Man Out of Time - A Captain America / Avengers Fanfiction

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Bodies. Three dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lay at the foot of the stairwell, barely a mark on them. What had happened here? And how had the Chitauri managed to breach the ship so quickly? The Triskelion was designed to thwart this kind of frontal attack!

Natasha?

No. Steve pushed the errant thought out of his mind. Natasha had been with Fury when the incident occurred. He'd watched the gliders come in and open fire from across the harbor. It was bad enough he felt uneasy about Natasha ever since she'd been injured, but now it appeared they had mole in their midst. The hatch he'd dove through should have been locked down the moment S.H.I.E.L.D. realized the ship was under attack.

Sirens indicated someone had given the alarm. The only light in the dim hallway came from flashing red lights, the stench of smoke giving the facility an insidious feel. He leaned against the wall for support, getting his bearings as he took the weight off his leg and enjoyed the absence of pain shooting all the way up to his crotch. Broken? Or just a sprain? The latter, he hoped. At least he could walk so long as he didn't keep any weight on the injured limb. He fished his cell phone out of his soggy pocket, thankful Fury had made him get one that was waterproof. It lit up, but no bars. Broken? Or were the Chitauri blocking the signal?

Where was everybody? It was Sunday, a time when staffing was normally pretty low. It was also a few days before Thanksgiving. Many S.H.I.E.L.D. members had taken the week off to fly home to spend time with their families. The aliens must have been aware of this weakness and chosen to attack while their ranks were thin. But why? What was important about this facility, other than the fact it provided a base of command close to a major metropolitan area?

Steve had navigated the fortress many times, but this was his first time coming in through something other than the front door. He examined the signs on the doors, some hinting at what lay within, others having an obscure alpha-numeric code. C-421. Fourth-level deck, third spiral arm of the triangle, room 21. He needed to get to A-217, the room where they stored his armor. Down two levels and across the heart of the fortress. Leaning against the wall to take pressure off his injured leg, Steve moved through the ship, his breathing ragged as daggers shot up his leg.

He paused when he got to the junction of the three wings. Footsteps marched in unison, more than Steve could hope to take on in his compromised condition. He faded into the shadows, holding his breath so his ragged breathing wouldn't alert them to his presence. Three soldiers passed, wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms, but something about the way they marched gave Steve pause. Most S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were former military, but even the lowest-ranking agent tended to be a bit of a misfit like Hawkeye or Natasha. They were the elite, and they frequently had the egos to go with that. That meant agents didn't usually march in orderly lines unless they were doing a training drill.

His suspicions were confirmed with the group stepped over a body without pausing to check the man's pulse. Yes. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been infiltrated. He waited until they moved into one of the wings before moving across the large central chamber. The click of a safety being slipped off an automatic weapon inches from the back of his head made him freeze.

"Who's the president of the United States?" a voice hissed. A voice that was familiar.

"Franklin Delano Roosevelt," Steve said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Clint. Don't scare me like that."

"Sorry," Clint said, holstering his weapon. "Had to make sure it was really you."

Clint gestured for him to follow, hurrying down the hall until he got to one of the anonymous doorways. Tapping twice, pausing, and then tapping once, he counted to three and then slipped inside, tugging Steve in behind him and shutting the door with a soft 'click.' He fiddled on the table, clicking on a small battery lantern.