Maya

The call came in at 3 am.

My eyes snap open to glare at the ceiling above me. I count the cracks, gritting my teeth till my jaw aches.

I can't recall the details of my dream, only the feelings. I swallow hard and push them down, promising to decipher them later. My heart pounds against my ribcage in retaliation.

I sit up slowly, feeling the sweat drip down my back. I inhale sharply as I feel the giant bruise on the side ache, a bitter reminder of yesterday's mission. I should've been more careful.

It was a simple in-and-out mission but mistakes happen no matter how much you prepare.

The phone rings again.

I throw off the covers in a huff and grab the phone off the dinky IKEA stand, flipping it open with a flick of my wrist.

"What?" I hiss, pushing back instant guilt.

There's a beat of silence.

"Agent Crowley." A familiar voice calls me.

"Fury." I greet back, forcing pleasantness into my voice. "I don't get many personal calls from you. What's going on?"

I get up, feeling my knees creak as I stumble through the apartment. The lamps turn on automatically as I enter the living room.

There are last night's files on the coffee table. A glass of wine with my lipstick marks sits precariously on the edge. I brush past the couch, picking it up.

I can still smell the scent of chinese takeout I ordered last night.

The kitchen light flickers to life and the faucet drips slowly.

I feel as if the whole apartment is yawning back to life. I place the wine glass into the sink.

"Nothing ever gets past you, does it?"

I snort. "Please, sir. I'm not a rookie."

I hear him take a deep breath in and slowly release it. Nice to know that he's going to his mandatory anger management classes.

I'm not making this easier. But then again, I don't really feel like making anyone's life easy. Including mine.

A man like Fury has his plate full of things. And by things I mean superhero vigilantes, the Avengers, aliens, various pesky gods, and a few wizards. I'm sure there's more but honestly, who even keeps track of this stuff?

Not me.

Definitely not.

I hold the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I check the fridge for something to eat. There's a plate of cookies that are half eaten, yoghurt which is certainly spoiled by now, and a green apple.

"Maya," he says. "There's a situation."

"Isn't there always a situation, Fury?" I say, shutting the fridge.

"It's Director Fury to you, Agent," he says without missing a beat. "Maya. You need to come in."

I sigh, knowing full well that if he's using my name, it's serious enough.

It's him.

I know it.

For days I could feel it.

Something deep in my bones was warning me that his time was close. I vowed that I wouldn't see his face ever again.

However...Vows are meant to be broken.

"Director." I swallow hard, the lump in my throat threatening to stop my words. "I...I can't."

"He's asking for you. He has some information. You're the only person who can verify it." There's not a hint of struggle in his voice.  "This is difficult but I don't have many options. The Anwar Clad doesn't have any survivors, except for—"

"Him and I."

"Exactly."

I could say no. I could quit on the spot. I could tell Fury to fuck off and hide somewhere far away.

The idea is tempting.

But...

There's always a 'but' isn't there?

I've made my peace with Miriam and Amir. I've buried what remains of them in the desert. I've even duped myself into believing that I've never had a father, there was only my mom and nobody else. I'm still haunted and I'm certain I'll always be.

I refused to seek out answers about myself or my powers.

I don't want to know. Whatever happened, I refuse to let it happen again.

Even if it means not having kids.

Even if it means losing someone close.

Even if it means I'm the last one of my kind.

I hate being a martyr. I'm not as self-sacrificing or noble as I used to be. I can't fathom being a doormat for others. My siblings are dead. So is the younger me.

I'm Maya Crowley.

Not Maya Al Anwar, Rose Red, or the Daughter of Raza.

I'm an Avenger, I'm an Agent, and I'm someone who helps others.

If I visit him, then I'll do it as myself. He has no daughter. Not anymore.

"Agent Romanoff said she'll do it if you don't—"

"No," I said. "I'll...I'll do it. Send me a chopper."

___

Two hours later I'm flying over the Rocky Mountains.

It's breathtakingly beautiful up here. The sky is a pure blue without a hint of clouds in sight and the mountains that we weave the chopper through are hypnotizing shades of pink and mauve.

I feel like I stepped into a painting.

Maybe this is what it feels like to fly. I'm sure Thor must enjoy the view, he always preferred to fly rather than use the Quinn Jet.

The chopper lurches sharply to the right, my stomach turning uncomfortably as we start a steep descent.

The sky is gone, the mountains are huge, and I feel as if I'm entering into the unforgiving jaws of a beast.

We land shakily on a helicopter pad, the wind pushing against the metal frame. I hope out, keeping my head low as I walk towards a familiar figure.

"You're late."

"Charming as ever, Barnes." I say. "You must be a real hit with the ladies."

Bucky rolls his eyes at me. His eyes are as blue as the sky above.

It's cold out here. I'm sure Bucky's arm is more resistant to the cold given his 'special' upgrades from Wakanda. I feel like I'm freezing my tits off.

It felt warm when I was in the chopper. A gust of wind ruffles my long black coat, threatening to tear my scarf away.

I take off my gloves as the giant doors on the side of the mountain creak open.

This place must be as old as Bucky.

"So," I say. "How does it feel to be in a museum."

He huffs. "I'm not that old."

"Sure." I start to descend the new stairs. "And I'm a saint."

"You are anything but a Saint." He scoffs but I hear no malice in his voice.

"Sticks and stones, Bucky," I reply. "Did Fury put you up for this?"

The command centre is buzzing like a colony of worker bees. Screens flash with information, several minor agents fleet about the room, and the striking dark figure of a man who had become the bane of my existence and saviour.

Bucky noticed that I had stopped at the foot of the stairs. He gave me a concerned look and I returned it with a watery smile that didn't feel very convincing.

I think a part of his wanted to comfort me. Bucky may seem intimidating and hard to approach but underneath that tough exterior was a very kind man who had been through far too much.

He walks over to Fury who stands like a sentinel, watching over the command post with a keen eye. Bucky's lips move and I can read every word that comes out of his mouth.

Fury turns on his heel, his single eye piercing me with a steady gaze. Unmoved, unafraid.

"Agent Crowley." He greets me curtly and continues to walk down a corridor. "Let's get this over with."

Bucky and I make eye contact. He nods his head towards Fury.

Looks like we'll have to catch up later.
___

There are prison cells in the deepest part of this mountain. My intel tells me that these were built way back when the Cold War was in full swing. Now it's a relic but a useful one.

I'm familiar with prison cells.

A physical cell is one thing and a mental one is another. You can break out of both and yet...the feeling of being trapped can be a blessing and a boon at the same time.

I feel like Luke Skywalker when he tries to rescue Princess Leia. The corridor is long with cell doors on either side every seven feet. The further down we go, the quieter it becomes.

Silence of the Lambs much? I'm just waiting for Hannibal Lecter to jump out from a hidden corner. This place creeps me out.

The air is stale, most likely recycled oxygen.

Fury stops finally. There's a door on our left. I can that it's several feet thick and two guards in black uniforms stand on either side. I can't see weapons on them but I know that they are there.

One of them nods at Fury and pulls out a card. He slides it into a slot.

The door opens with a hiss.

I shiver despite the artificial warmth surrounding me.

Fury takes a step inside, his hands behind his back.

I glance down the hall. I could still leave. I'd face consequences but it's nothing that I'm not used to.

"You coming or do you want me to personally roll out a red carpet for you?"

I shake myself out of my thoughts. No, I have to do this.

I take a deep breath in and step into the cell.