Avengers 1. Chapter 1

**I know this has taken me a lot long than expected to submit, but Agent Coulson is probably one of the toughest characters I've ever worked with. He's so completely secretive that getting information about him is like pulling teeth. However, I did manage to lure him into a false sense of security, so I was able to get this story started.**

**This is the sequel to Pawn Takes King and Knight Takes Bishop and I highly recommend you read both before starting Queen Takes Rook otherwise you're going to be a little lost.  
**

Claire sat across from Camilla with what felt like a heavy stone sitting low in her stomach, waiting for the verbal tirade that should have followed her absence the last few weeks. Camilla, though only a few years younger than Claire, was filled to the brim with a much more passionate, if cautious, nature. Claire recalled sitting through numerous rant-filled conversations wherein Camilla would lay down her perspective and argue until she was nearly blue in the face. In light of the rather unpredictable and dangerously tedious life Claire had been living while the Council was in session, she looked forward to this one bit of routine and normalization. It didn't come.

Camilla sat across from her, bandaged and wrapped, cut all to pieces, and calm. She looked at Claire with earnest, tired eyes and simply asked what had happened. For the first time in Camilla's presence, Claire didn't have an answer. The words stuck in the back of her throat, spinning on ice while Camilla continued to wait for her reply.

Sighing, Claire began with slow, measured syllables, "As you know, the Council has been convened for several months debating the rise in demonic attacks across the world, particularly those encroaching upon the headquarters. As a matter of precaution, the Council was using the Deep Room next to the Gate. I was stories underground for over a month before I was allowed to head back to the surface. When I got your messages, I went straight to the airport and bought a nonstop ticket here."

Camilla looked unconvinced, "You could have checked your email."

Lifting a brow, Claire replied, "You try getting reception when you're standing next to Hell."

"Point," Camilla uttered with a small shake of her head. Her hair had grown since Claire had seen her last, the mass falling over her shoulders in soft waves. She was beginning to pay attention to her appearance, Claire noticed, using makeup and wearing more tailored clothing. With some bit of resignation, Claire admitted to herself that Camilla looked far better than she had in all the time Claire had known her. From the age of twelve, Camilla had shrouded herself in shadow and anonymity so as to draw as little attention to herself as possible. It was a defensive mechanism Claire had never quite acquired, feeling just as comfortable in front of a crowd as she was in solitude.

Adjusting the hem of her pencil skirt, Claire smiled at Camilla, saying, "What is important is that I'm here now and we have work to do."

Camilla's gaze veered off to the side, "I know."

There was a defeated tenor to her words that made Claire lift her chin a little, her eyes narrowing. "Just because one battle is won does not mean the war is over. The worst is still before us."

Camilla's shoulders slumped a little more, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "Does is ever end?"

Head tilted to the side, Claire considered the question, asserting in a low tone, "It cycles. Humanity will have relief for a few hundred years or so before a building apocalypse. It is the nature of the universe."

Some part of Claire rolled her eyes and snorted at her response to a question posed almost daily in her own mind. No matter how true the essence of the answer happened to be, it was quite blatantly the most sap-ridden Hallmark version of the truth. The 'nature of the universe' was a dark, war-ravaged battle to maintain the balance between humanity and the depraved demonic. For those who fought daily in that war, the only ending was death. It was a truth that was left unspoken, but known well in all of their minds. Claire had managed to last to a ripe age of thirty-five, but the number gave her no relief. She had to remain vigilant, careful, and continue with the training instilled in her when she was only a teen.

The five of the six lines of the Guardians had been nearly destroyed in Astar's machinations, but her strongest ally—Camilla—was still standing. Though the Council thought the massacre in the Other counted as a loss, Claire saw it as an opportunity to train in a wholly new atmosphere. The old teachers had long since moved on, leaving Claire and Camilla to take the reins on the new recruits. The secrecy, the rigorous dogma, and the isolation would all be tempered with their combined experiences. It was time the Council realized that cooperation with the major governmental agencies of the world would only serve to help their cause, giving them more resources and manpower to continue their mission.

Claire's mind drifted a little to the world outside of their small table in the living room of an audaciously decorated mansion. Outside of the protected walls of the Council's headquarters, Claire felt a stark vulnerability. Here, she had little to no power, could sway no one with her rank or title. Here, she was simply an uninvited guest who made the mistake of arriving far too late to the exorcism. Here… Claire was not the Gatekeeper, she was merely an object of suspicion. It pained her to some degree that it had come down to this, barging into a situation already brewing with tension and making demands. Yet, experience told her that there would need to be order in this chaos, that she would need take control of the growing tension before it sprang out of control.

Glancing out towards the balcony, Claire noted the dried 'witch's brew' that had been used, noticed the protection spells written in clever little nooks and crannies. She recognized Lucy's work quite clearly, the tenor of the magic glowing even after the Guardian's death. Her gaze was drawn still further to the pair of men standing outside—to give them privacy—their heads bowed in conversation. The taller of the two, a bald black man dressed in head to toe leather with an unnecessarily intimidating black trench coat, looked so stern that Claire feared his clenched jaw would shatter. She didn't like the near sarcastic look in his one exposed eye, but couldn't tell the content of the situation.

Gauging any information from the other man was next to impossible with his placid face and passive body language. He radiated calm, rational thinking, but Claire knew firsthand the danger the lurked beneath the surface. Agent Phil Coulson's façade of the straight edged man worked to keep his targets off their guard, and she had to admit that for the first six months of their relationship Claire thought he was some kind of accountant. The memory made her tattoos itch beneath her skin, the gathering power working around her repressed emotions in an effort to push through to the surface.

Clearing her throat, Claire readjusted her attention on Camilla, palming the cup of steaming coffee in front of her to keep her hands busy. She diverted an extra burst of power into the mug, warming it still further beneath the porcelain. Though the main priority of a Guardian's magic was to fight the demonic, there were other avenues and paths to maneuver the flow and to keep the more delicate processes in shape. Claire had learned early on that brute strength was not her specialty, but fine 'motor' movement and intricate spells. It was the only way she had survived despite her heart stopping prematurely the previous year and it was the reason the Council had assigned her as the Gatekeeper.

The silence, Claire realized, had gone on too long, leaving the space between the pair sitting at the table filled with an awkwardness that had never been present before. Claire tapped her nails against the coffee mug and considered how she wanted to move forward. Camilla was clearly disappointed with her and Claire felt somewhat responsible for the injuries she sustained at the hands of Astar. She would need to rectify the situation post haste, and she strategized that the best way to go about it would be to recreate a sense of purpose for her...Claire hesitated to call Camilla a friend. They fought together, trained together, shared a few confidences, and Claire had seen the girl during and post possession. They were not, however, close as Claire had seen some pairs of women could be.

"We're going to need to start training," Claire murmured, raising her cup to her lips. When Camilla gave a noncommittal nod, she continued, "I have a few people tracking down the bloodlines…though it seems one has already been summoned to us."

Camilla's attention snapped upwards at the indirect mention of Darcy Lewis, a very young and—from what Claire could gather—very bright prospect.

"She's not cut out for this kind of lifestyle," Camilla urged, the tiniest bit of acid in her voice.

Claire smiled very slowly, "This lifestyle is a bit outdated, don't you think?"

With narrowed eyes, Camilla scrutinized Claire, her brows coming together as she tried to decide what Claire's ruse happened to be. It was not unheard of for agents of the Council to seek out iniquity and to drive it into the ground with a public show of force. Claire had never been one of those agents, though the Council had requested it of her many times. Camilla, Claire thought, was right to be suspicious, to think before acting. She was, it seemed, maturing a little more since coming to be with the people living in this building. It was a welcome change as Claire needed every strong individual she could get on her side with the growing darkness around them.

Time, somehow, was always running out. The difference, this time, was that Claire had no idea what event they were barreling towards. The oracle in front of her had been given no information from the powers that be and the gate kept trying to spring open at the slightest change in atmosphere. Glyphs fired and misfired all over the headquarters, expending thousands of man hours in investigations. Attacks that were demonic in nature were growing exponentially with no real pattern and all the books piled at the side of Claire's bed could not dictate what the hell was going on in the world. She was, as a result, deeply unsettled.

Eventually, Camilla dropped her gaze to her cup and considered the swirling liquid for a moment before her eyes lifted with a new, determined expression.

"It is a little outdated."

Claire's lips quirked further, "And with the old set of trainers gone…"

"…And no time to bring them back or to hire new ones…"

"We'll be left to do most of the work," Claire finished the thought with lifted brows. "It would give us an incredible freedom to tailor the training, don't you think?"

She could tell that Camilla was reliving the more difficult part of her training, the long nights spent working spells that would fatigue more than the mind and body, the loneliness of living every day underground for years, the fear of facing the truth about the darkness. It was all rolling through her mind as it so often rolled through Claire's when she couldn't sleep, staring at the ceiling. Though the Council still held most of the cards in this game, Claire and Camilla could make some moves in order to tip the balance towards more equality. They could create a different kind of Guardian, one who worked with the strengths of others instead of fighting them. It could be glorious—or an apocalypse—but they were heading towards one, anyway.

Camilla leaned forward, touching the space of table between them, "How long have you been thinking about this?"

"Since I found you and the others laid out around that fire," Claire replied, her breath hissing out between her teeth.

"It's an interesting thought," Camilla voiced carefully. "The questions is: Is it doable?"

Claire chuckled, "It's entirely doable, with the right resources."

Again, her eyes flicked out towards the balcony, unable to keep from continuing her study of the two men. They were looking out towards the horizon now, exchanging a few words here and there. Whatever tension had been between them seemed to have dissipated to this kind of congenial dialogue that could have been about the local sports for all she knew. She remembered that he liked the occasional game of football on a Sunday night, a cold beer hanging loosely in his deadly hands. Claire shook her head, stamping out the memory with precise measures, her attention moving back to Camilla's intrigued face.

"By the end of the week there will be four new Guardians to train and we're the only ones left with that kind of knowledge to pass on to them. The Council wants them brought to headquarters immediately, but I'm confident I can stall for time under the guise of a continued investigation of your…incident."

Camilla leaned back from her and Claire chastised herself for the indelicate approach. She would need to tread lightly on this one, she was certain, until Camilla's injuries were healed somewhat. Again, that sharp stab of guilt hounded Claire, telling her how she'd failed to be there for Camilla, forcing her to perform an exorcism without the support of her mentor. There had never been a time that Claire had failed to be there during Astar's occasional visits to Camilla—not since the first possession. This misstep would be a learning curve on which Claire would base many of her future decisions, if only the guilt would simply stop paining her.

Camilla turned the mug slowly in her short-fingered hands, "Do you think the Council will believe you?"

"The usually do," Claire snorted, "Though they rarely take anyone else's advice."

Camilla rolled her eyes, "Still holding to the old ways?"

"Vehemently."

"Their loss," Camilla quipped with a shrug.

Claire nodded, "You don't know how right you are."

"So," Camilla started, "What would this training look like? I mean, if we're going to be changing things, we should probably have a plan."

"Agreed," Claire pronounced, pulling her shoulders back. "Ideas?"

Camilla's surprise shot across her face in lifted brows and widened eyes, "You're asking me?"

"Of course," Claire replied. "You know where the flaws in the system are just as well as I do. And, you have a reason to see it changed permanently."

Claire had yet to mention the blossomed relationship between Camilla and Shield agent Barton. Camilla was well aware of how forbidden it was to hold a relationship outside of those 'in the know' of the Council. There were far too many risks to the secrecy of their world when a Guardian became close with another. Yet, Claire also knew that Camilla needed that intimacy, was starved for it. She could see it on the woman's face all through her formative years and into her adulthood and only recently had Camilla begun to successfully hide that melancholy from her. Hiding was something Camilla did very well, and yet Claire could see the layers falling away even in the span of their short conversation that morning. Barton was the catalyst for that change, and the power behind Camilla's interest in changing the way Guardians lived.

"I won't go back to the way things were," Camilla intoned quietly, her hands tightening around her coffee mug.

Claire closed her eyes briefly, "I wouldn't ask you to. But, you know what lies waiting for us back home. This is going to be a difficult journey."

Leaning forward once more, Camilla breathed deeply, her eyes very focused on Claire's unmoved expression. "I'm prepared to take this the whole way, Claire. I don't want this life anymore, not alone. I'll keep fighting, but I need him."

"I know," Claire countered, careful to keep her voice from cracking. Christ, did she know what that was like, the needing. It seeped in like poison, sucking all her willpower away only to leave the pathetic mass of her body on the ground. The letting go left a wound so large it felt like if she looked down she'd be ripped open and bleeding through her blouse. Like most emotional wounds, it never quite healed correctly, leaving this awkward bit of her consciousness where that love once existed.

Camilla seemed satisfied by Claire's short response, "Then, we need to start with the basics, just as we were trained. History, basic magical knowledge, grounding the spirit and mind, all of this has to be where we start."

Claire nodded curtly, "A good foundation is essential. Half of them won't know a thing about the things that go bump in the night, and most of them will have misconceptions."

"Hollywood," Camilla barked with venom.

"Hollywood," Claire agreed with a shake of her head. "It's like they've never opened an ancient Sumerian text."

"To be fair," Camilla retorted dryly, "There aren't many of those lying around."

"We actually have them all stored in the vault, so you've got a solid point," Claire laughed, taking another sip of her coffee.

Camilla shifted in her chair, turning slightly to her left to prop one elbow on the table, "Can I be honest for a minute?"

"I prefer your honesty."

"I'm still pretty fuzzy on why Miranda switched sides like that." Camilla brushed invisible crumbs off one corner, "I remember Astar trying to explain, but he was half-cocked on power and I doubt anything he said was of any importance, but I remember very clearly the look in Miranda's eyes. She was completely dead on the inside."

Claire sighed and crossed her legs at the knee, tapping one heel against the tile as she gathered her thoughts. "When I pulled you off the altar, you were saying 'dead' over and over. I thought you meant the team."

"Well, yeah," Camilla shot back, "They were all dead, physically, but Miranda was dead _before_ she was dead. I kept thinking about it while I was in recovery and I couldn't understand what had driven her to defect.

"And then started wondering if she felt like I felt, if she was filled with this abject hostility towards everything we represent simply because of how deprived we were for even the smallest bit of affection."

Claire listened as attentively as she could despite the myriad of tangents her mind was running through in almost simultaneous patterns. She weaved through a rolodex of incidents over the last year of Miranda's training, connecting events and conversations until she recognized the drifting of the woman away from the group, away from the teaching. Claire had mistakenly attributed it to an internal focus and anxiety about the oncoming fledging of Guardianship. It hadn't occurred to her that Miranda was no longer a believer in their cause.

"Yet another reason why the old ways have got to be changed," Claire declared with finality. "I won't have another massacre on our hands."

Camilla smiled crookedly, "I'd really rather not be bound to an altar again. Very painful."

"I'm sure," Claire replied, bewildered at how they could find humor in the devastation that was Astar's last demonic act. "I'm also sorry I wasn't there."

Rolling one shoulder, Camilla dropped her eyes, "I know you would have been, had you known."

"Had I known," Claire ground out, "I would have dropped Astar on his ass a few times before I let you have a go. He's been wreaking havoc on our realm for too long."

With a snort, Camilla sighed, "But he's gone now, so there won't be any ass kicking for you."

"Suppose I'll just have to rest these old bones until the time comes," Claire murmured with not a little derision. "If the gate's instability is anything to go by, there's a whole lot of battling coming our way."

Sobering, Camilla pulled her hair up into a ponytail, "Any clue as to why after so many years the gate wants to burst open and spill all kinds of unholy things into our tiny human plane?"

Claire shrugged, "Could be anything really, and with August incarcerated all we can do is baton down the hatches and hold tight until something gives us a clue."

August was a bit of a sore spot for Claire, the one failure she refused to let die. Camilla had only been so brave as to bring her into conversation a few times, usually as a point of reference for some other unimportant event. Claire had fought for a long time to keep August out of prison, but the girl was defiant of every order, spitting on the gift of Guardianship in front of the Council. She was also dangerously off balance in a key way that kept the Council from simply releasing her back into the public. Powerful as she was, August could tip the balance of the world in any such way she chose and the Council (loathe as they were to admit it) feared her as much as they reviled her.

"Do you think," Camilla began, "The Council would see fit to bring August out, considering the circumstances?"

Claire shook her head, "No, I've already asked. And, I don't know what that place has done to her, psychologically speaking. She was already half delirious with rage when they put her behind bars, I don't think any part of her humanity could still exist now."

Camilla looked thoughtful, but didn't say anything more, her gaze settling on what was left of her coffee as they both drifted into their own perspective on the situation. What they were embarking upon was ground for a similar fate as August's. One tiny misstep and they would both be condemned by the Council and brought to their knees for judgment. It was a fate Claire had nearly faced a year before, one that very nearly cost her, her life. She didn't like the idea of heading back down that road, but her conviction about how necessary these changes were made her reset the line of her shoulders and soldier forwards. The consequences would be dealt with when they arose, _if_ they arose. And, Claire had a lot more knowledge about how the Council worked after having been assigned as the Gatekeeper. She could persuade them with much more ease than ever before, was seen as a confidant and advisor rather than a former Guardian.

The heavy glass doors of the balcony slid open, disturbing the air of the room very slightly. Claire adjusted her position, dropping both feet to the floor as she watched the two men approach. From her vantage point she could observe the stride of each man. One's footsteps were hard, heel to toe, determined. The other stepped far more lightly, centering each downward movement for optimum movement. Though their styles of gait contrasted incredibly, their pace was equal in both forward motion and pattern. Claire instinctively knew that they had made some kind of decision and were displaying a united and impenetrable front. She set her coffee down and waited.

"I have just been briefed on the events occurring in this building for the last month," the tall, dark man said, his voice near hostile. "And I want to know what the fuck you have to do with it."

Claire had to crane her neck to look up at him, but she was far from cowed by his demeanor, "I had little to do with Astar and his antics. But, I will have everything to do with what happens next."

"And what happens next?"

Standing, Claire reveled in the shrinking distance between their eyes, a distance closed even more so by the height of her heels. "I will recreate the team of Guardians, train them, and I hope to work with your team to stop whatever apocalypse the dark realm is planning. Camilla has already agreed to help me train, and Miss Lewis has already been chosen. I will need three more from the bloodlines to complete the team."

His mouth thinning, the man replied evenly, "I don't believe Miss Lewis has agreed to be trained by you."

Claire blinked, "She doesn't have a choice. None of us did." Then, "I'm sorry, who am I addressing? I seem to have forgotten my manners."

"Director Fury, of Shield." His name certainly was an apt description of the man. Director Fury continued, "I believe you are already acquainted with Agent Coulson."

Her eyes flicked briefly over to said agent, noting the cool expression and loose muscles of his stance.

"We've met," Claire affirmed, careful to keep her expression neutral. "Now, I should have my three chosen here by the end of the week. Can I count on you to work with me, or should I move our efforts elsewhere?"

Director Fury studied her a minute, testing her resolve with his open critique. He shifted on his feet ever so slightly, his good eye dropping down the length of her body. There was nothing sexual about the glance, merely an assessment of her determination and plea. Eventually, he nodded.

"You'll have access to the second floor training area—you already know where that is—and I expect you to work with Agent Coulson. He will be reporting back to me the progress of your training."

Claire nodded despite the clenching of her stomach and the internal shaking out of her body. As hostile as Coulson was towards her now, it would be worse if they began working one on one with each other. There was far too much distrust between them for the course to run smooth enough for training to commence unhindered. She sat down, thinking that nothing ever went off without a hitch or two, as the two men strode away.

Camilla eyed her from across the table, "You don't want to work with Coulson?"

"That obvious?" Claire murmured with a slight smile.

Shrugging, Camilla replied, "Not really. But I know you well enough to notice when you don't like something."

"It's not a matter of like." Indeed, it certainly wasn't a matter of 'like' for Claire, as 'like' had never quite been a part of their repertoire. From the moment she'd seen him, Claire had felt something so much more than simple 'like'...

Standing at the entrance to a large ballroom, Claire smoothed the lines of her gown down her sides, feeling the fabric slide over her fingertips like so much water. The cobalt blue color was her favorite, and she had to admit that she looked fantastic even with the ridiculously long opera gloves she'd donned to conceal her tattoos. The Council wasn't keen on sending out their agents to events like this, finding them too frivolous. But, they were beginning to see the need for connections in the governments across the world, and diplomatic galas were the easiest ways to make contacts and friends.

Stepping inside, Claire made a circle around the room, listening intently for names and any other information she might be able to derive from eavesdropping. The party was just starting, so most of the conversations were still steeped in pleasantries. Completing the circuit, Claire took a glass of champagne from a server and sipped at it as she backed against a nearby pillar. In the excitement of getting to attend the gala, Claire had somehow forgotten that she knew absolutely no one in the diplomatic community. Without an escort, she was left standing alone by herself for far longer than she would have normally liked.

In a short while, music cued up, a string quartet set discreetly in the corner. The sound, however, was beautifully made and the acoustics of the room were prime for this kind of entertainment. She leaned back further into the stone of the pillar, nursing the champagne while the group played through a suite, beginning with a waltz. People milled about the room, talking and laughing in their small groups, oblivious to the stranger within their midst. They seemed so…normal. Claire wasn't sure what she was expecting when she arrived, but there was a kind of staunch stick-in-the-mud attitude that she assumed came along with being a diplomat. These people seemed downright lively compared to the persona she had in her mind.

The music played on and fairly soon couples had begun to dance haphazardly around the perimeter of the room. The crowd backed away a little, fanning out to give the dancers room and it was in that motion that Claire first caught sight of him. The tuxedo was tailored very well, she could tell that even from a distance. He was standing very straight, very tall, as if he had a string tied to the top of his head pulled tightly from above. Claire watched him watching the dancers, her glass hanging limply from her fingers.

Eyes moving sharply across the floor, Claire noticed how he seemed to be moving right along with them, though he physically hadn't budged. As another waltz queued up, she smiled as he shifted a little on the balls of his feet. A pair of dancers passed by in a quick twirl of fabric and air, the woman laughing at the overly dramatic waves of her partner's arms. The sound echoed over the music, drawing several eyes towards the couple, including that of the man standing across the room.

Claire caught his eye with a smile, tilting her head to the side as she held his gaze for what might be considered far too long to be courteous. To his credit, he didn't even blush, returning her look brazenly, unrepentantly. She liked that. Needing something to do with her hands, she sipped from her glass, the view of him obstructed by more dancers. The floor was beginning to fill up, to Claire's surprise as she really hadn't thought diplomats danced. But, the liquor had been flowing for a while and she guessed even dignitaries had to let loose sometime.

Stepping out and to the side, Claire circled around the group, dodging a few errant couples and edging around groups of people. She picked up the hem of her gown and ascended the stairs, wedging between a particularly portly man and his escort in or to make her way to the first balcony. From this vantage point, she could better map out the VIP's from the rest of the crowd. Aside from the dancers, there were tiny cliques of people at the four corners, pairs littering the space in between. No one seemed to be discussing anything of importance—a stark change from Claire's normal routine. All the conversations she had been a part of since completing her training were based on the essence of plague and global destruction. To see people simply enjoying themselves was an incredible, and refreshing, change of pace.

Still, she could not forget why she was here, to make 'friends' of the Council and to feel out the possibility of a partnership with the US government. The prospect, somehow, seemed more daunting now that she was present than it did sitting at the table facing the three council members. She leaned on the railing and continued to scan the crowd for clues as to who would be the best to approach first and which group seemed to be the most influential.

A hand slipped around the railing about half a foot from her gloved fingers, followed by a body moving so that they were standing side by side. Claire glanced over to find the tuxedoed man from across the dance floor looking out to the crowd in much the same was she had been seconds earlier. From far away he was intriguing. Up close, the man was far more interesting—not only because she got a better look at his features (which, she had to say, were easy on the eyes), but because he had chosen to approach her after only a glance across a crowded room. Claire was faintly reminded of most plotlines in romantic comedies. She hoped this was more of a thriller.

"What's your name?" He asked, voice even despite the forwardness of his question.

Claire bit her lip to hide her smile, "I'm Claire. You?"

"Phil," he replied, eyes still on the crowd.

_Phil_. A regular, American kind of name that rang with not a little bit of solidarity. Claire decided that she liked it.

"So, Phil, what do you think of the party?"

After a moment, his eyes flicked over to her from their station on the crowd, "It's looking up."

"Is it?" Claire asked with lifted brows. "You know, this is my first time at one of these things and I have to say they made an excellent choice of venue."

Phil nodded, "They usually do. Are you from GBN?"

Claire blinked at him for a moment, recalling every acronym she could in an effort to locate the correct response. "No, I'm not. We aren't really into three letter acronyms."

He smiled and she caught a glimpse of the white of his teeth, "What are you into?"

Again, the forwardness of his inquiries stunned her momentarily and she had to make a strategic retreat into a turned glance towards the crowd. The music still played, a staccato filled concerto featuring the cello that flowed so smoothly to her ears.

Leaning over, Claire motioned to the quartet, "See those men playing down there? Their playing Bach, but none of these people know that. They don't know what a vibrato is, or three-four versus four-four time. All they know is that music is playing and it makes them want to dance. They're spinning around to music that existed long before them, and they're doing it because those men are following Bach's long-dead lead."

Phil considered her little tangent for a moment, one finger tapping against the wooden railing. "A philosopher."

"My supervisors have been known to call me a bull shit artist."

He chuckled, "Likewise. Would you care to join the dancing?"

