as he realized Nick was dying in front of him. Riley could've cauterized the wounds, he supposed, but that would've required turning Nick over, and there was no telling what that would've done. And cauterizing the wound would do nothing to help the bullet that had punctured a lung.

"His," Sharon whispered. Riley nearly shagged with relief. Nick had chosen her personally. That was good. She could be trusted, then, couldn't she? On some level? Sharon knelt beside Riley, reached out to check his pulse—Nick was unconscious now, his hand limp in Riley's own—and then she pulled out a radio from her scrubs pocket. "Foxtrot is down, he's unresponsive. I need EMTs."

"Do we have a 20 on the shooter?" the dispatcher asked. Riley thought nothing of it at first, until he remembered Sharon's exact words.

"Tell him I'm in pursuit," Steve ordered, and then he was gone, crashing through a window to follow said shooter. Sharon relayed the message, then continued to check Nick's vitals. Riley watched her. It took him a moment to find his words.

"How did the dispatcher know," he whispered finally, "that there was a shooter?" Sharon stared at him uncomprehendingly for a while, and then her face smoothed out. "Did you tell them there were gunshots? Please tell me you told them there were gunshots."

"No," Sharon said grimly. "I didn't."

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Hours later, Riley was at the hospital, sitting on the floor right beneath the viewing window. Behind the glass, Nick was in surgery, the doctors doing everything they could to save him. Riley's head was pounding, his heart in his throat, his mind a mess of paranoia and dark thoughts. Steve was standing beside him, watching the doctors closely. Steve had already gone over his chase with the shooter, had described him. Strong, fast, metal arm. Strong enough to catch Steve's shield, then throw it back hard enough to make him slide while standing on concrete. It was the Winter Soldier, an assassin Natasha had faced once, and had warned Riley against. It had to be. Riley couldn't think of any other assassin with a metal arm.

The door flew open then, and Natasha came rushing in. Riley's eyes flew open. They were wet, he realized. He had closed his eyes against the tears, but they were coming now. Natasha immediately looked at him, then sighed and lowered herself into a crouch in front of him. Despite her obvious worry for Nick, her first priority was Riley. She placed her hand on top of his knee and squeezed.

"You alright?" she asked softly. Riley swallowed. It felt hard to. How long had he been subconsciously holding back tears? Ever since they got here, hours ago? No wonder his head was pounding.

"Not really," he admitted, his voice little more than a croak. She leaned forward, her hand still on his knee. Her other hand fell on top of his head, her fingers sinking into his hair, ruffling the strands.

"Come on," Natasha said gently, her hand slipping from his hair. She gently cupped his face, her hand soft against his cheek, and then she patted it softly. "Let's get you up. Come on." Riley tried to resist, but Natasha was already standing, and she was strong. She pulled him up with little effort, then curled her arm around his waist to keep him there. They watched the doctors work for while, silent and tense.

"Is he going to make it?" Natasha asked eventually, her voice strained but cold. Controlled. It was the question all of them was thinking, even Maria Hill, who had flown from New York as quickly as possible and had been on her phone ever since, rattling off orders.

"I don't know," Steve admitted. Riley couldn't speak. Nick had lost so much blood before the ambulance had gotten there.

"Tell me about the shooter," Natasha said calmly.

"He's fast," Steve said, leaning his hands on the railing below the window. "Strong. Had a metal arm." Riley felt Natasha go still beside him. She had realized the same thing he did. He didn't look at her. He kept staring at Nick's face. Maria had finally hung up her phone, and now she joined them at the window.

"Ballistics?" Natasha asked her.

"Three slugs," Maria said. "No rifling. Completely untraceable."

"Soviet made," Natasha whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maria turn to stare at Natasha in surprise, wondering how she knew that. By then, Riley was barely listening. Something was wrong inside of the operating room. The monitors were blaring, and the doctors had stopped working on his insides in favor of reaching for a defibrillator. He heard the nurses say something rushed—something about his heart, something was wrong with it—but Riley could only stare. No, was all he could think, over and over again. No. No.

"Don't do this to me, Nick," Natasha whispered beside him. She kept whispering it, over and over, to herself. Like a prayer. But it did nothing. Nick was no longer there to listen, the heart monitor releasing a long sound, the lines flat on the screen. They had called it, after only shocking his heart twice. Riley could no longer look at him on the table, didn't want to. He shook off Natasha's grip and turned, fleeing from the room itself, into the hallway. The air was no fresher out there, and the halls were packed with agents. Everyone had come. Everyone that had heard. Riley wouldn't be surprised if he saw more agents on the roofs outside, watching over the building. He didn't bother finding the waiting room, didn't bother even finding an empty room at all. He just slumped down against the floor again, curling his knees up to his chest, and let the numbness and shock pull him under, staring blankly at the wall across from him all the while.

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He pulled out of it eventually. He didn't know what time it was, but all he knew that it was Steve's voice that got his attention. He was calling Natasha's name. Riley blinked out of his mindless staring and tilted his head up, feeling lost. Steve and Natasha were standing right in front of him, but they didn't seem to notice he was there. Of course they didn't. He was partially hidden, he realized. Curled up under one end of a gurney, his legs pulled in as tightly as possible. Had a nurse put the gurney there, ignoring him, or had he hidden there himself? He didn't know. He couldn't remember.

"Why was Fury in your apartment?" Natasha demanded, staring at Steve suspiciously. Steve shifted on his feet uncomfortably, then shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know," he lied, and god, he would make a terrible spy. It almost made Riley laugh, if he was capable of it in that moment. Natasha smirked at him, clearly realizing the same thing. But she didn't get a chance to call him out on it. Rumlow was there, his earpiece in his ear, guns at his waist.

"Cap," he called. Riley had to tilt his head to see through the gurney bars. "They want you back at SHIELD."

"Yeah, give me a second," Steve said dismissively, turning back toward Natasha.

"They want you now," Rumlow urged. Steve turned to give him a disbelieving look.

"Okay," Steve said coldly. It was enough to satisfy Rumlow, at least, because he turned to leave, not pushing further. Steve turned back to face Natasha, and her smirk had grown wider.

"You're a terrible liar," she said, before she turned to leave, leaving Steve standing there alone. Unaware that Riley was curled up there, watching. A worker was refilling the snack machine nearby. Steve stared at it for a long time, thoughtful, and then he stepped in when the worker was turned away and swiftly deposited something behind the bright pink gum no one seemed to ever buy. Riley watched him leave. Part of him wanted to follow, but he couldn't, not yet. His eyes went back to the snack machine. Slowly, once he was sure Steve and Natasha were both long gone, he uncurled himself—groaning slightly when he realized his muscles were stiff—and dug him wallet out of his pocket. He waited until the worker was done to approach the machine. Still in a slight daze, he pulled out a few wads of cash, found a five, and stuck it into the machine, then pressed the code for the bright pink gum.

It cost him six dollars to get the flash-drive Steve had hidden there. 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Winter Soldier is a bitch to write for. This is unedited, but enjoy!