Chapter 16: Nick Fury's Ghosts
Coulson rummaged through scattered papers and
declassified folders—the archaeological remains of Fury's legacy spread across his
desk like crime scene evidence. The chaos before him told a story of its own. Mission
reports dating back to Fury’s early days as Director, personnel files of agents
long buried, encrypted documents that never saw the light of day.
May's stealthy entrance barely disturbed the dust
motes dancing in the sunbeams, let alone alerted Coulson of her presence. She placed
a file on his desk with the soft finality of a medical examiner's preliminary
findings.
"The mission report you wanted. Rogers, Romanoff,
and your pet project, Y/N."
May's choice of words—pet project—carried several
layers of the psychological reasoning behind your recruitment. She knew it. He
knew it. But neither were prepared to stir up that hornet’s nest.
Coulson flipped through the report immediately,
skimming the pages until he found what he was searching for—Steve’s conclusion.
"Damn near flawless..." he murmured, more
to himself than to May, lingering on the tactical success metrics. "And
this is her first mission with that 'OmniSight' invention?"
"Beginner's luck? Isn't the programme supposed
to do all the work, anyway?"
Coulson shifted his weight from one foot to the
other. He’d spent years studying the complex intersection of human capability
and technological advancement. “No…” he finally responded. “There’s more to it.
Even if it is Stark’s tech, processing all the information simultaneously
requires a certain skill.”
He paused, his gaze drifting to the wall of screens
behind his desk, each displaying different surveillance feeds from around the
facility. "Look at them... We train our analysts to process several
streams of incoming information. We train them to read, to sift, show
them what to look out for…”
"Just the other day, you told us she's shown 'remarkable
analytical skills and an unprecedented capacity for understanding complex
scientific data'," May challenged, quoting Coulson’s own words. "You
said she has potential and needs structured observation. Correct me if I'm
wrong, but weren't those your words verbatim?"
Coulson shook his head, tossing his passport and
personal documentation into an open briefcase. "The way she saved the
Bus... it wasn't just instinct. She knew exactly what to do, where the supplies
were, how the systems worked. That doesn't happen without prior training."
"Maybe she had a similar role somewhere else
before the Avengers picked her up."
"That's what I'm thinking too… But somewhere a
little closer to home."
May tilted her head, crossing her arms as she
watched him closely. "What, here? From S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Coulson’s gaze sharpened then, voice lowering as if
the walls had ears. "You remember how Fury operated. Recruiting agents off
the books, sending them into deep cover. No ID, no ties to S.H.I.E.L.D. whatsoever.
No proof they even existed."
"Sleeper agents."
"Exactly. I mean, hypothetically, if she were
one of Fury's contingency plans…"
"…she'd have no history. No paper trail…"
"…And now she's running missions like she's
been doing this for years."
May remained pensive. In her line of work,
coincidences collected like scar tissue, masquerading as a byproduct of serendipity.
In your case, your impossible competence, the seamless integration with OmniSight,
the ghost-like absence of a verifiable past…
Her mind dissected the familiar patterns. Fury had
always moved his pieces across the board in careful, incremental shifts that
only revealed their true significance in retrospect. He was rarely one for bold
strokes. Like a masterful diagnostician, he'd had an uncanny ability to plant
sleeper agents exactly where they'd be needed, years before the need arose. And
if she was honest with herself, your profile fit perfectly. Highly skilled
operative, compartmentalised memories, autonomous yet inexplicably aligned with
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s deepest interests.
"That's a big leap, Phil. What's your next
move?"
Coulson paused, his jaw tightening as he made a
decision. "Find out who she really is. And if Fury had a hand in
this..."
"You sure you want to dive head-first into one
of Fury's rabbit holes?" May asked calmly, but with a hint of concern. “Near
the end, he was uncharacteristically withdrawn and sounded more like one of Brynmore’s
patients.”
Coulson leaned forward, his voice resolute as he
lifted his gaze to meet with hers. "If Y/N’s one of Fury's ghosts, yes. I
need to know what she's here for. And who else might be watching her."
Dawn crawled across the Avengers Compound just as
Tony caught sight of Steve crossing the courtyard, his tactical suit still
bearing the subtle markers of recent combat stress.
"Mission report looks solid,” Tony called out.
“No major casualties, no property damage… How was it? Working with her, I mean."
Steve stopped, turning to face him. "It's like
I said in the report. Y/N performed well. Really well."
"Like, suspiciously well?"
Steve sighed, though he couldn’t help his lips from
quirking upward in slight amusement. "Is that what Nat said? She's not
exactly thrilled about the new arrangement, is she?"
"Oh, she didn't have to say much. Her eyebrow
of disapproval did all the talking. Between that, her scant report, and staying
over at Barnes’ every night, there’s only one thing to infer…”
Tony's words instantly struck a nerve. Nat had
always been more than just a partner. She was Steve’s constant, his voice of
reason when missions went sideways. "Ride-or-die," she'd called it
once, with that trademark smirk that somehow made the sentiment more genuine.
Even after she and Bucky found each other, Nat remained Steve's compass. The
one who called him on his bullshit, who made the hard calls he sometimes
couldn't with little to no emotion.
Times Square flashed vividly in his mind. The duffel
bag, you inside it, the way he and Nat had locked eyes and just known.
They'd been in perfect sync then, reading the same signs, following the same
instincts honed through years of dealing with potential threats. Their mutual
distrust had been automatic, practical. Hand you over. Walk away. Let someone
else deal with this mess.
But something had changed in those weeks that
followed. Steve's certainty had eroded, replaced by... something else. A shift
so gradual he barely noticed it happening, until one day he looked up and realised
his whole perspective had transformed. It was the kind of change that defied
explanation, that made him question his own judgment even as he grew more
convinced he was right.