Claire smiled and nodded, managing not to flinch at his sudden turn to take her hand. Setting the glass to the side, she allowed him to guide her down the staircase and to the dance floor, his hand warm even through the gloves. As they moved through the perimeter of the crowd, Phil circled her gently, hand moving to pull her into a traditional ballroom stance. Claire followed his lead in their positioning, waiting a moment before she felt the tell-tale clench of muscle that signaled the first step. She tilted her head slightly and stepped back with him, pivoting a little in a slight turn as he brought her around the first bend of the dance.

Phil, surprisingly, had a fairly good grasp of formal dancing. His arms held the circle of poise without strain and his movements were always practiced and confident. She found that dancing with him was effortless as breathing, her own lessons coming back to her without thought. His hand high on her waist kept her from turning away too quickly and he gave her a beat of notice before commencing with a turn or pivot. She smiled at him at the dance ended and new song began, the notes moving much slower than before. This was not ballroom material, but a contemporary piece to contrast with the formality of the evening.

Standing close, Phil adjusted their position to one much more intimate, their bodies mere inches apart. Their circle of movement was much smaller, a few steps in any direction, and Phil did not allow her to step out into a turn despite the many opportunities he would have had to do so. Claire inhaled lightly, noticing the sandalwood of his cologne. The scent reminded her of her home deep underground, dark and dangerous and thrilling. She looked up at him through her lashes, wondering just what he was thinking behind that serene expression.

"I once heard that the difference between the poise of a ballroom dancer and the poise of a swing dancer had something to do with their gods."

Phil's eyes lit with the seemingly new knowledge, "Really?"

Claire nodded, "Hmm, ballroom originated from a primarily white, Christian community, thus the poise is lifted towards the heavens. Swing dancing, jazz, and blues dancing originated in a primarily black community. The gods of the Africans were gods of the earth, thus, the poise is lowered closer to the ground."

"Is that true?" He asked, his movements slowing as he considered her little bits of information.

Claire laughed lightly, "I have no idea. It's just something my dance instructor once told me."

Phil turned her a little away from the center of the room and the myriad of dancers settling into the new song, "I noticed you've had lessons."

She shrugged as much as his arms would allow, "It was an elective in my schooling."

During the course of training for Guardianship, the potentials were allowed outlets for their interests under the careful scrutiny of the Council. Claire had always loved music, and dance was a natural alternative to her consistent musical training. There were only so many hours she could spend working through her assigned music before her fingers started to ache. Besides, dancing was an easy way to manage the grace needed to fight properly.

"Where did you go to school?"

Without hesitation, Claire answered, "I was home schooled for most of my life."

Phil noticed the evasion, she could tell, but he chose not to comment, bringing them to a final dip as the song closed. As he lifted her back to standing, Claire noted the way his eyes checked the room as if monitoring for potential threat. Alerted, she also glanced around them, seeing nothing amiss in the crowd of happy, dancing people.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in a glass of champagne," Claire murmured, hoping to pull away from the mass in case he'd caught something she hadn't. It had been far too long since she'd been around this many people and her years of training her kicking into overdrive to pick out where the threat may be. Of course, she might be overreacting and he'd simply looked around to see if the band was taking a break, but Claire was nothing if not careful.

Phil guided her from the dance floor with one hand at the small of her back, "I'm working, but I'll be happy to acquire one for you."

Curiosity piqued, Claire leaned into his body slightly, "What kind of job has you working on a night like this?"

He smirked, "I'm a handler."

"A handler? Of what?"

"People," Phil replied easily, plucking a flute from a nearby tray and presenting it to her.

Claire accepted it readily, "I wasn't aware there were people who 'handled' people. Sounds a bit confusing."

Shrugging, Phil took her elbow and led her to a bench near the entrance, helping her to sit.

"It can be, but I'm very good at what I do."

Claire crossed her legs and angled herself so that she could speak with him comfortably, "You must be, if you can work and dance at the same time."

"I have to admit I'm a bit distracted tonight," he replied, and Claire caught the hint of teasing in his voice.

She smiled, "Am I going to be reprimanded by your superiors for distracting you?"

"No," Phil countered, "Not by my superiors."

Both of Claire's brows lifted in surprise and amusement at the underlying meaning beneath his words and tone. Her smile widened considerably as a new layer of this intriguing man worked its way to the surface between them, displaying vast new opportunities for exploration. Thrilling. Absolutely thrilling.

**Let me know what you think! As always, your feedback helps motivate me to write better and faster. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Off we go!**

The training floor offered to Claire by Shield was more than adequate for her purposes in that it was large, spacious and, most importantly, quiet. No matter how prepared the potentials happened to be upon the initiation of their training, there was always the need to quiet the mind and center the soul so that the body could receive the vast amounts of knowledge and power bestowed upon Guardians. For the first week, Claire would be walking them through meditation techniques and settling their anxieties. From there, Camilla would take over teaching the history of Guardians and the basic responsibilities and roles they would be expected to maintain. She would also begin to teach them how to fight properly.

Having discussed their misgivings about how their own trainings were handled, Claire and Camilla had settled on a slight compromise. They would emphasize the need for strength, leadership, and integrity while working in and supporting the basic tenants of training with cooperation and teamwork. The new batch of Guardians would work together as a team for the first time in recorded history. Claire hoped that this would bring more strength to the group as they could rely on one another (at the very least) for support and camaraderie. From there, Claire would run them through drills to raise their physical fitness while Camilla worked on hand to hand. It wasn't Camilla's strength, but neither was it Claire's. They would simply have to make do with what they had available to them at the time.

Breathing deeply, Claire drew herself up, knowing that the first impression she made upon the potentials would be the most lasting. She had been informed that they were being told that they had been chosen for a winter program—three months of education in a gifted program. When the big reveal came, there were always one or two that bucked against the truth. Claire had chosen to have her assistant bring a box from the vault to the training room. The being inside was mostly harmless, but would drive home the point of the existence of the dark realm very nicely.

Right on time, Brent backed through the doors, hauling a large metal box in his arms. He'd been hired a couple of years before she took the position of the Gatekeeper and was knowledgeable enough to get along performing his daily duties without her direct guidance. For that, she was grateful. The duality of her position made it near impossible to spend more than a few days at a time in one place when the Council was not in session. She always seemed to be flitting back and forth from her father's home in Portland to the headquarters, to the Gate, and back. Brent brought her coffee on the mornings she was at the office and he updated her on the glyphs around the Gate when she wasn't. All in all, she hoped he wasn't killed in the upcoming fight.

"Got your monster," Brent called from across the room.

Claire rolled her eyes, "It's not technically a monster."

Dropping the box, Brent replied, "I know, it's classified under 'fairy'. I read the catalogue guide you sent me. Can you ever not obsess about details?"

"Nope," Claire replied as she touched the edge of the box, feeling the warmth of power inside. Her tattoos reacted to the being, sending warning signals up the length of her arm. "One would think you'd be used to it by now."

Sitting, Brent retorted, "Doesn't mean I can't keep trying to loosen you up a bit."

"You keep trying," Claire murmured absently as she crouched to check the lock. It wouldn't do for the thing to burst out too early and scare the living hell out of the potentials before she was ready for the living hell to be scared out of them.

The doors opened once more and Camilla stepped through, followed by Agent Barton. Claire remained crouched by the box as she watched the pair approach, Camilla a small step ahead of Barton, who seemed to keep his body partially protecting her at all times. His strong build and steady gait were enough to make any normal person second guess an approach. Claire, however, merely hid her smile, glad to see the Camilla had finally found someone she trusted enough to stand at her back.

Camilla waved to Brent, "I see you're still wearing suspenders."

"Don't hate," Brent replied with a smile. "Nerdy-chic is in style."

Shaking her head, Camilla turned her attention to Claire, leaning down to press her palm to the box. She reared back a little, "Seriously?"

Claire rose and shrugged, "I figure it will convince them that we're not crazy."

"Brent, I think you should get a mop."

He groaned, "I'm not mopping up excretions again. I'm wearing my good shoes."

Claire laughed, "I don't think they'll react that badly. They're used to CGI and three-d movies now. It's not like when we were young."

Camilla, incredulous, sighed, "There's a difference between the movies and showing them something straight out of a nightmare and you know it."

Drawing herself up, Claire leveled a look at Camilla that she used for interns questioning the Council. "We need to give them something real, Camilla, or they won't believe us. They haven't had the priming we normally afford our potentials—Miss Lewis, aside. For Christ's sake, they think they're joining a winter program for gifted teens."

There was a beat of silence before Camilla rubbed her hands across her face, grunting, "I hate that we have to rush this."

"Me, too. I have to cram two years worth of training into three months. And let's not even think about how we're going to maintain the Gate while it continues to implode."

"The gate is imploding?" Camilla asked softly.

Claire stepped out and braced her heels firmly to the floor, hands resting on her hips. "Yes, the Gate is imploding. I can't keep the glyphs intact for more than a few weeks at a time."

"Shit," Camilla breathed. "Okay, so yeah, we scare them. But they won't be able to control the power within a year. We can't close the gate by ourselves."

Claire snorted, "Not likely, but I've got it on ice while I'm gone. Brent has been learning to write the glyphs and he's mastered a few of the basic ones."

At Camilla's dubious look, Brent rolled his eyes, "Believe me, if it wouldn't unleash hell on earth, I wouldn't even venture near those ridiculously tattered old books."

Seemingly mollified, Camilla released a breath and turned to the agent still standing quietly behind her. "I'm okay. Swear. Go train with the Widow."

Barton glanced around the room, giving a reluctant nod. He leaned down and pressed a brief kiss on Camilla's lips before turning and striding out of the room without a word. Claire watched him go, wondering if he would be an obstacle to her mission with the potentials. He certainly didn't seem to hold her in much esteem, hadn't said a word to her despite sitting with Camilla on many of their discussions. She internally shook her head, letting the line of thought pass. There were other things to worry about.

Brent had sidled up to Camilla with a knowing grin and was speaking lowly with her several feet away. Claire let him have his opportunity to gossip as he had so little time while working at the headquarters. The place wasn't exactly conducive to a friendly and welcoming atmosphere as their dealings were usually more of the life threatening variety. Still, Brent did his best to be friendly with everyone around him, usually gaining little feedback.

The box at her feet rattled in agitation, skidding a few inches away as the being worked through assessing its new situation. Claire reached down and gave a little burst of power to calm it down—or, more specifically, to stun it into silence for a few moments more. As she returned to standings, the doors to the training room opened once more and Agent Coulson stepped through with determination in his stride. He carried a manila folder and his cell, his pressed suit buttoned and crisp.

"Your students are here," he announced, coming to a stop a few feet short of the box, his hands folding in front of him.

Claire gave a slight nod, "Thank you. Can you send them up, or should one of us escort them?"

Coulson shook his head in the negative, "I'm having an agent bring them to the training floor."

"Great, thank you."

His eyes dropped down to the box, resting there for half a beat before they rose to Claire. He quirked a brow, which she pointedly ignored, choosing instead to circle the box and greet the young men and women that had just started to file into the room behind a starkly dressed agent.

"Hello, everyone. Welcome."

She got little to no response from the group as a whole, though some made eye contact and nodded. They were directed to sit in some folding chairs that formed a semicircle, each settling into place with curious expressions on their faces. The story they'd been given was flimsy at best, and Claire had to wonder at how their parents had been convinced to allow them to come. She'd put money on it that they'd sent one of their negotiators to deaden some of the anxiety. The Council was surprisingly useful when it came to evading or diminishing the truth.

"I suppose you are all wondering why you are here," Claire began once everyone was situated. "But, let's start with introductions. I'm Claire, this is Camilla. We will be your instructors for the next three months. Over there is Brent, he is my assistant. And this is Agent Coulson, he is here to observe."

A girl raised her hand, "I'm Regina."

Claire nodded, "Hello Regina. How old are you?"

"Sixteen," she replied without hesitation.

The one next to her, a tall, dark skinned boy, called out, "I'm Evan, eighteen."

The last in line, a small framed girl with stringy brown hair peeped, "Belinda, fifteen."

They were all so young, but hadn't all Guardians started out before they'd even finished high school? Claire couldn't even remember a time when she wasn't either being primed or trained to be a Guardian before she'd finished puberty. Potentials were always called young due to their short life spans. Claire was the oldest Guardian in centuries at age thirty five. She guessed that her aging years were part of the reason the Council had relegated her to guarding the Gate. That, and she'd died, bringing a new Guardian to the fold at the tender age of fifteen.

Shaking the memories from her mind, Claire greeted each new potential by name, saying, "I know you've been told that you're joining a winter program, but the truth of the matter is that this is a much longer commitment than just three months."

Evan raised his hand, "Will we be able to go back to school? I have football practice."

"And I have homework," Regina called out, her wide eyes looking the slightest bit worried.

Claire held up her hands, palms out, to call for silence. "I will give you all the answers you need, but you must keep your minds open." Everyone but Belinda looked at her expectantly.

"You have been chosen to be trained and fledged as Guardians. Your bloodlines have crossed with the original six Guardians. For the next three months, you will be trained to control the magic already running through your veins so that you can fight against agents of the dark realm. Questions?"

Regina snorted, "Yeah, where's the camera?"

Claire smiled, feeling more than a bit mischievous, "You don't believe me?"

"No, and I'd like to know what's really going on," she answered with not a little bit of force in her words and tone.

Stepping to the side, Claire gestured to the box at her feet, "What if I told you that in this box is just one small example of the things the dark realm produces? What if I told you that this is what you'll be up against?"

"You can't think we're that stupid," Regina asserted with a scoff. Her skepticism was good, would keep her on her toes when the time came for investigations.

Dropping down, Claire glanced up at the group, "I would cover your ears."

Flicking the latch, Claire released the banshee in to the room, chuckling a little to herself as the group reared back, some knocking over their own chairs in an effort to get away. Unable to help herself, she flicked her gaze over to Coulson, who had braced a little and was assessing the situation quickly. The banshee screamed again, shaking the room as its hideous body crawled forwards. Claire allowed it a little more leeway, watching the faces of the potentials grow ever more fearful. The hag dropped down to the floor and gathered itself, a mist of power fanning out as it changed its shape. It grew from grotesque to quite beautiful within seconds, though its claws remained steadfastly in place.

Knowing that they'd seen enough to convince them of the existence of something otherworldly, Claire traced a glyph into the air, calling it back to the box. The banshee fought kicking and screaming the whole way, but eventually it was pulled into safekeeping. She snapped the lock closed with a sharp 'click' before addressing the group once more.

"Anyone need any more proof?"

The doors to the training room slammed open and a woman with long dark hand and askew glasses tumbled in, apologizing the whole way. She sat in the only open chair, "What did I miss?"

"A banshee," Camilla answered, her arms crossed over her chest.

"A real, live banshee?" The woman who could only be Darcy Lewis replied, looking positively gleeful. "Damn. Note to self: Loki cannot distract me in the mornings."

Claire cleared her throat, "Now that our team is complete, are there any further questions?"

Belinda raised her hand, "Can I go home now?"

There was always one (usually more than one) who simply rejected the idea. Claire had been telling the truth when she'd said they didn't have a choice. The markings on their wrists solidified their status and there was no denying their fates. Fighting the responsibility only led to more problems along the line, and more often than not, someone got hurt or killed because of it.

"No," Claire said softly, "You can't go home."

Evan stood, his fists clenched, "You can't keep us here against our will."

Indeed, she couldn't. And she began by saying so, and then stated as calmly as she could, "You can leave at this very moment and try to forget this day ever happened. But, you've been chosen and now that part of your consciousness has been awakened, the dark realm is going to start looking for you. What you've seen today is just a small bit of what's out there, what is going to start seeking you out in an attempt to prevent you from being trained to destroy them. Your lives will be at risk, your families, and anyone you love is going to become a target. You can leave, but you'll be back. Better to get this over with now."

Her speech sent them into a stunned silence and Claire had to bite her tongue to keep from moving forward in her dialogue. Sometimes it was best to let them think it over and come to the decision on their own. She'd shown them a little what the darkness was like, now it was their turn to stay or to run. Claire couldn't lie to them; she knew they would be back even if they ran from their fate uninformed and unarmed. But, if they stayed now, it would cause them much less heartache.

Silence reigned in the room for long minutes, interrupted only by the occasional agitation from the boxed banshee. Claire kept her body loose while she waited, watching the emotions fly across the faces of the potentials, Darcy included. She, more than any other, looked far from fearful of the life laid out for her. As Camilla had noted in her various messages, Darcy seemed surprisingly ready to take on the task Claire offered. Regina, Evan, and Belinda looked decidedly less enthused.

"When we're finished with this training," Regina began, touching the ends of her hair distractedly. "Can we go home?"

Claire nodded, "For a short time, you can visit. You'll be taught how to guard your family from the darkness, how to keep them safe. However, you will be required to attend to missions periodically throughout the year and to report every 90 days to headquarters for debriefing."

Regina seemed mildly mollified, her eyes straying to the box with lifted brows. Belinda still hadn't met Claire's eyes, her face hidden by her hair and the hunch of her shoulders. Claire wondered if, for the first time, the fates had chosen wrong. She didn't seem to have the sheer grit needed to take on agents of the dark. Evan fumed quietly, wringing his hands as they hung between his knees. Claire leveled an unyielding look at him, refusing to allow him an inch of control. He would agree or leave, there were no other options for his consideration.

Having decided enough time had passed, Claire demanded, "Make your choice," in a voice as firm as she could manage.

Belinda, surprisingly, spoke first in a voice very small, "I'll stay."

Regina rolled her eyes, "I'll stay."

Shifting a little in her seat, Darcy smiled, "You already know I'll stay. Who's going to keep the Son of Coul in line?"

Claire lifted a brow and glanced at Agent Coulson, noting his small smirk and nod. She didn't have time to explore his familiarity with the girl—not that she had any right to do any exploring, anyway—so she let it slide, looking to Evan for his answer. The teen had unclenched his hands and was looking up towards the ceiling as if the read the answer from above. She knew that feeling well, searching the heavens for direction when all around her were unsavory choices. Yet, as much as she empathized with Evan, now was the time to make adult choices and take on the adult responsibilities.

Rubbing his hands over the fabric of his pants, Evan finally said, "Okay, I'll stay."

"Wonderful," Claire replied with a smile. "There have been rooms set up for you on the…" she looked to Camilla, who held up three fingers, "Third floor. You'll be escorted there. Please, unpack and rest. Tomorrow you begin to train."

They filed out as quietly as they came in, heavy thoughts already spreading across their expressive faces. Claire would have to work some of that out of them, give them a better edge against their enemies with more apathetic poker faces. It wouldn't do for an enemy to be able to cut into their emotive processes so easily. Some internal part of Claire's consciousness rebelled against the idea of pushing the emotions out of them, knowing that emotion had fueled some of her finest work as a Guardian. The training had taught her how to funnel and control her emotions for maximum efficiency in her fighting, spell work, and glyph writing. Her potentials, on the other hand, could not hope to control the raging hormones, confusions, and general stress of their lives to make any kind of emotion worth the time and energy.

With a heaving internal sigh, Claire considered the pros and cons of her own training, knowing that she would have to think carefully about each part in and of itself as well as how it worked within the whole. She wished she had more time, wished there wasn't the urgency of a failing gate behind her and the pressure from the Council in front of her. Even further, she wished she didn't have to see Agent Coulson day after day only to have him either glare at her or ignore her entirely. Pretending for all the world like they knew nothing about each other was easy enough. Keeping every memory from leaking onto her face and into her actions was more difficult.

The way they'd left each other had been succinct, sterile in a way. Claire had been unable to talk about what kept her away for such lengths of time and Phil couldn't even tell her where he lived. Their mutual top secret clearances had kept both of them in the dark about large chunks of their day to day life and neither had been able to bend in the slightest. From time to time, Claire would recall the way he'd get up in the middle of the night to answer a phone call, whispering in the bathroom of whichever hotel they were staying at while she crept closer to hear.

In the end, it had all ended at a dinner in a swanky restaurant over filet mignon and an excellent wine. She'd simply said that she couldn't do it anymore, that she had gone as far as she could go. The responsibilities kept getting in the way and they couldn't even get through a dinner—_that_ dinner—without their phones going off every few minutes. Phil had looked at her for a long time, mind quick and whirring as he considered her outburst. And then he'd simply said 'Understood' and turned from the table, leaving money for the bill by his glass. Claire had watched him go, controlling her emotions with a mightily fierce exertion so that she wouldn't cry all over her new dress. It was a scene that replayed on repeat many times in her conscious and unconscious mind, reminding her of why Guardian relationships were so fleeting. The secrecy simply couldn't be maintained long enough and no Guardian could ever trust someone outside the circle to stay out of the way when the time came to fight.

With some effort, Claire shook herself from her thoughts and turned her attention to Camilla. She was sitting next to Darcy in one of the vacated chairs, talking animatedly about the advances in spell writing that Darcy would learn. Darcy listened attentively, interjecting a 'sweet' or 'seriously?' whenever Camilla hit a particularly interesting point. Claire was happy to have a potential already familiar with most of the aspects of their work. She would be a leader amongst the group, Claire thought, someone eager to learn and already advancing quickly.

Camilla stood from her perch, pushing off from her knees, "So, lunch?"

Claire glanced at her watch, "It's after three."

"Okay," Camilla replied, shrugging, "Early dinner."

Darcy rose to standing, a smile spreading across her face, "I'm totally ready for anything you make. Just sayin'."

Chuckling, Claire folded her arms across her body, "I see you've introduced them to the wonders of your cooking."

"Wonders," Darcy repeated softly, "Yeah, that about covers it."

Camilla blushed a little under the weight of the praise, "So I made a few dinners, no big deal."

Claire rolled her eyes, "You made the pancakes didn't you? And the chocolate lava cake, right?"

"Yes," Camilla snorted, "And yes. I thought they deserve a little dessert after a hard day's work saving the world."

"You would know," Claire replied, her voice without venom.

Camilla huffed, "Yeah, I guess I would."

Brent, who had been distracted by something on his phone, finally rose from his seat on a weapons table, "Someone mentioned food? Because I could use a pick-me-up right about now."

Camilla smiled and headed towards the door, intimating that they should follow along to the elevator just outside. Claire checked the box, making sure the lock was secure, and then stepped around it to move along with the group. As she moved inside of the carriage, Claire caught in her periphery the sight of Agent Coulson damn near gliding through the doors. It took some effort to keep the sneer from reaching her mouth as the annoyance at how ubiquitous his presence seemed to be in the building. There would be, it seemed, no escaping the fact that he 'handled' everything that moved, breathed, or worked in Shield and that included her and her team. _Damn._

Claire straightened her spine a little, pressing her toes into the floor to maintain her balance as she waited for the doors to close. The shining metallic finish gave her a clear view of herself, her severe bun, her carefully applied makeup, cowl neck sweater. It also forced her to recognize that Agent Coulson was looking at her in the mirrored reflection, a familiar expression marring his face. Brows drawn together, he was studying her in detail, jaw set as if he'd made a decision. Claire knew this look, knew that he was beginning a plan in that strategically inclined mind of his and that plan involved her to some degree. She had to tamp down the shiver that wanted to burst forth from the base of her spine, managing to force it back with a hard swallow. Coulson, unfortunately, noticed (as he noticed all things) with narrowed eyes. _Double damn._

The ride slowed to a stop and the doors opened with barely a sound, a tribute to the engineering of the building. Claire filed out with the rest of the team, faltering when a warm body brushed ever so slightly against her side, the fabric of the suit catching on the stitching of her sweater. She glanced to the side, seeing only the back of Agent Coulson's head as he strolled away so casually that she could conceivably believe the action had been an accident. Claire, however, knew Coulson so much better than that. She suddenly became very much aware that a new game was starting, a new round of intrigue and guesswork. Her only wish was that it didn't excite her quite so much as it did because rekindling anything between them was only going to leave an absolute mess in its wake. _Triple-fucking-damn._

Coulson didn't follow them to the kitchen, for which she was grateful as it gave Claire the opportunity to mull over the prospects. Her thoughts whizzed along stray lines of thinking and patterns of behavior, trying to figure out what his next move would be. It didn't make sense that he would play any sort of game with her emotions out of menace, though even Claire had to admit that they probably didn't know everything about one another's personalities despite their yearlong connection. Still, with the hurt she'd seen in him just before he left her at the table, it was certainly a surprise that Phil would even acknowledge her in such a way.

Feeling her head begin to ache with the circular arguments for the underlying reasons and the self-chastisement for potentially reading too far into the incident, Claire forced herself to come back to the present and take in the scene of a truly amazing kitchen. Sterling silver appliances, top of the line equipment, more knives than she could stick in gremlin. It was almost too impressive for her tender sensibilities. Sneaking a peek at Camilla, Claire smiled as Camilla dove right into the refrigerator and pulled bits of food to be piled onto the island.

Claire had taught Camilla everything there was to know about cooking and how to take care of one's body with the careful selection of food. Meals were used a fuel for their rather athletic lifestyles and Camilla's diner habit had brought her into dangerously out of shape territory. She still remembered the look on Camilla's face as she successfully created a jambalaya from leftovers, the surprise written clearly across Camilla's features. From there, Camilla had studiously applied herself to the art and science of cooking and all that entailed. After a few false starts, Camilla was soon treated the whole team to meals whenever they happened to be at headquarters at the same time.

Sliding onto a barstool, Claire reached over and grasped a couple of onions, peeling the skin from them and throwing the excess into a can sitting nearby. Catching a knife Camilla slung her way, Claire diced the onion, pushing it towards Camilla as she added spices and soy sauce to a mass of ground chuck. The onions were added and small patties of meat were made with egg whites to hold the mixture together. While Camilla formed the burgers, Claire took the initiative to heat a skillet, catching bits of conversation between Darcy and Brent along the way.

