Chapter Text
Marcia was the kind of person who liked to think of all the possible outcomes of a situation. Overthink, some of her friends and allies would say. It was much better to be prepared than surprised, she would reply. However, Marcia was far from being a fool. There would always be variables that would present themselves after a mission was underway.
For example, one such ‘variable’ was currently unconscious on her sofa. A huge one. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen himself.
Marcia had seen him on TV, in the papers. The accusations that had been flung at him...she wasn’t sure she believed it all. Especially now, with the events that happened earlier that evening.
The people she was after were some of the worst. People that had a part in her being held captive and experimented on for five years of her life. Recently, Marcia found out that she wasn’t the only one, which caused an anger to rise inside of her that had been hard to contain. The thought of anyone else going through what she did made her want to vomit. So she’d been working the case, virtually nonstop. A culmination of leads and intel led her to the warehouse that was not as abandoned as you’d think by looking at it. Marcia found several henchmen already unconscious, and further up she found this man. He had been surrounded by three men with knives and badly injured, falling to a knee as they circled him.
Marcia intervened, using her powers and fighting skills to defeat them. As she heard sirens in the distance, she grabbed the now unconscious man and surrounded them with a barrier before jumping out of the five story window. Taking convoluted backways and using most of her energy to shield and carry him took its toll on her, but she was thankful to have been there.
Fast forward to several hours later, he was stitched up and passed out while she brewed some tea in the kitchen. Her body tensed at every movement and groan she heard from the living room, waiting to see if he would wake up anytime soon. It wouldn’t surprise her if he didn’t, given his injuries and blood loss. Deep slashes across his chest, abdomen, shoulder and back. A gash above his right eye. Not to mention the colorful bruises that were rapidly showing up on his body.
Marcia stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea as she made her way to the kitchen table and sat down. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion, as if she was trying to walk through chest deep water with weights attached to them. Marcia gently sipped her tea, a quiet sigh escaping her lips as the almost too warm liquid went down her throat.
Her gaze fell to the folder in front of her. It contained the information she had gathered so far, along with the few leads given to her by Director Fury. Her eye twitched when she thought about owing him again. Him and his team had already saved her life, aided in her recovery and helped her get back on her feet.
In return, Marcia fought for them. Well in actuality, she fought for New York and the innocent people that lived here, but it had been sufficient enough for Fury to declare them ‘even’. She didn't mind helping (and paying her debt) but she wasn't going to be apart of his initiative.
Marcia needed time to live. To breathe. To be in control of herself again. After being treated like a fucking lab rat for years, taking orders from some secret government group couldn't have been less appealing to her.
So when Fury contacted her out of nowhere over a month ago in Virginia, Marcia thought she was going to have to give him the door to door salesman treatment, except the ‘no thank you’ wouldn't be so polite. Instead, he gave her the folder she was now staring at. He couldn't spare any people on this, he had said, and he figured she'd want to work this anyway.
Fury gave her a decent chunk of money, and Marcia tried to decline. Fury shook his head. “The first conversation we had, I told you that I'd do whatever I could to get to the bottom of this. Well it turns out the bottom is a lot deeper than that one lab you were at, and I'm a man of my word. So take it.”
So she reluctantly took it, and shortly after that, found herself in New York once again.
Marcia sipped her tea and flipped the folder open, reading over information in case there was anything she missed. She spares a glance to the sofa, listening to the mans breathing, and sighs. It would be nice to have someone else on this with her, but she wouldn't get her hopes up.