"You're saying no hiccups, no hesitation, no
'own goals'? First live mission, and she was cool as a cucumber?" Tony
pressed, watching him with those too-sharp eyes.
"I'm saying she kept her head when most rookies
would've panicked. She tracked threats in real-time, coordinated movements...
That's not suspicious, Tony, that's preparation. We trained her well. You
trained her well."
"Or experience? You sure she hasn't done
this before?"
Steve took a moment, weighing each observation, each
interaction that had led them here. "Her instincts are sharp, I'll give
you that. But I get the impression she's just figuring out her place... and
working overtime to gain everyone's approval. I’d say she's almost desperate
for it. Can’t help but feel bad for her."
Above them, the compound's security system whirred
through its morning checks, indifferent to the doubts and suspicions brewing
below. Just another day of mystery and paranoia playing their endless game of
cat and mouse.
Tony shifted his weight, his eyes darting between
the security cameras. When he spoke again, his voice remained deceptively
casual. "You think OmniSight's ready for the big leagues?"
"What do you mean?" Steve frowned, feeling
the conversation pivot.
"The New York Cybersecurity Summit… Stark
Industries is sponsoring it this year, and I was thinking of introducing
OmniSight. You know, not just using it as a tactical advantage for the team,
but something bigger. Homeland Security, Department of Defence, NATO..."
Steve's frown deepened, the strategist in him
automatically logging potential vulnerabilities. "Tony, we've barely
scratched the surface of what it can do. Is it impressive? Yeah, sure. But I
don't know if it's ready for that kind of spotlight. A room full of defence
contractors and government officials."
A grin spread across Tony's face. "Then it's a
gamble, Rogers. But I'd bet on my tech any day. Besides, if it can do half of
what she made it do last night, it'll sell itself."
Steve recognised this mood in Tony all too well. It
was Ultron all over again—the convergence of innovation and ambition that could
either revolutionise the world or destroy it in one fell swoop. He'd seen it
before. They all had. Watched similar gambles play out on scales ranging from
miraculous to catastrophic.
"You're really going through with this?"
"Oh, I'm already booked to demo it. Press
invites are out, banners printed. It's happening. And if it works as
advertised? Let's just say we're about to change the future of
cybersecurity."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
The gym's morning quiet had become a meditation of
sorts. Just you, the steady thud of wrapped fists against leather, and Ward's
watchful presence on the other side of the bag. Your knuckles found their
rhythm against the punching bag, each impact sending tiny shockwaves up your
arms. You'd started these sessions partly because Ward said you needed the
practice, but mostly because he had a way of making even criticism feel like
solidarity.
"Hands up. Posture straight. Don't let your
guard drop. It's not just about power, it's about control," Ward
commanded, slipping between instructor and conspirator every few seconds.
"Control. Right,” you exhaled sharply between
punches. “That's what Natasha was reminding me about the entire mission."
And by reminding, you meant shamelessly drilling into your skull from take-off
to touch down.
Ward's slight grin was audible in his voice. "Oh?
Sounds like she was giving you her special brand of tough love."
"If by tough love, you mean nitpicking
everything I did, then yeah. She's real generous with it."
"Oh, yeah. I'm familiar." Ward adjusted
his stance, compensating for your increasing force. "I think it took her
six months before she even acknowledged my existence. And even that was just to
tell me I didn't have clearance to be on the floor. What she do to you?"
You paused for a moment, using the excuse of wiping
sweat from your brow to collect your thoughts. The memory was still fresh,
still stinging like a paper cut that wouldn't heal. "Okay, so I'm tracking
Steve's every step... essentially doing my job, right?" The words tumbled
out between controlled breaths. "And she goes, 'He's been doing this
since before you were born. Maybe give him some space to breathe.' Like,
seriously? What was I supposed to do, ignore the man?"
Ward scoff-laughed, shaking his head. "She
actually said that to your face? Well, not to your face, but..."
The next punch landed harder than you'd intended,
your frustration finding physical form. "Over comms, yeah. Loud and clear
for everyone to hear. And Steve didn't even say anything. He just let her
steamroll me." You'd replayed Steve’s silence a hundred times since, analysing
it like one of OmniSight’s diagnostic readouts.
"Classic Rogers-Romanoff. Look, don't take it
personally. She's not exactly the nurturing type. If she's throwing jabs, it
means she's testing you."
A sarcastic laugh escaped your lips. "Great... ‘Cause
I just love. Being. Her personal. Punching bag." Though, if you were brave
enough to be perfectly frank with Ward, you'd much rather have her open
hostility than her indifference. At least antagonism meant she was acknowledging
you.
"Don't let her get in your head. She's had her
guard up for a long time. It's just her way of keeping people at arm's
length."
Something in his tone made you ease up slightly,
your punches slowing as you absorbed his words. "Yeah, I get that. Doesn't
make it any easier, though."
"Hey, if it were easy, you wouldn't be here,
now would you? They wouldn’t have offered you that proposition and you wouldn’t
be working alongside New York’s finest. Now, keep those hands up. And remember,
if you can handle Nat, you can handle anything."
A faint smirk tugged at your lips as you found your
rhythm again, each punch more forceful than the last.
Easy was for the weak. The apathetic. The undetermined.
And you were everything but. You remembered the day in the library. That hunger
for purpose and power. It was damn near orgasmic. So what if today was just another
day of training, of proving, of trying to carve out your place in a world that
seemed determined to keep you guessing? At least now, with your new designation
and resources literally at your fingertips, you weren't punching completely in
the dark anymore. And people like Natasha Romanoff...? Well, they would soon be
eating their words.
Thank you so much for reading! 🙏 Your support means the world to me, so if you enjoyed this chapter, please show some love by liking the video and leaving a comment with your thoughts… 🎥💖
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