"You do this every day?" Darcy was asking with a laugh.

Brent gave a dramatic and characteristic sigh, "Yes, but what can I say? I love saving the world."

"You love the accolades and the bragging rights," Camilla interjected as she used a food processor to grate potatoes into slices.

Claire hummed her approval for Camilla's assessment, noting that the skillet was ready for the burgers. She spun on her heel, plucking the plate from Camilla's hands before she realized that she didn't have a utensil to handle the patties. For a moment, Claire simply stared at the plate with a frown, tapping her foot as she glanced around the kitchen for a spatula.

"Drawer on the left," Camilla said as she placed the potatoes on a baking sheet.

Nodding, Claire found the tool she needed and slid each burger onto the hot skillet, satisfied with the sizzle and steam. Behind her, the conversation continued leisurely.

"When do I get those badass tattoos?" Darcy asked with a smile.

Claire, unable to help herself, responded, "When you earn them." It was a statement that had been burned into her memory during her own training, a reiteration that they weren't frivolous, but a signature and title.

"So, like, three months," Darcy continued as she grabbed a couple of glasses from one of the cupboards.

Camilla chuckled, stepping around Claire to set the pan into the oven and turn up the heat. "Try two years."

"_Two years_?" Darcy echoed, stunned. "Geez, I could earn another degree in that time."

Brent snorted, "I wouldn't recommend it. You'll have enough on your plate with the Guardian training."

"And here I'd thought I'd graduated."

"Surprise," Brent replied in sing-song. "Don't worry about it, though. You've got the best to teach you the ropes."

Sending Brent a smile, Claire called out a, "Thank you, you're very sweet," as she flipped the burgers.

"As pie," Brent sent back with a grin. He went on to explain that, while he hadn't been around for the last round of training, he had heard stories of the feats performed by the two fledged Guardians in the room. Claire rolled her eyes as he recounted the leprechaun story with so much enthusiasm and embellishment that Darcy automatically called 'shenanigans'. She crowed with laughter as Brent imitated a, decidedly bad, Irish accent and flailed his arms so vigorously that he almost fell off his stool.

"I'm serious," Brent urged with wide eyes, "That's exactly how it happened?"

Darcy raised a dubious brow, "Yeah, but how did they get a shovel, a horse, and ten pounds of rock salt at that time of the night?"

With a low voice, Brent whispered conspiratorially, "You'd be amazed at what's just lying around at headquarters."

"Now that," Claire announced, "Is completely true."

Turning off the heat, Claire plated the burgers onto buns that Camilla had laid out as the potatoes baked. She then reached down with a towel and pulled the pan from the oven, using the spatula to set a serving of the crispy fries onto each plate. Camilla helped her carry the plates to the island where they were handed off to Brent and Darcy. It never failed to satisfy her when people enjoyed the food she put in front of them. Though Claire didn't have what most people called a 'maternal nature', it was nice to know that she was giving fuel to those around her, keeping them healthy.

For a few moments, all there was to hear were the sounds of enjoyment as the four of them continued their meal. And then Darcy set her plate to the side and looked at Camilla and Claire with a beseeching expression that had Claire immediately on her guard.

"You said we could protect our families," Darcy began, tugging at the sleeves of her oversized sweater. "Since I've already got the magic thing kind of down, can we go ahead and do that for my mom and dad. I mean, the sigil of what's-his-face is gone, but that was some seriously screwed up juju and I just want to be careful."

Camilla replied even as Claire was inhaling to speak, "I think we can do that. We'll go out tomorrow."

"Sweet," Darcy sighed, looking relieved. She returned to her meal with relish, popping a fry into her mouth. "So when do I get to do that blast-y thing you did when you got here. I want to make an entrance at my next party."

Claire laughed, "That's pretty advanced work, but if you work hard in the next few months, I'll show you how to fade through space."

"Fade?"

"Mmhmm," Claire hummed, "Very helpful when you're late. Very tricky, though. I once lost an entire Prada bag."

"Bummer," Darcy murmured, "I once lost my good winter boot on the subway." At the silence of the room and the raised brows of her companions, she continued, "Had to throw it in self defense. There was this hobo who kept creeping."

Claire wondered if she had been out of the world a little too long and whether or not she needed to do some serious research about the modern culture. She had only been hospitalized for six months, and her time in Portland hadn't been completely akin to a hermit. Still, there was no cable at her father's house and less that optimum reception in the medical ward. Claire guessed that she probably missed a few very important aspects of the world as it progressed. She made a note to catch up on the internet when she got back to her room—which was actually Camilla's vacated room—that night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Slightly shorter chapter this time, but a little more interaction between Coulson and Claire. We're going to be picking up the pace in the next few chapters, so be prepared for the storyline to move pretty quickly. **

"Imagine you are sitting on a boulder in the middle of a sunlit forest, the trees waving all around you. The heat of the sunlight fans out across your cheeks and shoulders, warming you from the outside inwards. As you sit, a light rain starts to fall, dropping down the length of your skin, cooling your heated body.

"Standing, you press your toes into the soft ground, padding further into the forest. Suddenly, you are struck with the need to find something. It pushes you to walk quickly down a trail through the trees, your hands reaching out to scrape against the tree bark. The rain begins to fall harder, large drops soaking your clothing.

"You reach the mouth of a cave and duck inside, your feet stepping along the stone floor. As you move further into the cave, you take several turns until you are staring down the length of a long tunnel with a light shining near the end. Moving towards the light, the tunnel opens up to a huge cavern in which there is an almost as large ball of spinning light sitting in the center. Standing at the entrance, you stare at the ball as with shrinks a little, giving you more room to enter the room.

"The more you focus, the smaller the ball becomes until it is the size of a large beach ball. Your breathing is steady, your heart is steady, your mind is steady. The ball continues to shrink, it is now the size of a basket ball. You breathing is steady, your heart is steady, your mind is steady. Still smaller, it is the size of a softball, a baseball. You grasp it and it sits comfortably in the palm of your hand, growing steadily smaller until it is no bigger than a pea.

"Finally, it winks out, leaving you in complete darkness. You have no fear, only serene calm. Your breathing is steady, your heart is steady, your mind is steady. Open your eyes."

The group around Claire woke from their meditative state with some reluctance, their eyes sleepy and blurred. She allowed them a long moment to gather their wits about them and to return to some sort of alertness. Making her way over to the light switch, she carefully increased the light in the room until they were blinking rapidly at the ceiling.

"We're going to start with this kind of meditation every day for the next three months. It's very important that you recognize the need to be calm and balanced at all times when you are performing your duties. Agents of the dark will do anything to tap into and manipulate your emotions. You are responsible for making sure they cannot do so. Any questions?"

Regina rolled her neck, piling a mass of blonde hair atop her head, "How're we supposed to focus for the rest of the day when you put us to sleep in the morning?"

Claire stepped towards a bench, sitting as she spoke, "You'd be amazed how much a little morning meditation will help for the rest of the day."

The four potentials rose and took their seats opposite Claire. She gave them a moment to get situated before she launched into the lesson of the day—A Brief History of Guardians. Claire explained that in the time before even writing had been invented, there had been Guardians to fight the agents of the dark. Their practices were passed down orally by their handlers and, eventually, by an elected Council until the lore had been etched in cuneiform upon a stone tablet.

Switching gears, Claire began to speak about the six bloodlines. In the time before mass population, there were six great houses that bred specifically the innate magical skills needed to perform the tasks of Guardianship. As the centuries passed, potentials were found in more and more families—all with a blood connection to the original six. The common theory in contemporary thinking was that the bloodlines had been scattered across the globe.

"How is the potential chosen?" Evan asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "How were we chosen?"

Pressing her lips together, Claire thought carefully about her answer. She didn't want to frighten them, but facts were facts and lying to them so early in the training set a bad precedent.

"A potential is called when a Guardian dies," she answered finally.

Of the four potentials, only Darcy looked unsurprised. Having been present at the deaths of the previous team, she knew the score far more clearly than the others. It didn't, however, stop the crestfallen look from gracing her face as she recalled her visit to the Other.

Belinda's pale face rose and she looke Claire in the eyes for the very first time, "How did the last four die?"

"There was an attack," Claire replied, glad Camilla had chosen not to attend this session. "A very powerful demon faded through a dimension, taking them along with it."

"Will that happen to us?" Belinda asked, her voice shaking.

Sighing, Claire gathered her wits, "I don't know."

The only reply from the group was a silence so pointed that Claire had to drop her eyes or risk blabbering about the statistics of a Guardian's lifespan. Anything she could say was very nearly hypocritical as Claire had seen more Guardians that she thought possible rise and fall. Claire, herself, had very nearly died over a year previously. There was nothing more to it other than the knowledge that being a Guardian was a considerable health risk.

"Let's talk emotive control," Claire called out, forcing a smile to her face. "What are the things that make you uncomfortable?" When no one answered, she took to the weakest target, "Belinda?"

The girl winced a little, sliding backwards into the seat of her chair, her hair falling forward over her shoulders. Claire refused to relent in her gaze, waiting interminably while Belinda made up her mind about how she would answer. Finally, after it became clear that Claire would wait all day for an answer, Belinda shrugged her shoulders in defeat.

"I don't like crowds."

Claire almost rolled her eyes. Belinda's answer was so _obvious_ and manipulating it would be easy for even a low level demon. She stepped around behind Belinda and touched her shoulder gently.

"Close your eyes." Then, "Imagine you're in a crowded room, there is noise and heat and vibration all around you. You know there is a dark agent in the room, but there are so many faces that you can't differentiate between what is human and what is evil."

The body in front of her visibly stiffened and Claire could hear the breath speeding in and out of her lungs. Shaking her head, Claire stepped away.

"You need work, Belinda."

"It's the first day," Regina sneered, "Cut her a break."

Claire turned, saying, "No demon is going to be lenient with you, no gremlin is going to consider your youth or inexperience before it tears your heart out and eats it. It would be a disservice for me to have mercy, even at the beginning."

Darcy shifted in her chair, saying nothing, but Claire could see the brows drawn together and the concern etched across her face. Claire wished she could relent some tiny bit, but their time was short—and with only two trained Guardians on the roster, it was a prime opportunity for the dark realm to make a serious move. She could only hope that news of Astar's victory before his death hadn't reached any further than the entities roaming the Other. Otherwise, Claire would have no choice but to withdraw every potential to headquarters for their own protection. Camilla would have to once again resume her solitary lifestyle, leaving her new beau behind, which would only cause more friction between herself and the Council.

They spent another hour or two working through their fears and talking about their day to day lives. Claire gave a few examples of their expected duties—exorcism, combat, and spell work—all the while battling sarcasm from Evan, bewilderment from Regina, and stoic denial from Belinda. Darcy asked some questions, but remained mostly silent, absorbing the information like some kind of sponge. By the end of their first session, however, Claire felt the beginnings of a headache coming. She dismissed the group, sending them on their way just before lunch. They would resume with the history lesson the next day.

Darcy lingered at the doorway, "You want to talk about it?"

Claire raised a brow, "Excuse me?"

"You look upset," Darcy clarified, "Do you want to talk about why?"

Straightening, Claire set her jaw, "I'm fine. Go get some rest."

With a shrug, Darcy sauntered out through the door and into the waiting elevator, her dark hair bouncing behind her. Claire sat on her designated bench, crossing her legs at the knee as she stared at the vacated chairs. Four chairs. Four potentials. Four possible failures. The thought rolled around in her head for several long seconds before her expression hardened. The Gatekeeper didn't fail. Claire _did not fail._ Standing, she balanced on her heels, breathing deeply as her resolve strengthened to steel. Even though time was short and the potentials were green as grass, Claire would make sure that she didn't walk into another bloodbath as she had two weeks earlier. There would be no more death while she was at the helm of this training and initiation.

Feeling her confidence return to its normal levels, Claire pulled her shoulders back and strode to the elevator, stabbing the call button. She was a revered Gatekeeper, it was time she started to act like a chosen one of the Council, protector of the Gate. Claire's spine straightened marginally, her breath evening as she recalled her successful missions, her training, and the understanding that, while she had made mistakes, that didn't in any way tarnish the fact that her power was significantly more advanced than any other agent of the Council, save for August. She was assigned to lead this team so that whatever catastrophe developed in their world, they would be able to thwart it.

The ride in the elevator was filled with Claire's silent mantras and pep talks, a firm reminder to her mind that she was the best candidate to complete this mission. She would follow the main guidelines of the training, consulting with Camilla on the more difficult parts and the adjustments they would make based on their relationship with Shield. Claire could do this because she made more collective experience than anyone she had ever met, she was far stronger magically than in her youth, and she had the backing of the Council. Any obstacle could be overcome with a little ingenuity and a strong cup of coffee.

The thought of coffee reminded Claire that she had slept fitfully the previous night and she could use the little jolt of caffeine. Curiously satisfied with the hard click of her heels, she made her way to the kitchen Camilla had shown her and started checking the cabinets for a bag, carton, or jug of coffee grounds. The place looked fully stocked, so it was only a matter of figuring out where the staff had stored it. With a smile, she pulled the tiny tin from its place next to at least ten boxes of tea and set it aside as she began her search for the coffee maker.

The pantry was filled with devices that looked positively medieval and there was no sign of a simply coffee maker, single cup or otherwise. Then, she spied a tall tube with a lever attached to it and she sighed. It was the only thing remotely connected to coffee and she had no idea how to use it. Taking the device from the pantry, Claire set it next to the coffee and stared at it, working through the information in her brain in an effort to garner some kind of plan of action.

"It's a French press," came a voice from the doorway.

Claire, knowing it was Coulson, suppressed a sigh. "Yes. The question is: How do I use it?"

His chuckle was the tiniest bit condescending and Claire felt her jaw clench in frustration. She didn't need to go back to feeling like she needed to impress him or to garner his attention. Their relationship was over and despite her suspicions that he was beginning a new game, Claire couldn't afford to play along.

"I'll show you," Coulson answered, surprising Claire with his willingness to be in the same room with her for more than a few minutes outside of a work related issue. She stepped to the side and let him take over, an action that was faintly familiar.

"You have to heat the press first," Coulson explained, running hot water into the press and setting it to the side. "Then, you grind."

Claire lifted a brow as she watched him pour a small amount of whole beans into a device she hadn't seen tucked behind the toaster. He reached up and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, holding below a spout for the ground coffee to fall into.

"Next, we pour out the hot water and pour in the ground coffee. And then we pour a little more hot water on it and allow the grounds to settle… a little more water to the top." He capped the tube and cupped the lever, "And we press."

Coulson decanted the coffee into a mug, silently adding sugar and moving to the fridge to get the cream. After pouring in a healthy amount, he slid the mug over to Claire, leaving back on the counter with his arms crossed. Claire grasped the handle, bringing the mug to her lips. She blew gently over the rim before taking a sip. As usual, he had made a perfect cup of coffee exactly as she liked it. Part of her wanted to punch him for remembering the little details of her life and for continuing to apply them so liberally. Another part of her melted a little at the realization that he hadn't in fact forgotten the little things.

"How was your first day?"

Claire smiled weakly, "It had its ups and downs. I forgot how many questions tend to come up in the first few weeks. And without the priming before the training… they know nothing of what they will be asked to do. Part of me is terrified for them."

Coulson dropped his arms and pressed his palms to the counter behind him, saying, "I've seen what Camilla can do and she respects you as a colleague. I'm confident you will prepare them for the task ahead."

There was a coolness in his tone that struck Claire in a strange way deep in her chest. She looked away, distracting herself with the mug in her hands. It was stupid of her to think that she could simply speak with him on a casual level. The past still hung between them, a barrier Claire could not hope to overcome with a conversation or an apology—not that she felt the need to apologize. There was nothing about the events of that night that could possibly induce her to think their separation was her fault. She'd spoken her piece and he'd left with just a single word. There was no further conversation, no emails, phone calls or texts. Phil had disappeared and Claire resigned herself to licking her wounds at her father's house in Portland.

"Thank you for the coffee," Claire croaked out, stepping around Coulson towards the doors. On the way out, she caught the word 'pleasure' slipping from his lips. She had the distinct impression that the act of making her coffee was not a pleasure for agent Coulson. As she made her way back to her room, Claire shook away the frustration at the mixed signals she was getting from him. One minute he was making her coffee, explaining it so that she could do it for herself the next time and the next minute he was slicing at her with cool words and tones that destroyed any hope she had for repairing their broken relationship.

Once inside, Claire sat down at a small table and opened her laptop, pulling up her email and clicking through them absently. The Council wanted an update on the potentials, R&D wanted approval for some new project, and Brent had sent her meeting cancellations for the next three months. She answered R&D, gave a quick overview for the Council, and thanked Brent for his hard work. The only reply she received was a sarcastic remark from her assistant about how his annual leave hadn't been approved. Claire smiled, deliberately leaving his request unanswered. Brent knew she'd probably approve it, but she did like to make him wait.

Closing the screen, Claire leaned back in her chair and studied her nails for a moment, noting the chips. With a sigh, she trudged to her bathroom and opened her makeup bag, pulling the little packet of acetone towelettes from its little pouch. As she scrubbed the color from her nails, Claire thought about her next move. The potentials would need closure from their old lives after their first month of training. Until then, she would have to work them hard to get them up to speed. Perhaps she would start with magic—Darcy would be able to lead in that—maybe teach them some practical skills such as minimal healing and the movements of objects. The more complex magical arts would not be allowed until they were fledged due to the danger of unrestrained powerful magic. Not only could they take the whole building down with an accidental and emotionally charged pulse, but the dark agents were sniffing out Guardian signatures.

Claire had noticed the protection spells, had seen Camilla's work in securing the building, but no spell would be any match for a high ranking entity from the dark. Claire would have to do some foundational work in the next week or so, erasing the building from the detection of any demon. It would be exhausting work and would drain her magical stores for several days, but Claire felt it would be worth it so that she wouldn't keep sleeping with one eye open for danger.

Throwing the soiled cloth in the trash, Claire stood and stepped out of her heels, padding into the bedroom. She shrugged out of her blouse and skirt, dropping them onto the bed before reaching for her suitcase. Claire hadn't packed light, choosing several bags to fill with her favorite suits, shoes, and accessories. Having learned early on the first impressions were often the most lasting, she made it a point to always look her best, particularly when negotiating truces and agreements with governmental agencies. Reaching inside, she pulled a soft pair of workout pants and a long sleeved shirt from the bag, donning them. She then slipped into a pair of ankle socks and a sturdy pair of shoes, intent on using the training room to maintain her workout routine.

At thirty five, Claire knew her body was going to start breaking down with the stress of her life, but she managed to keep her lap times low and her muscles strong despite high blood pressure and tendinitis in her elbow. The physicality of her slim build was enough to keep her on an even par with other Guardians when it came down to a fight, but it was really her magic that flourished with her health. Claire's magical skills were what had saved her life many times in battle and she wasn't about to let them diminish because she got tired a little faster than normal.

The training room was, thankfully, empty when she arrived and Claire allowed herself extra time to stretch her muscles, warming them at intervals until her whole body felt ready. She then began to run laps, easing into a familiar tempo, her breaths timed by the footfalls sounding in her ears. When she first started conditioning, Claire hated running with such a passion that she skipped out on the first few sessions with her trainer. She begged, blackmailed, and manipulated to be assigned other conditioning assignments, but eventually the Council stepped in to issue the directive—she would run or face punishment. There was no other way to get a full workout despite the fact that swimming was just as aerobic. Claire decided much later that it was their way of making an example of her dissention for the others, driving home the point that disobedience would not be tolerated, even by a top student.

Now, as her body adjusted to the pace and intensity, Claire wondered at how much she had come to like running. It was one of the few times she got to really thinking about the things going on in her life despite the fact that her work dominated almost every aspect. Her final decision to accept Phil's dinner invitation had occurred during an afternoon run, giving her a new avenue in which to explore more permanent romantic endeavors. So had her decision to bring up their seemingly unconquerable divide. Claire's step faltered, but she forced herself back on track, increasing her speed so that she could feel the muscles in her legs begin to burn.

Once finished with her run, Claire eased down to the floor and stretched her legs and arms, preparing for her cool down routine. Standing, she held her body very still, calming her breathing as she raise her arms, pressing them to the ceiling. Bending at the waist, she dropped into a plank, pushing back into downward dog before stepping into warrior one. Repeating the same motions on the other side, she ended by pressing her palms to her heart center. As an extra precaution for her unsettled emotions, Claire sat in silence, calming her mind until the world seemed to stop completely around her, stilling into a flow of energy that was centered around her.

Opening her eyes, Claire saw that another person had crept quietly in and was sitting across the room in full lotus, eyes closed in concentration. She took in his shaggy hair, the glasses sitting off to the side, and the loose fitting clothing. He was very still, not even his eyes flickered, which suggested that he'd trained somewhere and been taught by a yogi. It was an opportunity Claire had never been afforded and she was deeply jealous. Shaking away her feelings (she seemed to be doing that a lot), Claire left him in peace, gathering her duffel silently.

In the halls, Claire passed a striking red head striding purposefully towards the training room with a familiar determined look on her face. She felt sorry for the man seeking peace and hoped the agent dressed in black wasn't too hard on him. The thought brought a chuckle to her lips, glad to know that some things never quite changed, even in super secret government facilities. Hoisting her bag higher, Claire sauntered back to her room, feeling much more relaxed and contemplating a hot shower.

As she pushed on her door to enter, Claire heard Camilla's voice echo down the hall. She stopped, listening carefully at the rising tone and wondering if she should intervene. Camilla was a grown woman, a force to be reckoned with when she got going due to her heavily protected emotions. Still, Claire was nosey, always seeking more information, and she couldn't resist standing a little longer. The conversation didn't quite make sense, something about 'pancakes' and 'rewards'. Claire glanced down the hall, catching sight of Agent Barton kissing Camilla with no small amount of passion, pushing her against the opposite wall.

Blushing, Claire slipped unnoticed into her room and dropped her duffel off to the side, stripping her clothes off as she headed for the bathroom. The heat of the shower helped to keep her muscles loose and to wash the sweat from her body. She scrubbed until her skin felt squeaky clean and the water ran cool. Then, careful of the slick floor, she stepped from the spray and dressed as comfortably as she could. Though she had worked less than half a day with the potentials, Claire felt her body grow exhausted. After years at a break neck pace, slowing down was reminding her that she didn't take nearly enough time for herself. She could practically hear Camilla repeating her own words back to her in a voice laced with sarcasm—you can't take care of someone else until you take care of yourself.

Sitting gingerly on the bed, Claire ran her fingers through her damp hair, pulling on a soft pair of linen pants and a cashmere sweater. She needed a nap, and then possibly dinner. Twisting her hair into a soft braid, Claire lay back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling, pointedly working to stall her rampantly running thoughts. There would be no rest if she couldn't quiet her mind, a familiar pattern when she made the rare attempt to sleep soundly. Eventually, her eyes drooped closed and she fell into a sleep that was dreamless.

Claire woke to a blaring siren, the light and sound blasting through her consciousness and startling her so soundly that she slipped from the mattress to the floor, her hand reaching for the gun sitting on her nightstand. Pulling the weapon from the holster, Claire remained in a crouch, easing towards the door while trying to remain as low to the ground as possible. Peering out into the hall, she twisted around to get a good look at the hoards of agents running to and fro, their weapons held carefully in front of them.

Growing more alarmed, Claire rose and stepped out into the frenzy, looking for a familiar face so that she could get information. Seeing none, she made a snap decision to simply follow the tide of soldiers in order to figure out what had set the whole building off. They were moving quickly towards an area of the house Claire hadn't seen yet, the halls opening up to a wide reception area near the front of the structure. As the people around her slowed, Claire instinctively moved to keep her body between whatever the danger happened to be and the wall, her gun held in both hands. She had to forcibly loosen her grip, tamping down her anxiety so that she could aim effectively.

Something pounded from the other side of the room, shaking the ground below her. Claire braced her legs and raised her weapon, eyes narrowing. She wished she had read the dossier on the place before heading out because it may have prepared her for the giant green _something_ crashing through the oversized doorway, a snarl across its mouth. For half a second, her mind simply refused to form a coherent thought or electrical signal to the rest of her body. She was fairly certain her heart stopped beating. In all of her time working with things that existed only in nightmares, Claire somehow was completely unprepared for the sight before her.

Luckily—and she truly meant luckily—a figure stepped out from the mass and confronted the thing, her flaming red hair bouncing with every step. Claire lowered her gun slightly, interested in seeing their interaction for the sole purpose that it might save her life. The woman lifted her hands and spoke in a soft voice, the words blurred to Claire by the distance between them. The thing glanced down at the redhead, its eyes narrowing as it listened. Sneer remaining in place, it bellowed so loudly that the ground shook once more, sending Claire a few inches back until her back pressed hard against the wall. Breathing heavily, she waited for the woman to respond, wondering if bullets would even make a dent in the creature standing so ominously near the entrance.

To Claire's utter and complete surprise, the creature's comforter returned the bellow with one of her own. Though the sound was miniscule in comparison, it certainly got the attention of the creature, its greats hulking shoulders canting forward in reply. It raged again, and its yell was returned with as much force as the woman's lungs could muster. Claire watched in fascination as the interchange continued, the pair circling each other until the creature sat cross legged in front of the woman and reached out to pat her head with one enormous finger.

There seemed to be this collective sigh of relief from the crowd as the rage turned nearly playful. Claire's brows drew together even as she dropped her weapon to her side, her trigger finger held loosely along the barrel. Confused, she made her way around the perimeter of the crowd, easing in between the armored men and the wall. The room had drifted into this tense awareness of everything happening near the far end, leaving Claire wondering if this was a protocol the building followed often. She was about to ask the nearest soldier when the creature suddenly slumped over to its side, seeming to lose complete consciousness.

All events seemed to transpire without much reaction from the room, as if every uniformed man and woman fully expected a raging monster to come barreling into the room, be calmed by an unnamed woman in the tightest pair of cargo pants Claire had ever seen, and fall over unconscious onto the tiled floor. Claire glanced around, utterly flabbergasted at the lack of response. If this had happened at headquarters, there would be teams running around taking readings and cleaning up the mess before she could blink. Here, the audience simply watched and waited in such stillness that Claire began to feel uncomfortable.

Finally, Agent Coulson stepped determinedly into the room, phone at his ear. He strode over to the creature, the massive body shrinking as if by magic. Then, with assured movements, the agent tucked his phone away and leaned down to check the pulse of what looked like a shaggy haired, malnourished, man. Claire recognized the man—and, now that she could see her face, the woman—as the pair headed straight for a confrontation earlier that day. Had the impending argument set him off? Was this… mutation caused by conflict? Pursing her lips, Claire decided she would need to ask questions later, which would inevitably put her back into the line of fire for Agent Coulson.

Claire's attention shifted to said agent, taking in the slick cut of his suit and the gun holstered at his side. She flexed her fingers around her own pistol, wondering if he'd always carried a gun when they were together. Having never actually seen him wearing a weapon during their relationship, it was strange that he looked so comfortable slipping his hand over the hilt and shifting his weight as he assessed the situation. Unsure of how she felt about this new side to Coulson, Claire slipped backwards through the formation of soldiers and back towards her room. She needed time to think, to remind herself that the potentials were her mission, and to force herself to let whatever emotions she was feeling go so that she could perform to the best of her ability.

Stepping back into the safety of her room, Claire replaced her weapon, setting aside. Then, she sat on the bed and fell backwards to stare at the ceiling. Out of her element, Claire felt more lost than when she'd first taken the markings of Guardianship. If she were at headquarters, training the potentials would be something she could talk about with others so that she could get input. If she were at headquarters, she could be micromanaged by the Council. Oscillating back and forth between the two 'ifs', Claire worried a hole in her subconscious mind. Her mission was not a philosophical question, no matter how much she worked through the differing tangents. The location of the training was not going to affect her effectiveness nor was it going to distract her.

Claire sighed as she was once again struck by the fact that, outside of her daily sessions, she had nothing with which to keep her mind occupied. This did not bode well for her sanity, or the safety of all other occupants of the building. In times of boredom, Claire was prone to trying new crafts and creating new recipes in the kitchen that more often than not ended out in the trash. Her first attempt at a soufflé had nearly burned the kitchen down—Claire had since perfected the recipe as well as picked up knitting, origami, and fencing. Kenny had once joked with her that she was a jack of all trades, master of none. Claire supposed that the sentiment was mostly true given the fact that she picked up skills just as quickly as she dropped them, focused on something else.

Claire's varied interests helped her think in new ways, helped her to solve problems with increasing levels of creativity and ingenuity. It was the main reason that the Council had assigned her to the Gate in the first place. She was experienced with the unpredictability, handled it with extreme poise and grace. She was also stone cold when dealing with the evils that flowed out of it occasionally, dealing them a true form of death despite whatever pleas they might make.

The Gate was unstable, but she had managed to stop its growth and leak for almost five years. However, whatever powers were gathering at the other side were pushing with more and more force—so much so that the last blast of power had completely drained all the glyphs she'd laid that week. It took six hours to contain the situation and she lost three interns that day to their own fear. Sitting up, Claire pulled her hair from her ponytail and slid between the sheets, feeling far too tired to venture back out into the fray. She forced her thoughts back into the dark mires of her mind and settled into yet another round of sleep, hoping that the next day would bring answers to the many questions she had.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'll be introducing some magic into this chapter, and we get a little more interaction between Claire and Phil. I hope I've kept him in character. **

Claire stared at the French press with a look of disdain and resignation that, for any intern, would have sent them running. The fearless machine simply rested calmly on the counter, not deigning to give her any kind of response. She very nearly knocked it 'accidentally' off the counter in an impotent form of vengeance. And then she remembered that she was a well respected adult and well respected adults did not accidentally on purpose destroy offending French presses. Scratching at the back of her head, Claire sighed and emptied the press into the sink, knowing that she wasn't going to get any coffee that morning.

Turning, she spotted Camilla moving down the hallway, Agent Barton following closely behind with an excited look on his face. From Camilla's knowing smile, Claire could only assume that Camilla would be treating the man to her famous breakfast concoctions. Claire hadn't needed to push very hard to get Camilla to learn how to cook with her regularly. She took one look at the disgraceful diner food Camilla ingested day after day and finally set her down to give the girl a good talking to. With some instruction, Camilla simply took to the kitchen like a fish to water, far exceeding anything Claire might be capable of in her own skill. Sometimes, when they both happened to be at headquarters at the same time, Claire would lean against the large countertop near the stove and watch Camilla pull seemingly random bits of food from the cupboards and freezers only to create a lavish spread of dishes.

Pushing the French press aside, Claire nodded in greeting to the pair, folding her suddenly nervous hands into the long sleeves of her blouse. There was no denying that change had come—was still arriving, even—between them. Claire had never shared her relationship with Camilla, wouldn't risk the Council overhearing gossip. And, in hindsight, she was glad that she hadn't. While unembarrassed about the subject, herself, Claire wouldn't have Phil feeling anxious about their affair. He was far too good of a man to have his reputation blemished by seeking out a relationship with an entity of a less than legal agency—not that Shield knew anything about her work or the people currently sitting on the Council. But, it still behooved her to be careful with information about her private and professional life.

Forcing the muscles in her lips to spread wide across her teeth, Claire asked, "Shall I heat the griddle?"

Camilla's answering smile was indulgent, "Read my mind. Clint has been bugging me for pancakes for at least a week."

"Ten days," the agent confirmed with a smirk. "Watched the process over and over and I still can't get them to taste right."

Claire rolled her eyes, sliding onto a vacant barstool, "Of course not. Nothing is quite like Camilla's culinary mastery."

"You flatter," Camilla replied with a smile, already hard at work mixing ingredients in a large bowl. Claire leaned back a little, noting the keen gaze of the man sitting two chairs down from her. Knowing she was being assessed for her mettle, she dropped her hands loosely in front of her and observed Camilla's work with interest.

"Pick up any new recipes lately?"

Camilla shrugged, flipping a cake on the griddle, "Not really. Things have been a little too hectic to research new stuff."

"Understandable," Claire replied lowly, inwardly wincing at yet another reminder that she could have been present to help. "I saw a sweet potato chili recipe online a while back and it made me think of you. I kind of wish I would have written it down. This cold weather definitely calls for a hot meal."

And here she was talking about the weather—the inane chatter of a pair of people who had known each other for years, forced out into the abyss that seemed to separate them. Camilla gave a noncommittal noise, plating a couple of pancakes before sliding the dish over to Clint. Claire watched him dig into the stack with glee, chewing thoughtfully, his eyes alight with enjoyment. Clearly, this was a man who enjoyed savoring his meal. Part of her wondered if he savored his relationship with Camilla as much as he did her cooking.

Camilla mixed another batch of batter, saying, "I was thinking about working a little magical skill in before we start combat."

Claire considered the idea, tossing it around a little and working out various scenarios. "Might not be a bad idea. But, we'll have a hell of a time keeping them from using it during the hand to hand matches."

Raising a brow, Camilla chuckled, "Could make things interesting."

Clint snorted, rolling his broad shoulders forward, "You get to explain why the training room explodes to Coulson."

Rubbing her thumb across a gouge in the counter, Claire asserted evenly, "I'll handle Coulson."

Her declaration earned her a pointed look from Clint and a light shrug from Camilla, their silence telling of how difficult Coulson could be. Claire was unfazed by their clear deference for the man, having faced him down in much more tenuous moments of his control. She smiled to herself as she recalled one tense argument right before she'd been sent off to deal with reports of possible werewolf activity in the mountains. He'd been surly about her consistently ringing phone all throughout dinner, and when the Council finally made the decision to send her to check out the situation, he'd come out and asked about her job description. Unable to give him a clear answer, she'd simply infuriated him further by evading his questions. Claire had left after a final verbal lance, stating that she had never asked what he did despite his own frequent flights out of state. It took a week for either of them to start speaking again.

Attention snapping back to the present, Claire nodded to Camilla as she offered a stack of pancakes, reaching for the proffered fork with anticipation. As always, the food was remarkably good, seasoned in such a way that all the flavors were accentuated, no one of them overpowering the others. Content with her breakfast, Claire relaxed into the seat and forked another bite towards her mouth, tapping a heel against the leg of the barstool.

A sharp intake of breath and a high pitched hiss sounded from Camilla's pale throat, her body bowing backwards. Claire instinctively rose, reaching forward as Camilla's body fell to the floor. Clint made it to her first, his body arched protectively around her as her eyes widened and turned milky white. Claire quickly turned off the burner and stepped around them to grab a couple of towels, handing them to Clint so that he could support Camilla's head. She then filled a glass with lukewarm water and knelt down, waiting patiently for the vision to pass.

After a moment, Camilla's eyes cleared and her body slumped into Clint's arms on a long exhale. Claire handed her the glass, adjusting her position on her heels as she watched Camilla drink the contents greedily. Only when assured that Camilla's immediate care was stable did she speak.

"What did you see?"

Camilla closed her eyes, reliving the experience briefly, "Chaos at headquarters. A fire is going to break out."

Claire paused, her jaw tightening, "The gate?"

Camilla's answer was a shrug, "I couldn't see with all the smoke."

Standing, Claire spared Clint a glance, concluding that he was more than capable of helping Camilla get to her room and rest. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and sent an email to Brent, asking him to send a mass email cautioning against fire. It was all she could do at that point, unsure of how the flames would start. Her skin itched to hop on a plane so that she could check out the situation for herself, even though Claire settled for trusting Brent with the information. She had other things to worry about, such as introducing small spells into the potentials' meditative practices that afternoon. Regina showed some penchant for letting her mind settle into calm, but Evan was restless, edgy most of the time—Belinda still couldn't hold Claire's gaze for more than a few seconds. And Darcy was…enthusiastic, if a little off the mark most of the time.

Taking the elevator, Claire ran through a few messages that had accumulated that morning, replying to only the most urgent and forwarding the rest to Brent so that he could field their questions. She stepped out onto the training floor, glad to see that her pupils were already seated in their regular spot, talking amongst themselves. While still seeming wary of each other, they had at least begun a small bit of dialogue, most of it complaints about how Claire made them sit for hours in silence—totally boring.

Calling out, Claire signaled for their attention, "I'm glad to see everyone looking well rested. We're going to try something new today."

Four pairs of interested and curious eyes landed square on Claire's face, their bodies shifting to contain their excitement. She let them squirm a little, enjoying the tension in the air far too much. Then, she leaned against the weapons table and drew a glyph just above her chest. The magic poured through her tattoos, producing a small ball of electric blue light. It hovered daintily in front of her, waiting for her command.

"Today I'm going to teach you how to reveal the aura of your magic." The ball bounced a little, dropping down near her hips and back. "It won't be as confined as mine, and it will take concentration. But, it is the foundational act of spell work and will be the jumping off point of our more accomplished spells."

Magic work was still fairly new to the group (Darcy notwithstanding) and she could tell that they were a little awed by the casual use of glyph drawing. Waving her hand, Claire pushed the ball into nothingness, bringing the aura back into herself. She drew a chair close to the group and sat gingerly down into the seat, eyeing them for their readiness.

"Each of you has a magical aura, a distinct signature that is unique to you. Calling on it will bring balance and help you to draw the glyphs to enact offensive and defensive spells. Questions?"

Darcy, unsurprisingly raised her hand, "So, let's say we're tied up and can't move our hands. How do we draw the glyphs?"

Claire smiled, "Working with glyphs is helpful when first learning magic, and when using grounding spells to fade between the different planes. Most magic can be done with a single thought if you have the right training."

Darcy's mouth formed a small 'o', her brain already turning with the possibilities. Claire breathed deep and folded her hands into her lap, sending a silent prayer that her exercise would work.

"Close your eyes. Find your spot in the rainforest and rest there." While their eyes were closed, Claire toed off her heels and stood, padding around to Regina and kneeling. "I want you to focus on the heat of the sun boring down on you. Pull that heat into yourself and create a pool of it in your chest."

Regina, always the first to find her center, stilled beside her. Claire reached forward and touched her shoulder, sending a little nudge to Regina's magic, smirking when the bright yellow blob fanning out in front of Regina's chest. Moving on to Evan, she repeated the nudge, squinting at the piercing white light that was more mist than actual orb. Belinda looked uneasy, sensing the Claire was nearby and unsure of her progress. Shaking her head a little, Claire touched Belinda's shoulder, accepting that the girl would flinch. From the little nudge came a weak pale orchid magical signature that billowed like flame.

Darcy was doing her best to focus, to calm her racing mind, but Claire could see that the effort was wearing on the girl despite the short duration. Claire only had to give the slightest little nudge for Darcy's magic to spring forth like a well, flowing in front of her in rushing waves. She nodded, knowing that Darcy's affinity for magic had been fostered by her affiliation with Shield.

Pushing from the floor, Claire let them sit for a while, feeling their way through their auras and balancing the instinctive knowledge that something had happened with the inclination to peek. Sitting, she slipped her heels back into place and crossed her legs, giving each potential one more assessing glance.

"Open your eyes."

She loved watching potentials see the physical manifestation of their magic for the first time. It was the one thing that consistently validated her work as a gatekeeper and as an agent of the Council. From here on out, magic would be simply something they did as a protection against the dark. There would be no purity in the wonder and bafflement of discovering it for the first time. Claire sneered at her own thoughts, thinking that she'd become a cynical old lady lately. Perhaps it was the numerous demonic attacks she'd witnessed, perhaps it was seeing the possession of a twelve year old girl. Most likely it was because Claire couldn't stand the fact that there were only six bloodlines assigned to protect an entire world, sent all across the globe to deal with an ever increasing population of the dark realm.

With a flick of her fingers, Claire snuffed their magical projections, rolling her eyes at the protests. "You'll see that again soon enough. I'm going to teach you how to draw the glyph that will activate your magic. Follow my lead."

It took an hour to get them to stop leading with their elbows, and another half hour arguing with Evan about how 'guys don't swish' with their fingers. Finally, _finally,_ Claire got them to work the right motions in a controlled way that wouldn't explode their magic in their own faces upon the first real try. With all of them braced, Claire walked them through the meditation, easing them into accepting the pulse of magic already running through their veins, and then called out for the glyphs. She was sure as hell surprised when Belinda's burst forth first, stronger than the first time. Darcy's flew forward next, followed by Regina's with little bouts of hesitation. Evan took a few extra tries, but by the end of the session, they were all calling forth their magical auras with little to no prompting from their teacher.

Knowing that they would be working on this by themselves in their rooms, and knowing that magic often drained the body as well as the mind, Claire stopped their session early. She watched them hustle out of the room, rolling her shoulders to release the pent up anxiety. Having never actually taught an introduction to magic before, Claire was surprised at how much stress came with the job. Using her own techniques, she dropped into a light meditative state, controlling her breathing while focusing on her magical core. It desperately needed a work out, but she didn't really think Camilla was up to a duel of sorts so that she could work out the kinks.

Sighing, Claire paced across the room, counting the hollow clicks of her heels as they pressed against the floors. Turning, she braced herself in a balanced stance and brought forth a simple spell, casting the magic out into the room. It stretched in a mass of twisted netting, shimmering with tiny blue lights. Contemplating the knots, Claire reached up and started smoothing them, pushing her way through the cloud so that she could weave little bits of support here and there. Although impossible to completely unravel, the net would unfurl easier with carefully managed construction, giving her spells a little more punch.

Magical maintenance was tedious, to say the least, but utterly necessary when one worked with such complex spells as those that held the Gate in check. Running through the length of it again, Claire caught a gnarled root and pulled it taut, wincing when a portion of the opposite side collapsed under the weight. Biting her cheek, Claire went to work, restructuring the bit of loose material until it stood once more on its own. Satisfied with the state of affairs, she called the magic back to herself, folding it neatly in her core.

The next few days were a whirl of training sessions that oscillated between meditation exercises and controlling the rampantly growing magic in the room. Twice Claire had to weave a spell of protection to keep Darcy from throwing herself into a wall and Belinda (who was a fast learner) kept accidentally setting her clothing aflame. By the end of the third day, Claire was simply too exhausted to deal with four untrained potentials. She called in reinforcements.

Camilla's magic was not refined, but it packet a certain amount of flair that had the potentials doe-eyed. She projected her web, a geometric print of crimson that etched itself out in a kaleidoscope of patterns. Claire noted that the outskirts were much more defined, having lost the darkness of Astar's influence recently. It was a huge step forward for Camilla, proving that she could move forward emotionally, physically, and magically now that the darkness no longer had her marked.

As a special treat for the potentials, Claire and Camilla faced off to spar magically. They stood at opposite ends of the room, Camilla sans jacket and Claire with the sleeves of her blouse rolled upwards, each displaying their tattoos. As a courtesy, Claire allowed Camilla to start the match, noting that Camilla would draw out the suspense in an effort to throw Claire off her game. The silence thickened with Camilla's rising attack, the lights flickering above them. Claire lowered her chin, pooling her resources while she waited for Camilla to draw forth her power. The seconds ticked by until the only sound in the room was the hum of the fluorescents and the shallow breathing of the audience.

Camilla's hands shot forward, pushing a blunt force towards Claire. Teetering a little on her heels, Claire affirmed to herself that Camilla was definitely more powerful that when she'd last seen her. She was proud of how deep the blow went, how thorough the spell work. Using the momentum of Camilla's initial hit, Claire rolled it back and around, swinging it forward with a little more bite. It struck the wall behind a ducking Camilla, her body shifting to deliver a spell aimed at Claire's feet. A hop and two skips later, Claire was manipulating the air in the room to push the potentials back to a more safe location while striking at Camilla's center of gravity.

As they traded spells, it occurred to Claire that they were gathering a wider audience, Agent Coulson standing near the door and a rather dirty looking man in a tank top glaring at them. She couldn't spare a second glance at the pair as Camilla was firing some kind of magical shrapnel at her, the pieces zinging past her body and dissolving as they hit the wall behind her. Ducking, Claire dropped to all fours and pressed her palms hard into the ground. With the floor as her anchor, she called forth a surge of power meant to disarm and disengage one's opponent. Using the leverage in her bent legs, she pushed forward, allowing the pulse to move through the tattoos on her arms and into the space.

Though her aim was little left of center, the strike grazed Camilla's side, dropping her fellow guardian to the floor. Easing to standing, Claire kept her palms up in case Camilla was merely acting the part of the felled enemy. She circled Camilla, watching as the woman groaned and rolled to her back, breathing hard.

"Where the hell did you learn that?"

Claire shrugged, "Restricted section."

Issuing Claire a baleful glare, Camilla growled, "There's a reason those books are restricted."

"I know," Claire responded with a light shrug, "I modified the spell so that it's less… potent."

Rolling forward, Camilla caught her balance and stood, brushing the dust from her clothes, "Still plenty potent."

"Of course," Claire laughed, patting Camilla on the back. "Can't have my sparring partners thinking I've lost my edge. You'll want to test your magic a bit. The spell may have caused some interference."

Camilla looked stricken, her palms clenching as she tried to call her magic to the surface, the tattoos along her forearms sparking a bit. Claire bit her lip as she watched; concerned that she'd been a little too vehement in the casting. After a moment, however, the power flared to life and Camilla's breath pushed out from her lungs in a relieved exhale. Swallowing back her own brand of relief, Claire turned and addressed her students.

"One of the most important skills you will learn when working with the dark realm is to protect your magic. The spell I just worked against Camilla is not a widely used variation, but if cast correctly by someone with enough power, it will destroy your ability to fight on any magical plane. Now that you are aware of your power, you must control, conceal, and care for it as if it is a part of your own body. You're dismissed for the day."

All but Darcy filed out, speaking lowly about the things they had just borne witness to, some looking excited and others wary. Claire sighed as she touched her hair, checking that the strands were still in place. The next step would be the hardest—proving that a bunch of teens and young adults were not only power, but utterly fallible. Their power, while giving them a weapon against the dark, was also a tool that could be used to manipulate and deceive them. They were not invincible. They were not immortal.

Camilla rolled one shoulder and stretched her arms above her head, giving Claire a sidelong glance, "Do you think we've suitably impressed them?"

Claire chuckled, "I think so. Now all we have to do is convince them not to use what they learn outside of a training room."

Camilla's answering look radiated with sarcasm, "Because you were so good about that little rule, yourself."

Knowing that Camilla had a point, Claire shook her head and dropped her eyes. There had been many nights spent in the secret of her own room, experimenting with her power and tailoring the known spells to suit her needs. It would take several years for Claire to realize just how dangerous her 'experiments' were and how close she had come to accidentally enchanting herself. The magic in her body had been so focused for so long during those years that she was attracting all kinds of darkness, once encountering an incubus. Her reaction time was less than optimum as incubi were still thought to be vaguely mythological. None had been seen in a millennium, at least any sightings that could be documented.

Claire had been lucky that night, standing alone in the middle of a storm. The encounter was a massive learning experience, a mistake that she had not dared to repeat even when the most difficult cases made her think that she could master another spell that called upon the darker side of every Guardian's power. Still, those spells she had conquered early on served her well on most occasions, helped her to predict and prevent most of the major attacks over the last decade. For this reason alone, Claire was pardoned by the Council for sneaking into the restricted section repeatedly in her first years of Guardianship.

From her peripheral, Claire caught sight of the dirty tank top clad man approaching, his gait something akin to a swivel that made him seem more arrogant than confident. Claire waited for him to make it within her personal bubble, her eyebrows lifted in question.

He took one look at her, saying, "Don't damage my building."

Claire could feel her chest wanting to expand in a laugh, but managed to hold it back. "I don't intent to do any damage."

Head tilting to the side, he smirked, "I've reinforced this floor with a high quality titanium alloy that can take some major damage. But, since your little flash dance on floor five, the circuits are completely charred and three of the hideaway walls are stuck at half mast."

Confused, Claire rolled through a couple of definitions for 'flash dance' before she finally settled on the spectacle of her fading into the room from the outside. The spell drew from the energy of the air and could often manifest in a flash of light or sound. She figured that the extra power had pushed out a bit and flummoxed whatever electrical system had been wired to the room.

Holding her hands, palms up, Claire offered, "I could take a look at it, if you like."

Looking dubious, he shrugged, "Jarvis, clear the lady for level five."

"Yes, sir," came the response of the computer.

Level five, apparently, was an almost exact replication of the training room assigned to Claire and her potentials. The exception, however, was the fading glyph of exorcism in the center of the room and the half-hidden glyphs inscribed on the walls. Claire examined the calling glyph, noting that the north sign was warped by a dark stain. That had to be where Astar had wheedled his way into the material plane to absorb the Guardians and Darcy into the Other.

Resisting the urge to drop to a knee and touch the stain, Claire turned her attention to the walls, pushing a little power out into the air to test the waters. Feeling no feedback, she brushed her hands across one of the glyphs, flinching at the amateur placement and weakness. Clearly, whomever had drawn the glyphs was not trained well enough to make them hold against anything more powerful than a gremlin. Saying nothing, she continued her observation.

The walls were very clearly stuck, panels moving neither left nor right with even firm pressure. Crossing her arms, Claire glared them, willing the solution to present itself. From beside her, the dark haired man huffed.

"I've put in completely new wiring and replaced half the fuses in the building. Nothing works."

Pursing her lips, Claire murmured, "I'm not an electrician. But, I can perform a cleansing spell to clear the area of any lingering power."

"Be my guest," he replied, an almost acidic burn in his words.

Lifting her chin, Claire turned from him, heading towards the center of the room. Pivoting, Claire faced the warped north glyph, tensing when she saw Coulson standing just inside the room. He was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed and looking stern. Feeling bold, Claire shot him a wide smile and wink.

Throwing up her hands, Claire filled the room with little tendrils of power, seeking out remnants of the magic performed in the area. Astar's presence was still present, but weaker due to the destruction of his essence in the Other. The dark magic and the magic of the deceased Guardians had melded together to form this buffet of loose ends that was creating a ball of magnetic force surrounding the calling glyph. It was a wonder the thing hadn't exploded in a force of power all over the room, decimating everything in its path.

Claire had always been aware of the difference between light and dark magic. They simply felt different as they flowed through her magical core. It was as if the two existed on varying frequencies and drew from separate parts of Claire's consciousness. Light magic always left her feeling dizzy and euphoric while dark magic left her anxious and shaking. Both carried their own brand of pleasure in practical use, and both carried their own kinds of consequences.

She could feel the edge of Astar's magic taunting her from the floor, pulling and tugging against her as she made the attempt to lift the spell. He had been powerful, indeed, to lay his stamp on the physical plane even after his death. Shifting her feet, Claire caught a little of Camilla's signature, weaving it with her own so that she could create a trap for Astar's leftovers. Without a living being to feed on, the splatter of magic held no real weight, but the length of time it had been left to fester made the stain stubbornly stuck in place.

Bracing herself, Claire ripped at it with brute force, tearing it away and balling it safely with a bubble of light spell work. She then shrugged it into the nothingness of the two forces cancelling one another out. Ignoring the little bit of herself taunted by the allure of darkness and all the promises it offered, Claire swept her aura across the room, looking for any remaining scars. Finding none, she opened her eyes to two very different sets of faces. Once, a loose-jawed and curious man with shaggy hair and a five o clock shadow. The other, the carefully neutral expression of a neatly dressed man in a suit so well tailored she couldn't see the gun she knew he had holstered at his side.

Both stared at her unblinkingly for several long seconds. Claire allowed it to continue far longer than was courteous, enjoying the fact that someone, somewhere, was surprised and awed by her work. At headquarters cleansings were done every day following experiments gone awry and the occasional escapee from the vault. It was nice to see another person struck dumb by the power she knew far exceeded anything they had ever seen. One secondary glance at Coulson told her that he was assimilating the new information into the matrix of his assessment of her, the cogs in his mind already categorizing and prioritizing with keen intellect. Claire tried not to care that his opinion was likely changing along with the intake of new information, an opinion she knew had fallen fast.

"Want to try the mechanics again?" Claire asked the man in the tank top airily.

Flinching, he touched a small panel off to the side, eyes widening as the walls began to slide once more into place. "Cool."

"Very cool," Claire replied with a sigh. "We once lost power for a week before we figured out that the dying glyphs around the Gate were interfering."

"Hey, does your hoodoo voodoo work on robotics? I've got one that keeps trying to set me on fire."

Claire's brows must have lifted to her hairline, the shock written all over her face, because Coulson stepped forward into the fray of conversation.

"Mr. Stark, I believe I need to debrief our guest."

With a shrug and a sharp turn on her heels, Claire followed Coulson's clipped steps to the elevator, settling against the far wall. He gave a polite nod as he entered the carriage, tapping out a code to bring them to yet another floor she'd never seen. The doors opened to a far too white hallway—white walls, white tiles, white paint. The sheer lack of color very nearly blinded Claire as she followed the strong burst of shadow that was Coulson. He led her to a small meeting room, painted in a shockingly neutral beige. The table was sturdy and bolted to the floor, the chairs made of solid metal. This was a room meant to deliver bad news, a room that anticipated a fight.

Claire sat delicately in the cold seat of the chair, discreetly lifting her heels from her shoes. Coulson, too, took a seat, folding his hands in front of him politely. The sight irked her. This indifference did not suit him, was entirely foreign to her. Where was the man who had worked to woo her, had loved and fought with her so passionately? Where was Phil? Eyes narrowing, Claire decided she would find out.

"How much of your power are you expending every day?"

She blinked, "Minimal amounts. Enough to keep the potentials from taking down the building."

"That sounds like a contradiction."

Very nearly rolling her eyes, Claire clarified, "They're still green. It will take some time before I actually have to put in some effort to control them."

A pause, then, "And Ms. Lewis?"

"What about her?" She asked with a tilt of her head.

"Are you going to 'control' her?"

The ice had returned to his voice, sending little disappointed sighs through Claire's mental consciousness. Darcy technically worked for Agent Coulson. Claire concluded that her own influence over the girl could be a… nuisance.

"I don't plan on brainwashing her, Agent." The use of his title could not be helped—a pointed barb at the way he was treating her and Claire's distaste for it. The faint flush of his cheeks signaled that she'd chosen her weapon well. Claire dropped her eyes to hide her satisfaction, picking at a stray bit of lint on the sleeve of her blouse.

Coulson shifted a little, "I need to know that you aren't going to be unleashing that kind of power haphazardly in the building."

Tensing, Claire raised her narrowed eyes to his determined face, saying, "You know better than that."

"I don't think I do," he replied smoothly, "You seem very talented at hiding things."

Leaning back, Claire assumed a relaxed posture despite her incredulous anger, "I believe there is a cliché about a pot and a kettle that would fit nicely here."

"Observant as usual," he shot back, his stoic expression breaking slightly to show his annoyance.

This time Claire did roll her eyes, "Oh would you just say what you're thinking for once. I'm so tired of trying to figure you out."

For the first time since she'd been at Shield, Agent Coulson's face stopped being the face of Agent Coulson and Claire glimpsed the man she still loved. It was as if the brittle wall around him cracked ever so slightly, revealing the hurting and wounded core. The faint display gave her hope, made her think that she could actually get at the meat of him instead of banging her head against his metallic exterior. Even though he'd quickly schooled his expression and even though he was now looking at her with a harder stare than ever before, Claire rejoiced in the small victory.

"I think you're a liability. I think you've brought hell to our front doorstep and now we're going to be dealing with a mess your people created. I think you've got a lot of nerve to be here giving orders, especially to those children down there and I think you owe Darcy an apology for dragging her into it."

"Is that all?" Claire answered, her voice nearly a whisper. "Because I didn't create the problem, it's been going on for centuries right under the noses of the people in this organization. I'm not giving orders to anyone but the people I've been assigned to guide into a very difficult lifestyle. And Darcy was chosen by her bloodline, not by me, so you can climb right off that high horse of yours and stuff it for all I care."

There was a beat of silence, then, "Stuff it?"

"Yeah," she retorted, "Stuff it."

Leaning back, Phil's mouth quirked on one side and the skin around his eyes wrinkled with amusement. "Well, your argument style certainly hasn't changed."

"Not a lot about me really does, Phil."

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck, "That's comforting."

Claire hummed noncommittally, flattening her hands on the table between them and wishing they were anywhere but in the middle of an interrogation room. If they were in her apartment they would be sitting in the breakfast nook, probably having coffee and the radio would be on. Phil would have deviously turned the channel to smooth rock while she wasn't paying attention and she would be ribbing him about how he would need to hide his softer side from his work buddies. He would laugh a little and hide the blush behind his mug before leaning down to press a kiss to her smiling cheek. There wouldn't be this ocean of practiced detachment between them. Everything would simply be… normal.

"Were you able to do what you did in the training room last year?"

Claire pursed her lips, feeling her heartbeat spike at the suddenness of his question. "Yes. I've been able to work magic for many years."

He seemed to consider her words, then, "Why didn't you ever show me?"

She blew out a breath, dropped her shoulders down so that her body bowed over a little with the weight of her answer, "I thought you were some kind of lawyer or accountant or something equally boring. I had no idea how you would take the idea of me being able to throw you through a wall if I wanted."

Phil snorted softly, "Can you really throw me _through_ a wall?"

Blushing slightly, Claire nodded, "It's a skill."

Leaning forward over the table, Phil leveled a look at her that may have cowed others, but it merely made Claire smile. She knew that look. It was a look that said a lot of information was clicking into place and he was coming to surprising conclusions. That she could still surprise him was probably surprising in and of itself as a man who was most likely trained to gather as much information about his targets as quickly as possible. Suddenly, Claire found herself eagerly anticipating his next move, working out the puzzle of scenarios in her head even though silence had descended between them.

Phil shook his head, "You've been holding out on me."

"Only a little," Claire replied without hesitation. "Now that you're 'in the know', so to speak, you can rest assured I will not continue to do so."

"Good," he declared, rising effortlessly from the chair. "Now, if you don't mind following me back to the main level, I have to explain to Director Fury why Mr. Stark will be ingesting six gallons of coffee tonight and why his project will be abandoned for the next few weeks."

"Oh?" Claire said carefully as she rose. "Why is that?"

Phil opened the door, gesturing for her to exit, "He's going to want to experiment on you."

Eyebrows rising, Claire moved with him down the hall towards the elevator, stepping in side as the doors slid quickly open. "And you're going to let him?"

"Tony has a way of getting around the rules. I've learned I can't force him to do anything—it's much better to let him think it was his idea. And… you disappeared for almost a year without a word. Consider this payback for the worry you've caused me."

Claire huffed a short laugh, warming all over at his admission voiced in veiled threat. She was tempted to tease him, to send a little verbal spar towards him for it, but kept quiet. He needed to say it just as much as she needed to hear it and there was no shame in doing so. For now, she would take it inside herself and let it simmer, feeding that vacant part of her heart left without him. There was a long way to go before they could trust each other again, but somehow Claire felt a little lift in her step. He'd shown her that they could make progress, and progress was so much better than nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**A little bit longer chapter to make up for the length of time it took me to post. Enjoy.**

Gritting her teeth, Claire counted to ten while Tony prodded her hands with some kind of device that irritated the markings along her arms. According to the eccentric billionaire, it was some kind of machine that channeled magnetic fields on minute frequencies. According to Claire, it was going to be fried extra crispy if he kept jabbing her with it.

The prestigious Dr. Banner sat at his desk with a large glass of iced tea, occasionally sending her a sympathetic look while he recorded data. Claire gave him a wide berth most of the time, allowing him to keep to himself instead of suffering through the insane amounts of questions she had concerning his ability to mutate into what most of the agents in the building called a hulk. She wanted to know if he'd somehow gotten poisoned by a warlock, cursed by a shaman, or had eaten something from the goblin market. The need to research itched beneath her skin, the quest for knowledge testing her resolve to allow the man some semblance of privacy.

Tony swatted her hand away while he checked his notes on some kind of complex transparent pad. Claire pulled her arm to her chest defensively, easing into a nearby chair while she waited for the next experiment on Tony's list. _List_ may have been the wrong word to describe what was happening in the lab that day. Claire had learned that Mr. Tony Stark had the most profound mind working in the most random way possible. He flitted from station to station, testing theories and recording his findings without pattern or logic, his focus near obsessive as he searched for answers.

After a moment, Tony returned to her and stared hard for several seconds. Claire bore it with the poise and graced ingrained in her from her training. The Council often sought to wait her out, attempting to break her down with silence and shame. That particular technique hadn't worked since her early twenties and it certainly wouldn't work now. She straightened her shoulders and returned his look steadily, her mind already trying to predict his next move. So far he'd examined her hands, her blood, residue from her clothing, and her hair. Claire wouldn't put it past him to ask her to disrobe at some point.

Seeming to come to an indecipherable conclusion, Tony asked, "Do you want some coffee?"

Brow lifting, Claire edged, "Sure."

"Great," he hooted, turning on his heel to yet another complex coffee machine that looked half alive with moving parts and expelled steam. "Doc brought some of the good stuff back from Columbia last week. Hell of a kick."

Claire watched as he maneuvered the device, placing a cup several feet away on the table, his eyes looking curiously excited. Stepping back from the machine, Tony touched a panel on the side, activating the power. The sound that followed banged so loudly that Claire nearly jumped from her seat, only holding her position by squeezing her nails into her skin. From somewhere near the top, a fountain of what she could only assume was coffee spouted so forcefully that it made the three foot jump to the waiting cup. A gusting puff of air ended the show, sending the room into fluorescent humming silence.

"Impressive," Claire commented lightly, taking the cup from Tony's waiting fingers.

"Of course it is," he replied smoothly, sliding a dented and battered tray over, the cream and sugar sitting in nondescript little cups.

After helping herself, Claire questioned, "Is that all the testing for today?"

"Nope," was his reply. "Got one more if you think you're up to it."

Lids lowering, Claire recognized the challenge, "Lead the way, Mr. Stark."

He allowed her a moment to enjoy the coffee before they were on the move again, striding to the back room of the lab. The space was huge, expansive, and intimidating with a massive structure spiraling up through the center of the room, linking several levels together. Claire admired the view briefly before she was being directed to an enclosed box. Immediately, she hesitated, stalling for a moment while she tried to figure out what the point of the exercise would be.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Not going to imprison you, Cheeks, it's a sensor room."

One fine brow winged up, "Cheeks?"

"Cheeks like a chipmunk," he shot back, checking the outer panel before intimating that she should step inside.

With not a little lingering hesitation, Claire entered the room, turning to watch Tony close the door behind her. Heart beating hard in her chest, Claire was thankful for the low lighting of the box, knowing that Tony would be recording this for research purposes. He wouldn't be able to see the work it took to clear her face of her emotions, to erase the rising dread in her throat. She could hear Tony puttering about outside, her ears straining for some kind of indication as to the content of the activity.

"Let's boogie," he murmured, the lights brightening to full luminescence.

Claire squinted, "What am I supposed to be doing?"

"Work your mojo," was the answer, Tony's voice coming in through some kind of hidden speaker.

Resisting the urge to touch her fingertips to the bridge of her nose and pinch, Claire sighed and twisted her mouth in a grimace. "I'm not a show dog, Mr. Stark."

There was a beat of silence, then, "I need to know how your power works so that I can prevent your shenanigans from short circuiting the whole building. I've got enough problems in this lab without a miniature Hogwarts going on upstairs."

Miffed, Claire murmured sarcastically, "Foolish wand waving."

Without any further ado, Claire closed her eyes and found her magical core, allowing it to unfold and swirl outwards until it filled the box, pressing into the nooks and crannies. It was such a relief to let the power flow out of her freely. With the immensity of her knowledge and expertise, Claire often felt that her skin was far too tight, that the rumbling magic inside her was cramped in the small space of her body. Sometimes it was good to let it out for a nice stretch.

"Going to need you to pick it up a notch," Tony called out, half irritable.

Concentrating, Claire eased open the floodgates of her power, feeling the confinement struggle against the pressure. She held solid, comfortable with the exertion, for several minutes until Tony called out for more. His irritation came across in the slight dropping of pitch and the gravel in the low notes. Claire inhaled and pushed a little more, melting away some of the boundaries that held her core together. Reaching out, she called upon the inherent frequencies of the earth around her, the vibrations in the air that aided Guardian magic. It swelled beneath her skin, bursting forth through her pores until she could feel the hair along her arms lifting and her muscles beginning to shake from the effort it took to maintain this level of power.

The sound of magic roared in her ears, hissing at her and snarling at the edges of the encasement. It swirled around her, singeing her eyelashes. Claire's breaths dropped low as she recognized the beginnings of an uncontrollable meltdown between the expanse of her power and her ability to control it. Carefully, she backed away, becoming suddenly cognizant of a heaving yell from nearby. Sensing danger, she hastily pulled her power back inside, gathering it roughly into a heap. The color of her work faded, leaving her confusedly gazing at the lab.

Tony looked entirely desolate as he stared at the wreckage on the floor, his hands dropped loosely at his sides and his shoulders bowed slightly. Claire shifted carefully on her heels, toeing a bit of the door away and dusting off her skirt.

"Well," She sighed, "I wish I could say this is the first time this has ever happened to me."

Tony's mouth quirked a bit, but his eyes remained wide and almost… sad. "It took me three days to come up with that compound. It can resist a nuclear attack."

Pursing her lips, Claire tried to think of something to say that didn't sound like Council jargon mixed with ancient dogma. Likely, Tony would call her an bureaucratic idiot and send her on her way.

Tony picked up one of the scattered pieces and shot her an intense glance, "Three days. I want a rematch."

"Tony," Claire breathed, "That's not really necessary."

"I. Want. A rematch," He reiterated before stalking away. It occurred to Claire that her defeat of his compound might have damaged the man's fragile ego.

With a shrug, Claire left the inner lab and made to grab the computer and briefcase she'd lugged out of her room that morning, thinking that Tony would want more information. He hadn't, preferring to conduct his own experiments. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she caught sight of the eminent Dr. Banner giving her a sidelong look from his place at the computer.

"Did I scare you?" Claire muttered more than asked.

There was a scathing laugh almost too low for her to hear it, then, "I don't scare very easily."

Claire's brows rose only a fraction of an inch, the acidity in his voice nigh on self loathing. She spared him a short, assessing look, then dropped her eyes and strode out of the room. Whatever personal issues the good doctor had were his own problem. There was no need for her to get involved or to care about the subject any more than was strictly necessary for the mission. The firm click of her heels against tile reminded her that dallying in experimental research would only deter her from training the potentials, no matter the fact that she would be trading off with Camilla the next week. Even though she would not be teaching, it was in Claire's nature to organize and to control, which meant that she would probably continue to supervise and support Camilla as they moved into the combat maneuvers.

Calls from down the hall startled Claire from her determined walk away from the labs. She turned, swinging the briefcase around her body and allowing the momentum to complete the spin. Darcy Lewis was running frantically towards her, the dark mass of her hair flying out.

"Claire," she wheezed, out of breath and reaching up to correct the angle of her glasses. "There's a phone call for you… in the lab."

Hand flexing on the strap of her bag, Claire debated telling them that if it's important, they should already know her cell number. But, the fact that the incredibly secure lines of Stark Tower had been breached piqued her interest enough that she nodded and followed the wavering steps of Darcy back into the lab. Her interest was satisfied as she spied Brent's face on one of the big screens across the back of the room. That satisfaction drained quickly as she noted the strain written clearly across his young face.

Moving quickly into the correction of crisis, Claire ordered, "Tell me what's wrong."

Brent blinked before launching into an explanation that could have broken a land speed record for word count. From what she could gather, something had hit the headquarters hard enough to set off the first round of protective procedures. The Council had been taken to the deep room and the second vault door had been sealed with a level five clearance.

"Is everyone okay?"

Brent paused long enough that Claire understood he was going to be speaking as delicately as he could given the fact that there were two scientists and a potential in the room with her. "I don't know. It started with the outer light system for the caves—the electricity just stopped. At first we thought it was a short, but it kept coming. The lights went out in the pit, the elevators, the lobby, and the meeting rooms. None of our people could get them back on."

"Brent…" Claire edged, her voice strong and reassuring, "Tell me."

Doe-eyed, Brent swallowed, "There's something in the darkness. It swallows the light—even flashlights can't penetrate it."

A rolodex of the supernatural flipped through Claire's mind, trying to pin down the entities that used darkness as an ally. The list was too long to divide even into small categories, leaving Claire listening intently to the facts in order to weed out the usual suspects.

Sounds rumbled behind the camera and Brent immediately glanced around, palming a small gun. Noting his distraction, she urged him to keep going.

"We've lost the entire drop squad and four 'merchants'. They just… disappeared in the dark."

"And now?"

Shoulders dropping, Brent bit the inside of his cheek, "I've got ten interns and the Council here in the deep room. I'm using the land line to access you, but I don't know how long it will hold out against the dark."

Closing her eyes, Claire thought for a moment, swallowing back the nerves that sprang up with each new clatter over the camera. "I'm on my way."

Brent nodded, "ETA?"

"Three hours. I'll charter the next flight out."

"She'll take my plane," Tony interrupted. "On the condition that you take a team with you."

Claire turned and sent Tony a grateful glance. "Two hours. Be ready for us."

"You got it, boss."

The line went dead and Claire breathed deep, pulling her phone from her pocket and dialed Camilla's number.

"Hello?" The voice was groggy, as if she'd just woken.

"Headquarters has been compromised. Get dressed and be ready to leave in five."

Not bothering with any further explanation, Claire ended the call and made her way to the door, intent on getting to her room and changing into travel clothes as soon as possible. The elevator opened on cue, probably at the behest of Jarvis. It filled quickly, Darcy, Tony and Dr. Banner having followed her down the hall. She tapped the button to her floor and waited anxiously while they were lifted from the lowest level lab to the living quarters.

Stepping purposefully out into the hallway, Claire nearly stomped to her door and entered before immediately spinning to face her audience.

"Why are you following me?"

"Because we're totally going with you," Darcy piped up, crossing her arms as if daring her to contradict her.

Claire's eyes narrowed, "Out of the question. You're untrained and a liability."

"Bullshit. If I can face Astar, I can face the boogieman."

Rolling her eyes, Claire dug through her suitcase to find a good pair of cargo pants and a tank top—standard issue from the Council. She stepped into the bathroom to change, calling out, "The boogieman doesn't exist, Darcy."

"Whatever," was her reply. "I'm still going with you. Tony and Bruce, too."

Following Darcy's little declaration Claire could hear some somber murmurings in that soft timbre of the doctor's voice. She guessed that there was a small debate going on while she was out of hearing range, the details lost on her.

"Okay," Darcy pacified, "Only Tony, because it's his plane."

Claire moved back into the bedroom, leaning down for her shoes and shoving her feet into them with rough motions. "I'm sure you're needed here."

"I'm needed wherever the ghouls are," Darcy shot back. "I'm like Ghostbusters."

Leveling a baleful glare at Darcy, Claire stood and grabbed a light jacket, pulling it over her shoulders. As she zipped up her suitcase, her door swung open and Camilla barged inward, questions flying.

"What the hell, Claire?"

Even though Claire had been curt, hadn't explained anything, and had hung up on Camilla, Claire noted that Camilla was carrying her bag and was also wearing standard issue cargo pants and a tank top. The mentor part of Claire's consciousness preened a little at the indirect following of orders and the automatic response to a crisis.

"There's been an attack."

Camilla steeled herself, visibly trying to tamp down her rising anger, "I _know_ that. Who attacked, and how?"

"I don't know. No one does at this time. Right now, we go in, we gather information, and we take out as many as we can."

Camilla scoffed, "Simple, right?"

"Always," Claire replied with a sardonic smile.

Darcy looked up from her phone, "I texted the guys, they're on their way."

"The guys?" Camilla asked, brows drawing together.

"Yeah," Darcy replied, "You'll need all the power you can get. Regina wants to know if she can bring her hair dryer."

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, counting slowly to ten, "Absolutely not."

Camilla shrugged, "Might be able to use the firepower."

Incredulous, Claire looked from Darcy to Camilla and back, "They've had a month of training, Camilla. What makes you think they can face a full on attack from an unknown entity that is capable of taking down our own defenses?"

"Right," Camilla said, the syllable rolling on for several seconds. She looked to Darcy, "Probably not a good idea."

"Plane's ready," Tony said, taking a small red briefcase from what looked like an intern. "We should head to the roof."

Claire ushered the group from the room, shaking her head as Darcy continued to make protests and to argue her case. Thankfully, Doctor Banner shushed her, talking her down gently and moving her back towards the elevators. Tony led Claire and Camilla towards the opposite end, tapping a panel near the large ceiling length window and waiting. From out of nowhere, a different kind of elevator swung upward, the window opening from the floor so that they could step inside. Claire watched to ground fall even further away as the carriage moved steadily upwards.

Stark Tower's roof held three kinds of helicopters and a small private jet, all decked out in differing splashes of bright, glittering color. They made their way to the jet, the doors already open and the stairs dropped for access. At the top of the stairs stood Agent Coulson, looking every bit as grim as an undertaker despite the fact that he had changed from his usual suit to a Shield jacket and khaki pants. Claire off-handedly thought that this look suited him even less than the jacket and slacks with the collar of his shirt buttoned into a noose around his neck.

Agent Barton was already sitting near the back of the plane, the red headed woman who faced down the green giant as well. She sat across the aisle, cleaning her weapon with marked efficiency. Claire watched for a second longer than necessary, noting the slender fingers and the tension in her wrists. The woman was strong and very capable. Claire only hoped she could hold it together in the darkness that was invading headquarters. Her own confidence was standing on shaky ground as they were essentially walking in blind. Despite her years of training, the unknown still scared her enough to force her to second guess her choices and to hesitate.

Camilla settled into the seat next to Barton while Claire gave the coordinates to the pilot and chose a seat away from the group. She slid down a little, hunching so that she fit into the corner between the window and the arm rest. As the engines began to hum to life and the plane lifted from the ground, she breathed deep in several long successions. Flying was, perhaps, her least favorite activity, though she had flown over and over throughout her life. There was something about being up in the air with nothing between herself and the ground but a thin layer of metal and the experience of the pilot. Still, whenever there was an opportunity, she took a flight rather than driving or riding the bus. Claire refused to allow a little fear to keep her from performing her job or going about the activities of her life. So far, she'd conquered flights across the country and one round trip flight across the Atlantic.

As the lift off leveled out into the almost lazy spin of the drag over the city, Claire relaxed and stretched her legs out in front of her, pressing her heels into the floor to help herself feel more grounded. Glancing up, she caught Agent Coulson turning his head away towards a file in his lap, the pages covered in long black marks. Rolling one shoulder, she leaned against the armrest, dropping her head into her palm as she contemplated what was to come. They would need to land outside the outer ring of a forest and then hike twenty minutes without a trail to the caves. From there, the darkness would consume them and they would need to travel into the bowels of the earth in order to reach the far end of headquarters.

A glass filled with ice and a clear liquid pushed in front of her face, the scent signaling alcohol. Claire lifted back in surprise.

"No, thank you. I don't drink before a mission."

Tony shrugged and threw back both glasses in his hand, setting them on a passing flight attendant's tray. "More for me."

He then slung himself into the roomy seat next to her, draping an arm over the back of her chair, "So, tell me, can you blow anything up?"

Claire chuckled, sensing the eyes of Agent Coulson on her, "Not everything, but I carry a lot of muscle in here." She pointed to her diaphragm, where her magical core settled itself.

"Me, too," he replied, tapping at a slight protrusion in his chest. "Hell of thing when the power goes out."

"I can imagine," Claire asserted politely. She'd glimpsed the glowing orb in Tony's chest, but thought it might be rude to poke around at it with her power. After the experiments of the day, she was beginning to think running her own experiments would be fair play.

"No, you can't," he rebutted with false nonchalance. "Where are going, anyway?"

Brow winging up, Claire regarded him for a moment, "You don't know where your own plane is flying?"

"Call me trustworthy. Now, where is this rig headed?"

"Somewhere in Appalachia, between West Virginia and Kentucky."

Tongue rolling around in his cheek, Tony chuckled, "Should I be prepared for outhouses and shotguns?"

Claire shook her head, knowing the stereotype was coming, "No. Besides, we aren't likely to meet up with anyone there. The place is intentionally uninhabitable by all but the most remote families. They tend to leave us alone for the most part."

"Damn. Wanted to brush up on my hillbilly handfishing."

Tilting her head to the side, Claire remarked, "I'm sure we can find you a tutor after we complete the mission."

He sent a sideways glance at her, saying, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't play well with others. They tend to drag me down."

The implication was not lost on Claire, but she held her gaze neutrally and uttered without inflection, "You'll play well with us, or you'll die on the field. I'm not prepared to take another loss like the one in your building some three weeks ago."

Brows dropping low, Tony edged, "Are you implying I had a part to play in that?"

"Not at all," Claire countered lightly. "But, if you're going to get in my way, I'll take you out like I did that box you built for me."

At first, Claire thought Tony might raise his voice and argue, might turn the plane around and send her away to find her own ride back to headquarters. For several seconds, his eyes looked very dark, almost dangerous. And then as quickly as it had come, the darkness faded and they began to shine with amusement. He smiled, laughed, and shook his head.

"Point taken." Rising, Tony sent her a wink and headed to the back of the plane to strike up a conversation with the others. As Claire watched him go, she noted the tension in his shoulders despite the easy gait and smile. He was as ready for whatever battle was to come as she was, though he handled it with jokes and little verbal jabs. That understanding was somewhat comforting as she'd never seen Tony fight or engage in practice with anyone else. He seemed to spend a lot of time in the lab with Dr. Banner, building weapons and defenses. She had doubts that he could keep up with the trained agents of Shield and the Council, but his determination and intelligence would be a major asset if there came a time for fighting.

Turning back into position in her seat, Claire fiddled with one of the pockets on her cargos, patting it to feel for her cell and spare battery. When they arrived at the site, she would secure the backpack holding her laptop and torches. As most of her firepower traveled handily in the blood running through her veins, Claire could afford to pack light. The coming spring would make the short trek to the caves manageable despite rising humidity. She only hoped the snow hadn't melted too quickly this year, else they'd be swimming part of the way.

The pilot called something back, which she didn't catch, her thoughts running too deep. Glancing at Agent Coulson, Claire lifted her brows in question, one hand turning upwards in a helpless gesture.

"We'll be landing soon."

Confused, Claire craned her neck to look out the window. They were indeed very close to the landing site, a fact that surprised her as they'd only been traveling half an hour at most. Her gaze drifted around the cabin, wondering if the plane was somehow faster than most—a possibility that was not quite out of range for the capabilities of one Tony Stark.

The landing was troublesome and Claire had to grip the armrests to keep her body still. She couldn't help closing her eyes and biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, only allowing the bit of flesh to rest once the engines began to dull down. Taking a breath, Claire rose and slung her bag over her shoulder, shimmying out into the aisle and out the door while simultaneously and studiously ignoring the interested look Phil was sending her way.

Once outside, Claire observed the tree line, looking for signs of invasion and seeing none. The sky was bright and beautifully clear that day, the wind soft and breezy. Everything, it seemed, was picture perfect and entirely too suspicious for her taste. She tried calling the front desk while she waiting for the rest of the group to unload, but the phone rang until it went dead. Next, she tried Brent, getting only his voicemail. As a last resort, she sent him an email, asking for him to call as soon as possible. If they were next to the deep room, he wouldn't have reception, but protocol meant moving to the surface when there was an opening. She would be hearing from him soon enough.

Camilla stepped up beside her, gazing at the forest in a similar fashion, her careful stance indicative of her own apprehension. "Doesn't smell right."

"I can't smell anything," Claire remarked softly.

"That's the point," Camilla sighed. "We're supposed to smell magic. It's supposed to repel people."

Claire nodded, remembering the detail from some security email sent years ago. Instinctively, she sniffed the air, detecting none of the familiar sheen of magic in the air. It was as if something had absorbed the very molecules, leaving nothing in its wake. There was only grass and pollen spinning around in her nose, a mixture that make her squint and gave her the urge to sneeze.

Barton strode past them, touching a hand to Camilla's shoulder as he walked. Unlike the two Guardians, he was heavily armed, guns at both hips and arrows strapped around his back. His bow was palmed in his left hand, collapsed for easy maneuvering. With steps so silent they barely disturbed the grass, the red haired woman followed Barton, fanning out a bit to check the perimeter. Claire watched them work in tandem, scanning the area quickly and efficiently.

"Where to?"

Claire turned to see Agent Coulson holstering a pistol at his side, his short hair rustled by an oncoming breeze.

"Through there." She pointed at a soft indention in the tree line. "It will be a hard hike, but it's the fastest way."

"And probably the safest," Camilla interjected, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "We have a lot of wards up around here."

Claire huffed a little, "I don't know about that anymore. The magic is… gone, I think."

"I don't think 'gone' is the right word," Camilla murmured, raising her hand to her brow. "It's like it was never there in the first place."

Tony sauntered up holding his red briefcase and looking almost eager, "Let's get this party started. Pepper says I've got a scotch old enough to vote waiting for me at home."

"I'm so sorry that we're intruding on your rampant alcoholism," Coulson shot out, not a little bite in his tone.

Claire had to walk forward a few paces to hide her smile, knowing that the soft sarcasm was Phil's way of joking with others. Camilla followed behind her and soon they were heading for the barely present trail, pushing through the dense vegetation and working their way up a large hill. They climbed in silence, none seeming to have anything to say, until Claire pulled herself upwards onto a rocky plateau. She helped Camilla up, watching as Barton hauled his body onto the rock with brute force while the red haired woman seemed to glide to standing. Tony slung his briefcase over the edge and rolled over, using the case to push himself upwards. Stepping back, she gave Coulson enough room to climb upwards, eyeing the smooth rotation of muscles that were always hidden beneath too many layers of clothing.

Swallowing, she forced herself to turn her back and bring her attention back to their journey. Ahead gaped a large opening in the rock, the mouth of the cave yawning open in perilous invitation. The closer she moved to the entrance, the cooler the air became, until she shivered and goose bumps appeared along her arms. Not taking a moment to check if she was being followed, Claire stepped into the cave, moving carefully along the left side. With one hand pressed to the wall, Claire pulled the bag from her shoulder and slipped a hand inside to grasp a torch. She pulled the bag over her arms and used her knee to ignite the stick, wincing a little at the bright flare. Flashlights clicked to life behind her, illuminating the cavern minimally, though enough to help them to navigate the path.

As the outside world faded further from sight, Claire squinted into the darkness, stepping carefully along a familiar path towards the back of the cave. _Always take the left_, she remembered. There were traps set for wanderers and agents of the dark, alike, in the cave system. Left turns were always the safest choice.

In the distance Claire could hear water dripping onto the rock, the sound echoing faintly in a hollow rhythm. Knowing they were getting close, Claire ducked beneath a low overhang and stepped immediately to the side. Before her was a spacious drop off, the bottom of which could not be seen. She let the rest of the group catch up, smiling a little at Camilla who looked less than pleased.

"I really hate this part," Camilla whispered, rubbing her hands against the fabric of her pants.

Barton took in the surroundings, "What do we do now?"

"We jump," Claire answered, already tightening the straps on her backpack. "There's a pool down at the bottom to catch our fall.

Tony sighed dramatically, "Should have brought my bathing suit."

Craning his neck, Barton growled, "Don't see anything."

"It's down there," Claire retorted, tossing the flare.

Though the light faded to almost nothing in the darkness, there was a distinctive hiss of water and fire at the end. After checking that the seal on her bag was secure, Claire checked what she could see of the faces in the group. Barton was staring at the hole with his hands on his hips, the red haired woman staring equally as hard at his side. Camilla was running her fingers over her cheeks to shake the fear from her body. Coulson was… hiding in shadow it seemed. Claire could only see the faint outline of his profile in the dim light. She blinked and inhaled, wincing at the stale air filling her lungs.

Knowing that they were wasting time contemplating the inevitable, Claire pushed from the ledge and embraced the freefall. There was no bravery in the act, only a fierce determination to run rampantly at the thing she feared. After a few moments falling with the wind roaring in her ears, Claire felt her body break the surface of the water, the cold rushing up between the layers of her clothing. She kicked upwards quickly, moving away from the center to the outer rim and feeling along the rocky wall. The only exit for the pool was a three foot wide doorway carved into the rock. She didn't much care for the fact that it existed at the mouth of a freezing lake in the middle of a cave, but there was no haggling with long dead architects.

Pushing out of the water, Claire registered a few more splashes. She called out to them so that they would know where to swim, swinging her bag around to retrieve another flare. The light cast an eerie glow on the swimmers as they paddled over to her. Backing away to give them room, Claire pivoted to study the hall. Rough hewn and covered in ancient glyphs, the tunnel stretched out before her in studied dismissal. She was not the first traveler here, and probably not even worth mentioning in the history of the stone. Yet, the glyphs, worn and barely functioning recognized her magic and allowed her to pass without alert.

Soon enough, the tunnel opened up into the first of three caverns. The huge dome rose overhead so enormously towering that even their breaths were echoed. Reaching out, Claire tested a light switch. It clicked uselessly in the dark, bringing a frustrated sigh past her lips. Swinging the flare around, Claire observed a few of the outcrops, noting the turned over couches and the scattered papers. The whole room was in stunned, silent chaos, nearly haunting in its appearance.

From behind her, Claire felt Camilla's power rev forward, pushing forward in preparation for battle. She sent out feelers for danger, coming up cold and wanting. Whatever had been here had moved on long enough ago that there was nothing left to mark its trail. Stepping over an upturned filing cabinet, Claire strode towards the far end of the cavern into another tunnel.

Winding around in a half circle, the path opened to the second cavern. It looked much the same as the last, though Claire could smell something burning in the air. The flashlights carried by her fellow travelers began to flicker and groan with strain. Her cell tucked neatly into her sealed pocket hummed in annoyance. Camilla cursed softly and Claire's jaw tightened.

Calling forth a burst of power, Claire threw it into the air, urging it to spread out to illuminate the whole of the room. It fired so precisely that not a shadow was left skulking in the dark. Claire blew out a breath as she caught nothing amiss besides the destroyed furniture and a few burned spots on the walls. Looking back, she noted that all three Shield agents had their weapons drawn and Camilla was nearly snarling. Tony looked, for lack of a better word, angry as he rested one heel on the briefcase. Claire had to bite her tongue so that she wouldn't chastise him for not coming armed.

The final cavern was locked behind a door five feet thick and made of magically enhanced steel. It would only open for her and the members of the Council as it guarded the Vault and the Gate in succession. Claire touched the door lightly, noting that there were deep gouges in the metallic sheen of it. Her chest tightened as she wondered if whatever had attacked headquarters had somehow made it inside. The thought made her catch her breath as she contemplated what might await them if she opened it.

"What's wrong?" Coulson asked as he stood beside her.

"I'm making a decision," Claire answered lowly, spreading her palm on the door as she tried to push feelers inside. It was a useless activity—the door was built to keep intruders of any kind out and the horror of the Gate inside.

Coulson folded his arms across his chest, "Want some help?"

Claire shot him a half smile, "I don't suppose you know anything about parallel universes and the many dangers they pose to our world."

"I know a thing or two," was his answer, the levity of his tone belying his cautious words.

She nodded, "Behind this door could be the worst possible hell imaginable. It could also be absolutely nothing worth worrying about. I don't know what happened here and I don't know if what's inside is good or evil."

"Like Schrödinger's cat," Coulson remarked with a tilt of his head.

Claire chuckled, "I don't think know is the time for jokes."

"Seems like a good time to me," Tony interrupted with his usual timing. "What's behind door number three?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Claire emitted through gritted teeth.

Camilla sidled up, leaning against the door and shooting the onlookers a level glance. "We have to open the door, Claire. We won't be able to assess the situation otherwise."

Sighing, Claire whined a little, "I know. I just wish we knew what was in there."

"We know exactly what's in there," Camilla asserted. "And we know how to deal with it. We've done this before, remember?"

Claire nearly sneered, "Yes, but we had a hell of a lot of help."

"Nice wording," Camilla retorted, slapping the surface of the door brusquely. "No more waiting. Open it."

Wondering briefly how Camilla could become so very courageous in such a short amount of time, Claire braced her feet on the rocky floor and called up the spell into her tattoos. It flowed over her skin like so much water, dripping onto the ground in front of the door. Seeping into the stone, the magic ran up the length of the glyphs carved invisibly into the earth, lighting a path around the circumference of the door. From deep within the walls, a fierce roaring shook the room, sending all but Claire backwards away from the door. The steel cracked and turned, sliding noisily open to reveal utter darkness inside. Not even the light of the flare could break it and Claire's stomach dropped as the familiar smell of powerfully dark magic wafted forward. She knew this magic, this dark spell work, could recall the sensation of it barreling around her as the world crumbled beneath her feet.

Claire squeezed her hand around the torch, balling up as much defensive magic as she could so that she could take the first strike. The emptiness of the room hissed at her, daring her, taunting her. It wanted her off balance, but Claire would not be caught off guard. As the door slowed to a halt, Claire caught Camilla's crouching body moving forward in her periphery.

"Not yet," she whispered. "Not yet."

Claire made them wait two full minutes for whatever it was inside to make its way outward, a seemingly vain notion. Gently, she balled a little bit of magic into her hand, throwing it softly into the dark with a barely present exhale. The tiny light expanded briefly, illuminating the cavern so that Claire could discern the contents. A large conference room table had been tipped over, chairs littered the floor.

"Brent?" Claire called, feeling foolish.

A pale, thin hand slid over the edge of the conference table, Brent's dark head and eyes peeking out speculatively.

"Thank god," he called out, wrenching to standing and jumping over the table and barreling towards them. "I want a raise, so help me, or I quit. I can't take all this creeping in the darkness anymore."

Claire dismissed his claims, knowing that he was venting pure fear and frustration. "Where are the council members?"

Brent stilled, his eyes dropping to his shoes, "They're in the deep room."

Not waiting for further details, Claire pushed past Brent and entered the third cavern. He followed her with quick steps, one hand grasping her arm at the elbow.

"It went right past the door, Claire. It didn't take a second look at the rest of us, but it went right through the door."

Claire's brows furrowed as she turned to cast a confused look at her assistant, "It went…through the door. What went through the door?"

Brent shrugged helplessly, "I don't know. It was cloaked in shadow."

Eyes flashing to the door of the Deep Room, Claire bolted towards it, flashing a bit of magic at the locks to open them. Like the rest of the building, the room lacked any kind of light. Claire spared no moment illuminating the room and immediately wished she hadn't. The floor was caked in blood and the bodies were… unidentifiable. The three council members had been quite literally torn apart limb from limb, ripped so completely that the very musculature could not be determined. Claire covered her mouth as she took in the details. The urge to vomit had not been so present in years and she found herself biting back the dry heaves.

A shimmering object on the floor caught her attention, swinging her gaze downwards. She leaned down slightly, eyes widening as she recognized the metallic case of council member Carver's pacemaker. Covered in blood and bits of flesh, it alerted her to one final bit of information that made her stomach drop uncontrollably into the pit of her abdomen.

Claire straightened and looked at Camilla with a frightened expression.

"August."


	6. Chapter 6

**I must apologize for the length of time between posts. I understand that the cliffhanger was a little unfair, but you'll get a lot of information in this chapter to make up for it. Enjoy.**

The facility was located on an island off the coast of North Carolina, shielded by ancient and powerful magic. It was the Council's personal prison for those beings that were too dangerous to be left unattended and too powerful to kill properly. A nondescript building housed some of the most deplorable, evil agents of the dark in cells caked in magical protection. It also contained one unfledged Guardian capable of mass destruction, chaos, and saving the world all at the same time. And they had all been released by a loophole in the system, forcing the Council's gatekeeper to race against time in order to stem the tide of chaos.

Claire stood with twenty heavily armed shield agents, Coulson on one side and Camilla on the other. Tony, who had talked the entire trip to the island, was uncharacteristically silent as he bent down to open his briefcase. Claire could not say that a lot of things surprised her anymore, and she wished that the sight of the unfolding briefcase wasn't one of those things. However, she was taken so completely off guard by the compiling armor that she simply watched, agog, the action with her mouth hanging open. Coulson, gentleman that he was, reached over wordlessly and closed it for her.

Sending Phil a baleful look, Claire shook off her shock and faced the prison steadfastly. Whitewashed walls glimmered in the sunlight, reflecting an almost ethereal glow. It was too bad that the contents of the building were more than a little disturbing. From the outside, the prison looked vaguely inviting.

Camilla stepped up beside her, "How long has it been?"

"Five years," Claire answered without thought and without intonation. Five years of knowing this would happen, of knowing she would have to face her decisions and failures. Though the Council trusted her to come and go in the building as she pleased, she hadn't been able to force herself to make a trip after the trial. Too full of shame, Claire had made excuses and sent Brent in her place with the occasional errands.

Claire's resolve hardened a little more with every step she took towards the prison, the tattoos on her arms tingling with restrained power. They sensed the evil lurking nearby and reacted according to her training, firing forward warnings to her consciousness and upping her adrenaline. As she approached the secure door, she reached out and touched the pads of her fingers to the identification mechanism.

Scanned and approved, the doors opened and a computerized voice called out, "Welcome, Gatekeeper."

Claire paid little to no attention to the welcome, her jaw dropping at the stilled pool of blood seeping out from a pile of bodies in the middle of the main floor. Carcasses of at least fifty different dark entities had been torn apart, some in clean swipes and others with tendons and muscles strung out. Clearly, something had taken to initiative to stop the potential for mass genocide. The rest of the building was in shambles, rails broken and hanging from the balconies, support beams cracked and sagging. Though most of the structural damage was minimal, cosmetically speaking the place was a wreck.

"Explain to me what is going on here," Coulson whispered harshly next to her, weapon raised. "You said they would be… released."

Claire blinked, shaking her head. "I wasn't lying. It's a failsafe mechanism we've made relatively known throughout our circles. Kill the Council, release the entities of hell."

"And these are those entities?"

Shrugging, Claire replied, "Some of them. I'm guessing there are more holed up in the back. We need to go ahead and clear the place while we're here."

"Fan out," Coulson ordered curtly, his stance changing slightly as he moved forward and around the pile of dead bodies. He'd changed into battle armor on the plane while they waited for back up, the bulky accessories and extra weapons disguising his true form. Again, Claire was struck with the knowledge that this was not the Coulson she was used to, that this was somehow a mask or variation on the Phil Coulson theme. When she met him, Claire knew that Phil had layers. What she didn't expect was the wide and varying aspects of those layers and how closely she would see them revealed.

Claire followed a little behind, eyes peeled for disturbances in the room and lighting. One of the clearest indicators in the emergence of dark entities begins with electrical surges. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Camilla flexing her hands, gearing up to extend her powers. Heartbeat picking up speed, Claire allowed the magic to flow more freely, feeling the burn of it over her skin. She stepped around the first cell block and tentatively pushed open the first set of double doors leading to the medium security cells. The scent of blood filled her nose, coupled with the distinct smell of burned flesh and hair. She hoped the fire demon hadn't gotten loose, hoped someone had thought to smother the thing before it got frisky with the wall paper.

Taking no comfort in the sounds of booted feet following her, Claire continued down the hall, checking cell after cell and finding them empty. Whatever had been here hadn't stuck around, yet there were no bodies and not even a speck of blood. Had this cell block been released first? The answer wouldn't be attained until they could reach the security room—if all the equipment hadn't been destroyed first.

Cell block after cell block was empty, straight down to the mess hall where Claire was unsurprised to find another pile of bodies. It was, however, odd that they were piled so carefully and seemingly purposefully. She shook her head woefully…the piles were warnings. Whoever decided to enter this building was being told exactly what they were getting into and how they would end up with one wrong step. The strategy could have been applauded if Claire was certain it was anything other than a dark being at the forefront of the planning for the endeavor.

Without hesitating, Claire strode to the very last cell block and scanned her palm once more, unlocking the high security doors. Holding a hand up, she allowed the doors to fully open and a few seconds of time to pass before moving forward gingerly. There was a flurry of action going on at the end of the hall and she didn't want to get caught in the cross fire. From a distance, it looked like a fully changed werewolf was bearing down on some kind of small prey.

A bright flash of light skittered towards her and Claire instinctively pulled up a shield, watching with narrowed eyes as particles of heavy material flew at her, pummeling the magic she was using. It pressed her back several feet, forcing an ache into her arm as she continued to block the attack. There was no form of magic Claire could fathom that looked quite like this wayward spell. Most magical signatures were mist-like, airy. This was…Claire didn't know how to describe it—as if each tiny particle was in and of itself a glyph calling on something separate but clearly designed for the same purpose.

When the barrage stopped, Claire dropped her arm and stepped carefully into the narrow hall, hyper aware of the many guns pointed at the being in front of her. Short, petite, but muscular, the spell worker was covered in blood, long hair matted with gore and torn flesh. It crouched low, thin arm outstretched with the last spell, watching Claire and possible deciding if it was going to kill her. Apparently, it felt generous on this sunny afternoon and stood, sauntering jauntily down the hall. Claire could see the white of a smile.

"Well I'll be," the female said with a thick Southern drawl. "And here I thought I'd never lay eyes on you again."

Claire's eyes squinted as she tried to make out the face behind the caked blood, the voice familiar and haunting. There were many beings she'd put in this prison over the years and this could be any one of them, possibly a shapeshifter. "Name yourself."

The female—yes, definitely female—stopped and tilted her head to the side. "You don't remember me? Ah, I suppose five years will do a lot to a young body."

Struck and stunned, Claire's breath caught cold in her lung, "August?"

"The one and only," was the reply, dripping hands unfolding to put herself on display.

Claire took in the young one she couldn't save, her eyes filling unwillingly with tears. "I'm so glad to see you."

"I wish I could say the same," August gritted. "Come to save me? You're a little late, as you can see. I've dealt with the garbage."

The bodies, piled high… Claire realized the August had taken them down in the time that it took for her to travel from headquarters. In a little over an hour, August had destroyed at least a hundred entities of the dark and she didn't even look in the slightest bit winded. Claire was beginning to appreciate how much she'd underestimated the young woman.

"Now what?" August asked, looking vaguely bored. "You gonna have those little soldier boys shoot me?"

Claire shook her head vehemently. "No. The Council is dead. You can go free if you want."

"What I want is a drink, preferably of the bourbon kind."

Claire had to stop herself from censuring August, knowing she was too young to be drinking.

August tossed her hair, glancing flirtatiously at the group of men behind her, "Y'all want to accommodate a lady."

Quick to move, Claire cleared a path for August, walking with her back through to front of the prison. Tony was flying overhead in the main lobby, moving large chunks of fallen plaster and metal to a pile next to the bodies. He hovered for a second above the floor, landing lightly, the glowing eyes of his mask distant and aloof.

"Who's the newbie?" From the tone of his voice, Claire could tell he was assessing the danger.

"August," came the reply of the blood covered woman, her deep red hand reaching out to grasp Tony's metallic arm. She looked him over speculatively, "Neat."

And then she was moving on, hips swaying as she walked out into the sunlight for what was probably the first time in five years. Claire held back, observing from a distance and letting Camilla approach with her questions.

"Where did you find her?" The question was careful and laced with incredulous wonder.

"High security," Claire commented, attention still on the lost guardian.

Camilla huffed, "Figures. I'm glad to see she survived."

Coulson interjected softly, holstering his weapon, "She more than survived." When Claire nodded, he continued, "She took everything in the building out."

Camilla's expression was vaguely impressed, "Well I wish I could say I'm surprised."

"No shit," Claire breathed. "What are we going to do with her?"

Tony dropped down beside them, mask lifting, "Girl needs a shower and probably a good meal."

Claire smiled, "The food here is actually pretty good, but I get the point. Let's get her cleaned up and back to headquarters." There was no use sitting around talking about the inevitable. Anything that hadn't been physically killable was probably long gone from the site and August had more than taken care of the others.

"You sure she'll go?" Camilla asked, folding her arms over her chest. "I mean, the place isn't exactly a hotbed of good memories."

Claire tightened her jaw to near the point of pain, working the argument over in her mind. "Where else is she going to go?"

The ride back to headquarters was tense, but far from silent. August, still covered in drying layers of blood, started talking about Tony's 'little suit thing' and it was all Tony could do to keep up with her questions. He preened when she cooed over the mechanics, tossing his head with laughter as she tried out a couple of the buttons. Claire watched them have their conversation from a few seats back, cold glass of untouched water in her hands. Somehow the desperation of the prison hadn't seemed to touch the rampant enthusiasm and curiosity of August as much as Claire thought it would. She could still see the wonder glittering in her dark eyes, the impish grin plastered all over her face. It was the damndest thing that she was exactly the same as Claire remembered and yet so completely different.

August had filled out, grown up, in a physical way that left Claire with no doubt about August's strength. Tone, lithe, and lean, August moved with feline grace and intentionality. She'd always been short and fine boned, making her early teenage years awkward. Somehow Claire had to assimilate that thin, ragged girl with the strong woman who'd more than come into her own over the last five years. Given the impressive gap, the feat would probably take a considerable amount of time.

An hour later August was jumping off the stairs of the plane and walking steadily towards the edge of the forest, clearly remembering the old pathways despite having only been there a handful of times. She breathed the air in deeply, holding it for long seconds before letting it go. Claire recalled the dossier on August still lying in the bottom drawer of her desk. Born in a holler where her only company was family and the few animals kept as pets, August spent the first ten years of her life attending a one room school house and running through the woods in her bare feet.

When the Council found her, she was already proficient in minor magical spells, levitating, and defensive shields. For the next three years, August was primed to begin training and at the age of thirteen, when her powers could no longer be contained and protected by the rural environment, she began formally learning to be a Guardian. Claire remembered how easily August had taken to the work, applying herself so intently and yet so effortlessly. She had to know everything about everything and wouldn't stop until her mission was complete.

Now, much of the child had been burned away by puberty and Claire could see how August had grown into her own powerful skin. She only hoped August had learned some measure of control in the prison, otherwise they were in for destruction and more bodies piled in the lobby. Without the tattoos to channel the power of August's magic, the effect of her spells would have a wide spread akin to the firing of a shotgun.

Upon arriving at the cave, Claire glanced down and noticed that August hadn't worn any shoes and that her feet were bare.

"August," she called, "Do you want me to get you some shoes? The water in the caves is pretty cold."

Tossing a laughing look at Claire, August shook her head and crossed into the darkness of the cave without a word. Her bare feet splashed in the water noisily, leaving a trail of red wherever she walked. The group of soldiers eased to a stop at Coulson's command, their weapons still drawn but holding steady at their sides. Claire put her hands on her hips and waited, wanting to know what caused the delay.

"I'm sending the group back to the prison," Coulson explained lowly. "I wanted to do a clean sweep."

Claire shook her head lightly, "You can't get back in without my prints. We'll go back after we have August settled."

Looking a little annoyed, Coulson rested a hand on his holster, "We don't know if there was anything left alive in there."

"Trust me," Claire scoffed, "There wasn't."

"You don't know that," Coulson countered with heat.

Irritated, Claire nodded to August who was still wading into the cave, "She would have told us if there was anything left in the prison."

Leveling an assessing gaze at Claire, Coulson tilted his head down and murmured, "Your judgment is clouded. You need to look at this logically. We weren't able to get into some of the other cell blocks, the entrances were damaged, and we need to stop whatever could be hiding in there before it gets out."

Claire clenched her jaw, her eyes flicking towards Camilla who was studiously cleaning her thumbnail. She ran her tongue along the back of her teeth, saying, "Fine. There's a manual override inside the Deep Room. Have your men call me when they get there."

With that, Claire turned on her heel and strode after August into the cave. She veered off to the left, keeping an eye on the girl while maintaining her balance along the pathway. Ignoring the curious looks from the people following her, Claire watched as August took the dive into the pool headfirst. The water, when Claire reached it, was cooler than she remembered and it shocked her as she rose to the surface. With eager strokes, she maneuvered her way to the tunnel and struck up a flare. As it turned out, the flare was unnecessary as the glyphs of the tunnel sprang to life suddenly and fantastically, illuminating not only the path, but also part of the pool.

Claire could feel the old magic surging forth in welcome as August moved further into the tunnel. It embraced the woman, seeking her out and fueling its own fire until Claire could feel it burrowing into her own magical core. Behind her, she head Camilla cough with surprise, a sharp curse already on her lips. With effort, Claire kept moving forward even as her body began to shake with the exertion of taking on the extra power. It filled her, stretched her, made her skin buzz with excitement and vibrate with the intensity.

By the time they reached the first cavern, Claire could barely breathe and Camilla wasn't faring much better, having to lean on Barton just to keep walking. As they crossed the threshold into the second room, Camilla dropped to the floor, her eyes going white with a vision. Ambling over, Claire helped Barton make her comfortable calling out for August.

"Make it stop," she yelled, growing disoriented and falling down to her side. Vaguely, she heard Coulson giving orders as he made his way to her. The intensity of the sensation eased almost immediately, leaving Claire's eyes crossed but her body slowly recovering. She pressed her palms flat on the floor and pushed upwards a little, wincing as the change in elevation made her head spin. Camilla was having a similarly hard time getting up, her eyes rolled back into her head and her hands holding her middle.

Hands reached around and pulled her into a firm embrace and Claire caught the scent of the cologne she had bought him just before their relationship ended. She allowed it for a few long seconds until August's tinkling laugh came from the next room. It grew to a maniacal cackle, the sound echoing into the caverns ominously. Knowing Camilla was covered, Claire crawled away from Coulson on her hands and knees, edging around until she could see August through the open doorway. It occurred to her that August had unlocked the Deep Room without Claire's knowledge or consent, indicating that August had far exceeded Claire's power and was now capable of overriding it.

The object of her abject fascination was standing bent over with her hands on her knees, laughing with positively effusive glee. The bodies of the Council lay destroyed at her feet and she was crying tears of laughter over them. Incredulous, Claire scrambled to her feet, anger rising with every passing step.

"August!" The word was a hoarse yell between scraping breaths. "Stop it."

The laughs came to an abrupt halt, though August's eyes till glittered with amusement. She shrugged, stepping around half a torso, studying the remains.

"You can't expect anything else from me," August asserted after a while. "They did put me in prison."

Claire felt her chest constrict in unnamable grief, "They're dead now."

"Yes," August replied absently, "I'm happy about that."

With a breath, Claire made an effort to calm herself, "You have a right to be angry. They were unjustifiably cruel. But they are out of your reach now and you have to let that anger go." She could feel the tried and true words pouring forth, having been said over and over throughout her career. Guardians were taught from the very beginning that death was going to be a life-long friend, a constant companion. Understanding and accepting the fact that death was all around was the key to keeping sane and relatively coherent during the hard times.

Rolling her eyes, August just took another turn about the room, her eyes flicking here and there to take in all the gory details. From behind Claire, Camilla was being carried into the room by Barton, her shoulders hunched over to hide in Barton's chest. Claire abandoned her inquiry with August to see to her fellow Guardian. She knelt next to the chair, glancing up at Barton's pinched face. He looked concerned, but seemed to be more wary of August than anything else, his eyes following the girl's movements.

Camilla sighed wearily as she settled into the seat, "I don't know what that was, but I don't want any more of it."

Claire laughed a little, patting Camilla's leg, "Tell me what you saw."

With a roll of her shoulder, Camilla answered listlessly, "The usual. Death, destruction." She leaned down to whisper in Claire's ear, "It's going to come back."

Brows drawing together in confusion, Claire asked, "What?"

Camilla pursed her lips, "The thing… the darkness… it's going to come back."

Startled, Claire squeezed her hands into fists, "When?"

"I don't know. It will be warm, though. I felt the heat even in the caves."

Rising, Claire ran her hands through her hair, looking nervously to the side. Coulson was staring at her with an unreadable expression, the vest of his body armor set to the side on an upturned table. She inhaled deeply, trying to regain her equilibrium only to have it throw sharply to the side as Brent entered the room with—to her utter bewilderment—Darcy, Regina, Evan, and Belinda in tow. A tall blonde man followed the group, his crystal blue eyes wary.

Lifting a hand to indicate the wayward group, Claire uttered, "What is this?"

Brent threw up his hands, "They found their way to the lobby and Mr. Rogers over there said they were here to help. That's all I got and after the day I've had you're lucky you have that much."

Darcy bounced happily on her feet, her eyes round as saucers at Claire's furious expression, "You can blame it on me. I got Steve to bring us out here."

"How did you find out where _here_ is?" Claire growled, unable to contain her ire.

Her blush would have been adorable if Claire wasn't so completely pissed off. "I may have hacked into the GPS on Tony's plane."

"You misused Shield resources and abused your credentials." Coulson chimed in with verve. "Darcy, we've talked about this."

"I'm sorry!" Darcy exclaimed, her hands tugging at the ends of her hair. "I just wanted to help. We can help." She gestured to the other potentials, "All of us."

From across the room, Claire heard August start humming the theme song to Scooby Doo. She pressed her fingertips to the bridge of her nose, counting slowly down from ten in an effort to ease the tension. Every time she opened her eyes, however, Claire was reintroduced to the fact that on one hand she had four untrained and highly vulnerable potentials sneaking into the Deep Room and on the other hand she had a half cocked and fully functioning Guardian who couldn't seem to control her power. Add in one dismantled relationship filled with secrets that were slowly revealing themselves and stir in the oncoming apocalypse and Claire had a recipe to utter catastrophe. All in all, though, she thought she was handling it pretty well.

"Okay," Claire breathed, holding out both hands, "Can't help that Darcy took matters into her own hands, can't help that August _clearly_ needs a shower and an update. What I can help is that fact that the gate is opening and I now have almost all key players in one room." She nodded, "The situation isn't so bad, I think."

Brent cleared his throat delicately, "Have I mentioned that the glyphs around the gate are dying pretty quickly."

Claire's brow winged up, "How quickly?"

He shrugged, "I think there's one or two left."

"Brent!" Claire called out, already turning to the back of the room and pushing through the door. The Gate wasn't technically a gate so much as a huge pit in the floor of a highly guarded room. It glowed from the magic is suppressed, the glyphs around it helping to maintain the balance between the worlds. The stones around the pit were carved from gigantic previous gems specifically chosen to channel power and to protect. Ancient texts explained that a willing blood sacrifice of a powerful druid held the gate together despite the incredible pressure from each world as it tried to meld with the other. Now, as Claire reached the Gate, she could feel the failing power against the weight of the darkness. Desperately, she extended her power to reactivate the glyphs, drawing new ones over the old to patch torn webs of magic. Near panic, she moved around the room in a large circle, checking her work repeatedly as she found more tears and holes.

"You want some help?" Camilla asked from the door, her power already unfolding.

Claire nodded without speaking, grateful for the second set of eyes on the glyphs. They worked in tandem for about fifteen minutes, pushing back the damage as much as possible. The Gate recognized their efforts and Claire could sense it grumbling with displeasure. As a portal and doorway, it was more comfortable open and flowing than it was bottled up. However, the continued existence of mankind would not jive so well with the contents behind its locked doors.

As their work eased to a close, Claire thanked Camilla and headed tiredly out into the Deep Room. Her guests had gathered and were talking quietly, some casting dubious looks at August, who still looked like an extra in a zombie flick. Claire caught Coulson's eye, noting the strain in the lines around his mouth. Darcy looked suitably chastised and Claire guessed Coulson had given her a debriefing of how she would be expected to make up for her mistake…Though Claire might not call it a mistake so much as an extreme case of bad judgment—Semantics, they were here and the potentials would be put through the advanced course of Guardianship with much more hands on learning than Claire had originally anticipated.

"Anything else I should know about while I'm at it?" Claire directed the question at Brent. Her assistant looked exhausted and harried, shirt torn and face scuffed with grime. She felt some of her exasperation fade a little at the knowledge that he really had been through a rough day.

Coulson spoke up, "I need you to unlock the prison."

"Right," Claire agreed, "Pass code 882204. It will unlock everything but the weapons room."

"Wouldn't make any difference," August interjected lightly, "The guy who vomits venom had a field day with that room early on in the fight."

Claire paused a moment, taking in the information, then moved on because her brain just couldn't deal with the mental image. She secured the door to the Gate and rolled her shoulders, trying to release the stressed muscles. The action gave minimal relief.

"I suppose introductions need to be made," Claire began, gesturing to the wide array of people in the room. "August—you know Camilla. This is Agent Coulson of Shield, a sister agency. Agent Barton and Agent…" She trailed off.

"Romanoff," the red haired woman supplied succinctly.  
"Agent Romanoff," Claire continued. "The man with the briefcase full of armor is Tony Stark and this is Darcy, Evan, Regina, and Belinda. They are the new potentials. Mr. Rogers, I'm glad to meet you. Everyone, this is August."

The blonde tilted his chin downwards politely, "Ma'am."

Claire thought she heard August sneer 'boy scout' under her breath but she didn't pause to consideration it.

"My assistant, Brent, has been keeping your rooms open. They're just as you left them."

August seemed to think about that statement for a long time, her full lower lip sticking out a little in pouting thought. Then, as if everything had clicked into place, she shrugged and said 'okay', bouncing along out the door. Claire watched her go in sheer relief, knowing that there were things best discussed out of her earshot until Claire could better determine the stability of her mind.

Darcy raised a hand, "I don't want to be rude, but is blood a fashion accessory here?"

Claire shook her head, "August was in a battle earlier. The blood is just fallout."

Tony snorted, crossing his feet at the ankle as he leaned back against a wall, "The girl is a killing machine, if you ask me."

"A product of her situation," Camilla chimed in, her shoulders pulling back. "We all are."

Coulson waved the statements away, "We don't have time for this. What's the plan?"

"Protect the Gate, find out who's behind the attack, end them." Claire spelled out evenly. "Any questions?"

"Yeah," Regina answered with a smirk, "How?"

Claire's jaw clenched on an insult and her hand squeezed back the bolt of magic she wanted to send the potential's way. There was no use getting angry with the untrained, it would only cause more damage. She simply had to consider that they were a little slower on the uptake.

"Camilla will start teaching you from the Deep Room in the same routine we've been doing—Barton and Romanoff, if you would be so kind, will help with the hand to hand. Brent and I will work on solving the mystery of the attacker. Coulson and Tony will return to Shield and update them on the situation. We're going to need reinforcements."

Coulson's mouth thinned, "Tony will go. I'll stay and help. Shield has a lot of connections and I'm sure someone will be talking."

Breathing out thinly, Claire conceded, "That's fine. For tonight, let's just get some rest. Brent, how many of the guest rooms are left without damage?"

Brent pulled an ipad out of his bag and called up a few screens, "Half a wing."

Claire nodded, "That should be enough. Can you take them? I have some things I need to do here."

"Sure thing," Brent replied waving the group through the door. "Okay people, keep your hands to yourself. I promise, you don't want to touch anything in this building without gloves."

The sounds of conversation echoed away until Claire was left with nothing but silence between herself and Coulson—even Tony had decided to take the tour. She turned her back to him and headed for the other closed door in the room. The entrance to the vault required three forms of identification—thumbprint, saliva, and blood. Claire licked her finger and placed it on the scanner, barely feeling the prick of the needle. Accepting the identification, the door opened with a muted swish of sound, the lights coming on automatically. Claire stayed near the door, craning her neck to see the dark ambiguous form on a white pedestal at far end of the room. Satisfied, she tapped the panel next to her to close the vault once more.

Coulson waited patiently, his hands folded in front of him. "I'll walk you to your room."

Tilting her head to the side, Claire regarded him for a moment. He'd said that sentence the exact same way once, a long time ago, when things weren't so different. Yet, instead of feeling butterflies of nervousness, Claire felt comforted by his presence. As they walked the war torn halls of headquarters, Claire found herself recounting similar walks between the tall trees of parks and solid walls of skyscrapers. They were always meeting in one place or another, up until Claire had acquired an apartment not far from her father. Walking in tandem was as natural as breathing, both heading for the same location at a lazy pace.

Her door was, thankfully, intact and Claire keyed in without preamble. Thought the lights looked somewhat fragile, the contents of her room were untouched. Uncaring of the how, Claire was very much grateful for the fact that she had a bed and that she wouldn't have to squeeze into one of the guest rooms in the south wing.

Turning to throw her bag into a corner, Claire caught Phil staring downwards at a large leather covered case, one hand reaching out to touch the seam. She held still as he considered the large instrument sitting discreetly in the corner, his stance and shoulders relaxed.

"Do you still play?"

Claire nodded, though with his head turned Phil couldn't see the gesture. "From time to time. When the world isn't ending."

The statement wasn't too far from the truth—she still pulled the cello out of the case at least once a month, but her focus just wasn't there anymore. Music, while still very important to her, took a back seat to her other duties and to the responsibilities placed on her by the now dead Council. Without their constant demands, she assumed she would have more time, but somehow it felt like there would be even less time than there was before. Tucking away her frustration, Claire rubbed her face and glanced at the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Are you going or staying?"

Phil finally pulled his eyes from the cello and turned to study her carefully constructed expression. "Staying, if you're fine with that."

"I'm fine with that," Claire replied, pulling her hair out of the bun at the nape of her neck and sliding out of her shoes.

Disrobing in silence, the pair slid beneath the sheets of the bed Claire had been assigned for most of her life. She had never had anyone sleeping beside her in this bed, outsiders having been forbidden and fellow agents of the Council too close for comfort. Even though there was little to no light in the room and even though Claire was probably hallucinating from the stress, she could make out the outline of Phil's face as he turned to his side, settling in for sleep. Head tucked into the pillow and arm supporting his neck, he looked for the first time exactly as she remembered him. The feeling was so strong that Claire almost spoke out loud, barely managing to halt the sound of her voice.

"_There you are, Phil."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Onwards!**

Claire woke to a rapid pounding at her door accompanied by vehement demands that she open up, quickly. She rolled out of her confusingly empty bed and trudged across the room to answer the calls. Camilla stood breathing hard just outside in the hall, her fine brows drawn together.

"Gate… glyphs…broken."

There was no more explanation necessary for Claire to barrel past Camilla and head down the still damaged halls towards the Deep Room. Dust and dirt crunched beneath her bare feet as she moved, the sound of skin slapping against tile echoing behind her. She ducked through the two outer caverns and into the Deep Room, not bothering to look at the people already gathered as she headed for the Gate.

The portal flared rhythmically, erasing glyphs with each flash of supernatural power. Immediately, Claire went to work, tracing out as many security glyphs as she could. Camilla arrived in due time, joining the mission without comment. It took a little longer than the previous day to set things right, but eventually the portal was secured and calmed to a light simmer. Claire breathed a sigh of relief and ran her hands through her tangled, messy hair. She toed around the Gate and stepped gingerly back into the Deep Room, wincing as a piece of debris lodged into her heel.

As Claire leaned on a table to wipe away the irritant, Coulson strode determinedly into the room in the cleanest, crispest suit Claire had ever seen. Part of her wondered at how he'd managed to get the thing inside headquarters and part of her made a shallow attempt to check out his ass as he passed by. Laughing a little to herself, she straightened and turned her attention to Camilla.

"What happened?"

Camilla shrugged, "That glyphs aren't holding. They're breaking almost faster than we can write them."

The situation was dangerously familiar and Claire sent a small prayer upwards that the characteristics were a fluke and not an indication of history repeating itself. She didn't think she could take another all out battle with dark entities, but she would be lying if some small bit of her thrilled at the excitement that a new battle would bring. As far as Claire was concerned, the Guardians (aside from Astar's little shindig) had been inactive for far too long.

August peered around the edge of one door, her long hair falling over her shoulder, "Felt a disturbance in the force."

Claire rolled her eyes, but waved August nearer, "The Gate is acting up again. Strong power bursts that are wrecking our protection spells."

Seeming to think for a moment, August bounced on her toes, "Have you tried singing to it? That's how I got started on keep it in check."

The silence that followed her statement was long, pregnant, and filled with incredulous expression. Claire had to clear her throat twice before she could form a sentence.

"Singing. You want us to sing to a portal into the dark realm?"

August shrugged, picking at her nails, "I never really thought about it before, but I suppose it's just as alive as we are. Weird, though, it really liked the songs my mama used to sing to me."

Claire's confusion continued interminably, "You sang it lullabies?"

"I wouldn't call them lullabies," August countered with a smile, "More like old, sad songs."

Camilla chimed in, "Worth a shot. We can't keep twenty four hour watch on the Gate and figure out who was behind the attack."

Claire sighed deeply and threw her head back to stare at the bare rock ceiling, her hands coming to rest on her hips while she thought. "Screw it, go sing to the thing."

August raised a brow, "Why?"

"Because it was your suggestion and you… have a way with it," Claire answered as she slid into one of the only whole chairs left standing.

Laughing, August pulled her hair over her shoulder and plaited it into a loose braid. "I don't think so."

"No?"

"No." With light, flitting steps, August maneuvered around a large pile of broken wood and hopped onto the end of the overturned table.

Claire allowed her lungs to deplete of breath, replenish, and then collapse again, saying, "Why not?"

"Does prison ring a bell for ya, sugar?" August snapped, though the smile remained on her face. "I'm all out of favors for the Guardians."

A blonde head peered into the room, hesitant enough that Claire wondered if he could sense the tension in the room. "Camilla? Agent Barton is looking for you."

Camilla cast Claire a sympathetic look before striding out of the room, nodding to Mr. Rogers on her way out. Claire watched her go for a moment before returning her attention to August, who seemed to have found a fascination with peeling fine layers of varnish from the table beneath her.

"You're not going to help us? Even though you absolutely could provide the most comprehensive form of help."

August shrugged, "I'm not necessarily inclined to at the moment."

Sighing deeply, Claire pressed her fingers to her temples, "August, I know what happened was awful, but we're talking about total world obliteration if that Gate opens completely. Stack the escaped entities from the prison on top of that and it's the death of the human race as we know it."

Raising a sardonic brow, August sneered, "You sound just like them—all drama and melodramatic speeches."

"It's the truth!" Claire argued back, her palms slapping against the arm of the chair.

"Its propaganda," August returned, the smile finally dropping from her face. "And it's getting old, Claire. I've seen the dark and whatever is out there," she pointed to the Deep Room, "Is way better than what is in here." She closed her thoughts by gesturing to her chest.

Dropping her eyes, Claire considered her options, her gaze catching on Mr. Rogers looking interested and abashed all at the same time. She rolled her tongue over in her mouth, understanding August's position, but feeling the pressure of her own situation. And, with the extra hands in the pot—that is, Shield and its agents—the problems only seemed to become more complex.

"I don't want to fight you," Claire muttered finally. "But, regardless of how much you dislike the Guardians, you are one. And your co-Guardians and the potentials waiting out there need you."

August's eyes lit with a strange fire, "Why should I care?"

"Because you don't have anyone else," Claire asserted carefully. "Because we are your family, despite the years you spent incarcerated. Because you are filled with goodness and this is your destiny."

"Bullshit."

There was a snorted breath from Mr. Rogers, one large hand coming up to cover his mouth. He calmed himself visibly, saying, "Ma'am, if I could just say, I don't know what we're dealing with, but you and your team aren't alone."

August's attention shifted from Claire to Mr. Rogers, "Don't 'ma'am' me, boy scout. 'Ma'am' is my mother. August will do."

He dipped his head, "Steve for me, then."

"Well, Steve the Boy Scout, here's what I'm thinkin'. I've saved this world once already and it cost me five years of my life in a dank hell hole filled with your worst night mares. I'm all kinds of skittish about doing it again."

Steve dropped his brows, giving August a cautious look, "I'm sorry that it didn't work out for you the first time, but I promise this time I won't let someone harm you for helping us."

August seemed a little taken aback by the statement, her petite body curling away from Steve in abject shock. The alarm in August's face quickly turned to cynicism, her sneer far more practiced than when she was fifteen.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you. Road to hell and all that." She shrugged, "Helping you doesn't help me. I'll pass."

From the door, Regina scoffed, "Sounds like cowardice to me."

Claire winced and sighed, following at August's back as the smaller woman gathered herself and stalked Regina into the next room. Regina, to her credit, showed few signs of anxiety, save for the faint crease in her brow. She leveled and returned August's glare even as she physically backpedaled. Untrained and unknowing of August's background, Regina had walked right into dangerous territory with a few careless words. Claire was curious as to how both women would handle it.

August slowed to a stop near the middle of the room. She continued to stare Regina down for a moment, then cocked her hip and chuckled.

"You must be new."

Regina's chin jutted out, "What of it?"

"You don't know what you're doing, sweetie," August replied, seemingly calmed by the realization.

Unable to deny the bait, Regina answered, "I know enough."

"Not nearly." August rolled one shoulder, "You're going to get yourself hurt."

"At least I'm trying," Regina bit out. "You're running away scared."

Claire watched the exchange from near enough that she could intervene, if necessary. However, she knew this would be an excellent test of fortitude. Evan and Belinda, having heard the raised voices, were edging into the room, Darcy not far behind. Claire waved them nearer, signaling that they should be quiet and observe.

August had corralled Regina into the largest open area of the room, still looking for all the world relaxed and amused. Regina was steadily growing more irate at August's apathy. Claire could sense the magic growing in the air, a faint twist of sharp earth reminding her that August was far more advanced despite her youth. She would have to be careful to protect Regina if push came to shove.

"Why are you even here?" Regina asked. "You're not helping. Won't even try."

August smiled, "Call it curiosity."

"Call it what it is—cowardice."

The barb struck August as an almost physical blow, her shoulders pulling back.

"I'm going to reiterate that you don't know what you're doing," August replied slowly.

At this, Claire took a step towards Regina, "I think we all need to take a break."

Regina's expression looked vaguely crestfallen before it hardened into determination. "No, she needs to be taught a lesson."

Claire was a little confused at the sudden escalation, but could do little to stop August's reaction. The woman smiled and raised both hands in artistic flair, her eyes sparkling with predatory amusement.

"Please do," she announced. "I'll even be hospitable and give you the first shot free."

Regina hesitated, rightly sensing a trap.

August rolled her eyes, "Oh come _on_, young'n. What happened to all that bluster and bravado?" Her brows lowered, "Scared?"

Glowering, Regina squared off with August, taking the stance Claire began teaching them not so long ago. Her posture was, admittedly, better than average, but Claire was very much aware that Regina was outmatched. Before she could debate her options any further, Regina struck out with a bolt of spell work that was well aimed. It sent August to the floor, the momentum carried into a backward roll. August was smiling as she stood.

"Good. I can tell Claire's been workin' with you." August's accent had thickened, signaling to Claire that she wasn't far from blasting Regina to pieces. It was only the sense of duty instilled into all of them that Claire held back. August wouldn't hurt Regina—scare her, yes—but never outright harm.

Shaking off the attack, August made a sharp motion with her hand, throwing Regina to the wall. As Regina recovered she dropped to a crouch and pressed her palm to the floor. The cavern rumbled, as if awakening from a deep sleep, the lights flickering ominously. Dodging a return attack, August kicked out hard and suddenly the air in the room rushed outwards from her, pushing furniture and debris towards the outer corners. Claire had to duck a heavy chair, her hands already forming the glyph to create a force field around the vulnerable potentials.

As quickly as it started, the tussle was over. Regina settled on her knees, breathing hard and glaring at a triumphant August. Claire assessed the damage, checking on the crouched audience from both rooms—Coulson's hand on his gun, Steve's shoulders hunched in a defensive stance. Evan had Belinda pushed behind him and Darcy was wiping blood away from her cheek. All in all, it could have been worse.

"I think that's enough posturing for now," Claire called out.

"She started it," August replied with a shrug.

"And you know better than to have allowed yourself to get caught up in it," Claire shot back. "I expected more from you."

The reprimand seemed to fall on deaf ears. August simply shrugged once more and gave a half-hearted salute as she left the room. Claire turned her attention to the Potentials, waving them closer.

"For your own safety, please don't antagonize August. She's not exactly stable and has had some trauma recently."

Regina rolled her eyes, "I don't understand why she's here."

Irritated, Claire replied, "Because she's stronger than all of us combined and may be our only option for holding the Gate together."

Coulson moved to Claire's side, "She's a wild card."

"I know," Claire agreed, "We need her."

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets, looking a little shy, "Seems like a lot of pressure on someone so young."

Claire offered him a sidelong glance, "She was fifteen the last time she handled the Gate."

Steve's eyes dropped and he shuffled his feet a little. Claire let the subject go; knowing August's age had nothing to do with her aptitude.

"Take it as a lesson learned: No matter how good you are, there will always be something bigger and meaner ready to take you down."

There was a somber nod of understanding amongst the group. Claire, herself, gave a curt nod, moving to the door. "Go find Camilla. She's got your lesson planned for the day."

Already exhausted and feeling a headache coming on, Claire gripping the base of her neck and squeezed the muscles, trying to release the tension. She turned in a slow circle, glancing carefully at Coulson, before heading out of the cavern. Needing to get back to her room, to get a shower and get dressed, Claire trod the familiar pathways in her bare feet, wincing periodically. She stormed into her room and rushed to the bathroom, pulling off layers of clothing as she went. The heat of the shower softened her ire and frustration, smoothing it over until she was simply absorbing the steam as she stood in the center of the spray.

After washing thoroughly, Claire turned off the water and stepped out, roughly swiping the water from her body with a towel. Wrapping the material around her, she stepped back into her room and headed for her dresser, pulling a pair of soft pants and a tank top from the top drawer. As she dressed, Claire wondered who was responsible for the attack. She wondered how much August had learned in prison. She wondered if anyone would make it out alive this time. Thoughts running into dim territory, Claire switched gears and began focusing on strategy. They needed to find out how the dark entity had gotten into headquarters and who had given the enemy the secrets to their inner sanctum. Why had their security measures failed?

For centuries, nothing and no one had been able to climb the walls into headquarters and certainly no one had dared to attack the Council outright. Their enemy was arrogant, smart, focused, and, most importantly, didn't fear the dark. Fear of the dark was what kept the soldiers for the good going, fighting. Fear of the dark was what kept most people from hindering the Guardians in their mission. Fear kept the dark at bay.

Slumping onto her bed, Claire sat for a few moments with her wet hair hanging down her back, dripping onto the comforter. The next step was crystal clear and yet she hesitated to go through with it. Claire needed information, even knew where she might find it, but she'd been there before. Combing through the stacks of the restricted section was allowed very rarely and only to certain individuals the Council deemed able to handle the content. The Council was dead, she had always been given access as a Gatekeeper, but the hesitation remained.

It was in Claire's nature to gather data, to store it, categorize it, and use it when appropriate. The restricted section had more information relevant to her cause than any other public database. Her major temptation was to voraciously consume tome after tome so that she would know everything. Her secondary temptation was to use that information regularly, which could (and usually did) prove dangerous. Claire's last venture had resulted in a weaponization of dark matter. Though Claire had stabilized and controlled the device, the Council refused to allow its use in the Guardian arsenal.

The path was clear, and Claire resigned herself to that. Standing, she strode to the bathroom, applied her make up, and pulled her hair into its standard bun. The mirror reflected the familiar controlled image she'd always wanted to project. Satisfied, she wasted no more time, leaving her room with her laptop and heading for the library.

Most of the stacks had been left standing after the attack. The heavy steel doors of the restricted section remained intact, standing guard at the back of the large hall. Claire keyed in and heaved the door open, using her legs to inch the opening wider. She picked her favorite spot in the little niche, setting her computer down, then headed for the electronic catalogue.

It took a few tries, but eventually, Claire was able to pull a few titles that looked promising. She located the books and set them in a neat pile to the side of her computer. Powering up the device, Claire pulled a small leather bound book first, flipping to the index and looking up key terms. She spent the better part of an hour gathering very little on the darkness. There were spells that could block out light and demons who could bend reality, but nothing on a dark force that simply made people disappear.

Leaning back, Claire shoved the current useless book aside and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. When she lowered her arms, Claire flinched at the shadow of a figure sitting atop a low bookshelf. As her vision cleared, she recognized August's ting form, her long hair braided over her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?"

August shrugged, "I was bored."

Claire shook her head to clear the grogginess of having stared at a computer screen for too long. She'd known August had found a way to circumvent the security system, but wasn't sure how much of the library had been browsed. August wasn't necessarily the kind of woman to read often, or to find pleasure in acquiring new information. Her actions were instinctual in nature, informed only by her gut and her emotive processes. While not exactly studious, August was incredibly bright for her age and capable of learning very quickly, if she applied herself to the task. That particular occurrence, however, happened so rarely that Claire could only make conjectures about it based on anecdotal data.

"I thought you didn't like libraries," Claire said, trying to make conversation.

August tilted her head to the side, "I don't."

Claire made an inquisitive motion with her hand, "Then why are you here."

"I already said," August replied with a little bite, "I'm bored."

Eyes narrowing, Claire retorted, "I'm not here to entertain you."

Sliding from the shelf, August strolled around the edge of the table, "I don't want to be entertained. I can take care of that, myself."

Claire didn't answer, waiting impatiently for August to talk about why she'd sought Claire out in the restricted section after having dismissed her in the caverns. August walked around the edge of the table, her eyes lifted to the stacks, studying them intently. She trailed one hand behind her, touching things as she went. Claire folded her arms across her chest, leaning back in her chair. The fluorescents hummed a little in the silence of the room, giving the atmosphere a bit of anticipation. August continued to walk, to touch, to look.

"I've never seen this place so empty."

Claire's arms tightened, "I know. That's part of what I'm trying to figure out."

"I spoke with Brent. He's clueless."

Purposefully loosening her jaw, Claire replied, "We all are, a little."

August's eyes finally turn to rest on Claire's face, "You don't even know where to look, do you?"

Claire sighed, "No, I don't."

The answering laugh was simple, lacking in the venom August seemed to continually pour out in Claire's presence. She disappeared for a moment, taking a left down an aisle to scan the books lined all across the room. Reappearing carrying a book, August leaned down and slid it across the table at Claire, stretching back to standing with graceful ease.

"I read that a few years ago. It makes mention of a dark fog."

Claire placed her hand on the binding, pulling the book towards her with her fingertips, "Why wasn't this in the system."

August shrugged, "I removed it."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Claire closed her eyes briefly, "Thank you."

August looked like she was going to shrug again, stopping the movement just before initiation. "You're welcome."

Claire held her tongue for about six seconds before asking the question burning in the back of her throat, "Why are you helping me?"

Shifting her weight, August considered the question. "You're afraid. You didn't used to be afraid."

Incensed, Claire shot back, "I'm not scared."

"Of course you are," August responded with a smile.

Shouldering the conversation in a different direction, Claire asserted, "We don't know what we're dealing with. A little fear is healthy."

"Not what I'm talkin' about," August sneered. "You're afraid of yourself—I can see it, clear as day."

Claire raised a brow, "Why would I be afraid of myself."

"I saw what you did," August asserted in a near whisper, "I saw it in a dream."

Something cold clenched Claire's spine. She swallowed and consciously slowed the pounding of her heart, "What are you talking about?"

August shook her head slightly, seeming to run out of words, "The thing… the cloak. I saw it. It was beautiful. Why are you so scared of it?"

Fists clenching, Claire visibly trembled with the effort of reigning in her emotions, "There's too much power in it for one person."

"Bullshit," August scoffed, "I'm up to my ears with power, and look at me, perfectly normal."

Claire could have debated that fact with some forceful arguments, but chose to let the fact that she was unsure of August's sanity lie. She allowed the gap in conversation to lengthen until it was clear that Claire was no longer going to continue this line of thought. August finally rolled her eyes and turned from her, heading for the door.

"When you're ready to accept what you are, come find me."

Claire watched her stride from the room for the second time that day—for the millionth time in their relationship—wondering what the actual extent of August's power happened to be. Could she have taken on some of Camilla's seer characteristics? Was she able to move through worlds? If she knew about the cloak, why hadn't she made a move for it?

Unable to answer her own internal questions, Claire resigned herself to not knowing and opened the book August had offered. She thumbed through the pages, looking for key words and skimming paragraphs. There was, indeed, a section on a dark mist or fog of some kind, an entity that swallowed up life in search of power. Defeating the dark mass would involve a blood sacrifice, a solution that was far too predictable for her liking, and huge amounts of power—possible more than what the Guardians could provide. Claire rolled her shoulders and logged the information into her computer for later reference. Then, she closed down the laptop and shelved the books she'd gone through stacking the rest to take back to her room for further research. Satisfied that she'd made just a little progress, Claire hauled her belongings up to her chest and left the library, heading for her quarters.

The room was occupied when she returned, Coulson standing out at her bookcase gazing at the highest row. Claire flushed, knowing that her more risqué literature sat in that carefully ordered row. She set her laptop and the books on the table and touched the back of her bun self consciously, tucking an errant hair into place.

"Did you need something?"

Coulson turned, brows raised, "Do I need to need something to come see you?"

Claire's eyes narrowed at the evasion, her arms folding across her chest, one hip cocked to the side. Coulson took in and recognized her posture, letting out a low laugh.

"I want to know how to help."

Claire nodded, "Well, you may have more resources when it comes to finding out who ordered the attack. There has to be chatter out there making the calls."

Coulson stepped closer, "Already on it. Barton is checking the net and a few other agents are putting feelers out."

Another nod. "Thank you."

There was a beat of silence, then, "Are you okay?"

Claire's eyes widened, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Expression serious, Coulson answered in a matter of fact tone, "Your home has been invaded and destroyed, you are rebuilding a murdered team, your primary professional support system has been slaughtered, and you assistant is about to be incapacitated for hitting on Agent Romanoff."

His speech earned half a smirk before Claire's expression crumbled. She pressed her hands to her face and allowed, for the first time, the sense of hopelessness to surface. The tears would not come, though the urge to cry bubbled up inside her. Coulson sighed a little and wrapped and arm around her, pulling Claire's body close.

"You don't have to hold it all in," he murmured.

Claire snorted, "I'm not holding it in. I'm trying to move forward and get this mission complete so that the world isn't filled with their worst nightmares."

The pressure around her shoulders increased slightly, signaling Coulson's displeasure. His voice was near a whisper, "You don't have to do it alone."

Suddenly, Claire was filled with irrational anger, her face scrunching in the emotion. She pushed away, "I'm not a child. I can handle this."

Phil dropped his arms, reflexively giving a non threatening posture, "I didn't say you couldn't."

The anger in Claire's body grew until she was seething, "You don't have to keep trying to save me."

Brows drawing together, Phil scoffed, "I'm not trying to save you, I'm trying to help."

"By controlling everything. That's what you do—you control every detail until there's no room left to breathe."

Running his hands through his short hair, Phil regarded her with confusion. "I don't understand where this is coming from. We're on the same team."

Claire pressed her palms her to her eyes, trying to relieve the pressure in her head. She turned from Phil and sat on the bed, leaning down so that her elbows were perched on her knees. "This isn't the first time we've fought this battle."

Phil sat down beside her and mirrored her position, "The battle between you and me or the battle between us and the bad guys?"

"Either, or both," Claire clarified with a sigh. "Why do we keep doing this?"

Phil folded his hands neatly in front of him, seeming to consider the question. "Sometimes when you love something so much, you have to go through a struggle in order to keep it."

"Are we talking about the human dimension or our relationship?"

"Either, or both," Phil murmured gently. "Where did you go?"

Claire rolled her shoulders, "I went to my father's house for a couple of months, after I got out of surgery." She lifted the edge of her shirt to expose the long scar, "Water demon tried to take me for a death roll."

Phil sucked in a breath, holding her shirt upwards while he examined the long healed wound. "Looks like it was deep."

"Yeah," Claire sighed, "All the way to the bone. Broke three ribs and punctured a lung. They had to resuscitate a few times, but I made it."

"Christ," Phil uttered, eyes finally lifting to Claire's face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Claire huffed, "You walked away, Phil. I couldn't find you just as you couldn't find me. There was just nothing left afterwards."

Slowly, Phil wrapped his arms around Claire's middle, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I didn't know. How could I know?"

With an embarrassing sniffle, Claire murmured, "Part of me didn't want you to know."

There was a beat of silence, then, "As long as we're sharing stories, I had a brush with death, too."

Phil's embrace was too tight for Claire to look up into his face, but she squeezed him in reassurance. "What happened?"

"The usual," he asserted airily, "Mega villain invades the earth with an army of aliens. He stabbed me."

Unable to come up with anything sympathetic, comforting, or seemingly appropriate to fit the situation, Claire simply said, "I'm glad you didn't die."

"Me, too," Phil laughed, rocking her a little. "Me, too." He leaned back to gauge her expression, "I'm sorry I disappeared. I just thought a clean break would be better."

Rolling her eyes, Claire replied, "They usually are. And maybe we needed the time apart, to grow up or something else equally inane."

Dropping his forehead to Claire's, Phil muttered, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Claire conceded with a little reluctance. "I didn't want to miss you, but I did."

He kissed her and everything was familiar and different and wonderful and terrifying all at the same time. She knew the texture of his mouth, knew the rough outline of his cheeks, but Phil was altogether a little different. His hands when he held her, held her tightly as if trying to prevent her from leaving again. Claire leaned into his body and sought out the familiar comfort that had been in every bed they'd ever slept in. She felt the welcome surge of mixed emotions, the resurgence of affection and the light, coppery tinge of lust.

Phil broke away first, "As long as we're fighting yet another end of the world, let's do it together this time, as a team."

Claire smiled briefly, "You got it, mister."

**Okay, so the end was a little corny, but I couldn't help it. Phil wasn't having any more of this separation nonsense. Let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I know this story is taking longer to post between chapters, but its acting to clear up loose ends and to transition into the final (yes, there's another) story. Unfortunately, August won't hear of me leaving her story untold and she's rattling my muse to get a chance in the spotlight. **

**Happy reading.**

Tony, as it turned out, was pretty handy with computers and all things technological. It made sense, given the complexity of his suit—which Claire recently learned was built by the engineer, himself—and the progressive movements made by his company. He was currently sitting at one of the computer lab's desks, hacking effortlessly into their system and bringing up as much security footage as he could find. Claire watched for several hours as camera after camera proved that a dark foggy mass had come into headquarters and subsumed everything inside, save for Brent, the Gate, and the weapons vault. Each camera fizzled out when the actual mass reached the set up, giving little to no information as what was inside.

"There isn't any new information here," Claire griped, gulping down yet another cup of coffee.

Tony paused a moment, "You're right. New approach."

He closed the window and brought up a fresh screen, tapping away in a computer code Claire couldn't hope to recognize, let alone decipher. Eventually, he brought up a crystal clear picture of the woodlands surrounding headquarters. From there, he panned around, working backwards in time. Claire watched them file backwards out of the woods, watched the plane ascend, watched the grass sway for an indeterminable amount of time.

After a while, the screen fizzled a bit, the upper right hand corner darkening in a slow moving shadow. Tony tapped a few keys, locking in on the time stamp and adjusting the angle a bit to take a closer look.

"Where is this coming from?" Claire breathed.

Tony barely blinked, "Space station. We got a good orbit over the area."

Brows drawing together, Claire dismissed the idea that Tony could access top secret information, choosing instead to clarify her question. "I meant, where is that thing coming from?"

"Not. A. Clue," Tony enunciated, his focus on adjusting and readjusting the screen. "It kind of just…appears."

The doors to the lab swung open, Brent striding through with fresh coffee. "I have refreshments."

Claire thanked him and showed off the new developments. Brent squinted down at the monitor, one hand holding his tie to his chest so that it didn't dip into the veritable vats of coffee.

"Looks like the North Side, next to the—," he cut off with a frown.

"Next to what?" Claire prompted.

He drew a short breath, "Next to the portal to the Market."

It took half a second for the comprehension to dawn on Claire. She turned back to the screen, noting the details and the arc of the movement.

"Go get the scrying orb from the weapons room."

The knowledge that magic always left a signature behind was old news to Guardians, even to the Potentials. Certain ancient artifacts could detect these signatures and display them despite any attempts to conceal or deceive the seeker. The Guardians were very lucky that the Council had acquired all of the known relics of this kind in the last century. Claire hadn't thought to use them as the dark attacker seemed more demonic in nature than magical. Yet, magic was necessary to open the portals into the Market—and far more advanced magic was needed to open the portal into the realm of the Council.

Brent held out the velvet carrying case to Claire, the weight of the orb sinking the fabric low. She took it, careful not to drop the handles, and opened the bag. Reaching down, Claire hefted the orb upwards and dropped the case to the ground. Checking the position of the sun she held it high. The light reflected and fractured, sending infinite rainbows of color to the ground.

Tony, who had followed them out of sheer curiosity, scoffed, "Disney called, they want their cliché back."

Brent rolled his eyes and Claire laughed, turning the orb slightly. Suddenly, the whole clearing lit up with brilliant glyphs. They were etched on every tree, on the rocks, and into the compacted earth.

"Brent," Claire called.

"Already on it," he asserted, phone up and camera clicking. He took pictures of everything he could find, until Claire's arms began to ache.

"Give me eight hours and I'll run these through the scanner."

Claire nodded as she replaced the orb. "Thank you."

On the trek back inside, Tony commented, somewhat wryly, "Eight hours seems like a hell of a long time to run a scan."

Before Claire could make any assurances, Brent remarked, "We've been recording magical glyphs and spells for probably all of recorded history. There are ten trillion different individual glyphs associated with any number of dark entities." He blew out a breath, "Eight hours is hustling for this kind of work."

Without skipping a beat, Tony replied with a hint of challenge, "Show me your system. I can make it better."

Claire winced a little—Brent had made the latest modifications to their catalog, himself. Any amount of knowledge on the male ego would logically lead her to expect no small amount of posturing. Brent, however, simply shrugged and pointed down the hall back to the server room.

"Huh," Claire sighed to herself, "I don't know if this is bad."

"If what is bad?"

Spinning on her heel, Claire balled a pulse of magic, barely stopping herself from throwing it at Darcy.

"You can't do that," Claire exclaimed. "I could have really hurt you." Then, "Aren't you supposed to be training with Camilla?"

Darcy nodded, "Yeah, but we're done for the day. Went over stealth movements—guess it worked, huh?"

Claire's jaw locked, "Indeed, it did."

Darcy, unfazed by Claire's expression or tone, continued on, "So, what's the skinny on the latest big bad."

For a moment, Claire was taken aback by the casual way in which Darcy talked about the darkness. The girl had been well on her way to demonic possession not long ago and treated further attacks with as much consideration as ordering from a menu. Utterly confusing. If she were honest, Claire found it a refreshing change of pace from the usual seriousness of Guardian missions. It certainly took some of the unneeded stress out of the job.

"We're testing its magical signature," Claire answered, finally.

Darcy nodded sagely, "Probably a good idea. Oh, by the way, I hope you don't mind, but Loki is going to stop by for a visit." She sighed a little and smiled self-consciously, "He misses me."

Uneasy with the idea of allowing someone outside the circle into headquarters, Claire considered her words. Lately, there had been a vast many outsiders teeming the halls of headquarters, and so far, hopefully, there had been little to no damage. The deep room, weapons vault, and Gate had remained intact and unbothered, and Brent had been as good a host as anyone could have asked for. Still, Loki was a highly advanced magical being. The very foundation of the headquarters could rattle with that kind of change in magic floating around.

Darcy's eyes widened a little as Claire took her time with her answer, "Please?"

Rolling one shoulder, Claire relented, "Fine. But, no entrance into the Deep Room. I don't know how his magic would unsettle the Gate and I can barely keep it together as it is. Speaking of which…"

With Darcy happily texting away on her phone, Claire left the girl and headed down to the Deep Room. The caverns had been cleared of debris and there were a couple of old tables and chairs set up for meetings. Claire hustled to the Deep Room, feeling more than a little anxious. The Gate, having finally settled into some semblance of equilibrium, was still volatile. The glyphs could not hope to hold against the outpouring of power should it choose to surge once more and Claire could not keep a constant watch to prevent future damage. Camilla, busy as she was with taking the lead on training the Potentials, did not have the intimate knowledge of the Gate necessary to predict its movements or impulses—then, again, Claire was beginning to doubt her own skills in that area.

Turning down the hall, she stopped short as a sound echoed against the smoothed rock walls. Someone was… singing to the Gate. Patterns linked together in the span of a nanosecond and Claire smiled, feeling victorious. August, it seemed, had decided that she cared enough about the fate of humanity to make an effort to bring the Gate to heel. Though Claire had, had little to do with August's last strategies for saving the world five years previous, she could imagine that vibrant, if lonely, fifteen year old prodigy attempting to make things better in the same vein as her parents.

Low, lilting notes sank deep into Claire's consciousness, seeming somehow familiar despite that fact that she'd never heard the melody. August's voice was steeped in melancholy that managed to veer away from depression into something strikingly bittersweet. Claire edged forward until she could peek around the corner. Augusts was sitting on the low edge of the Gate, back bowed so that she could peer into its depths. Claire couldn't see her face, but she knew August was taking in the sight of the swirling mass of restrained power, trying to work it out as best she could.

After a moment, Claire delicately cleared her throat. Thought the melody stopped, August didn't move and did not acknowledge her presence. Claire moved further into the room and sat next to August, noting that the glyphs around the rim were blazing and full of life. She touched one, drawing some of the power into herself and testing it against her own brand. August's power was familiar to her, but just the small dose was enough to force the web of her own power to react quickly. It shifted around to encompass the new signature, analyzing it quickly to detect potential dangers. Finding none, her power assimilated the new object into the fold, giving it a place among her web to strengthen the weak spots.

"I thought you didn't care," Claire asserted after a few minutes of continued silence

August shrugged, "I'm not sure I do."

"Oh," Claire muttered lamely, searching for something else to say. "For what it's worth, I think you're better than anyone else at this."

The answering chuckle was derisive, "Of course I am. My power is unsurpassed. It's why the Council feared me."

Congratulating herself for not flinching, Claire turned her gaze away, catching a small ripple in the Gate. It moved from left to right, pulling on the glyphs around it before settling near the weighted center, dipping below the surface.

"Do you want to see how we're changing the way the Council does things?"

August huffed a little, sliding from her seat, "I suppose. Knowin' you, there's a systematic dismantling of the old regime."

Claire nodded, despite the fact that August was already leaving the room and heading into the caverns. She followed her out of the three caverns and into the halls, not even wondering what August was going to think of the new Potentials after her little tiff with Regina. They would hold their own eventually even though they probably could not hope to match August in brute strength and power. Their only hope was that August would see them as teammates as opposed to rivals when working in the field. August had been so isolated in the prison, most likely dodging enemies left and right, and Claire doubted the she even knew the definition of team. In Claire's experience, everyone could learn, and she had high hopes for August.

They entered the training room in the middle of a sparring session, bits of magic flying towards the reinforced walls with abandon. August chose a spot near the door, sliding onto a counter and crossing her legs atop it. Claire kept her attention on the dueling potentials, Evan and Belinda dancing around each other. Belinda was taking a surprising offensive, dropping slicing little spells to the floor so that they bounced towards Evan from beneath. For such a tall boy, Evan had some serious agility, his limbs deftly parrying the blows. He would return the strikes occasionally, always in a measured way that usually hit home. Claire caught Camilla's eye, nodding with approval for their improvement. In such a short time and without the distractions of enforced outer studies, they were coming along nicely.

Claire leaned on a wall next to Camilla, "You're doing really well."

"I hope so," Camilla replied with a shake of her head. "I'm really not used to teaching these sorts of things and they have so many damn questions."

Laughing a little, Claire nodded, "We had just as many, I'm sure."

"Point," Camilla retorted, "But, I feel like I don't know enough to teach them how to live with the power. Belinda is a fount of repressed energy that could blow at any moment. I have to force her to fight most of the sparring routines to keep her from sparking with every emotion."

The aforementioned teenager was now standing over a panting Evan, her eyes narrowed with challenge. Evan tapped out, reaching up to Belinda. She helped him to stand and they both made their way over to a low bench littered with half empty bottles of water.

"Where's Regina?"

Camilla rubbed at the back of her neck, "She's taken to the library, I think. I keep telling her that actively using her power is better than any book, but she's insistent."

Knowing how much the books could teach about the detailed aspects of spell work, Claire didn't make a comment on Regina's studious tendencies. She did, however, wonder if the fight with August had caused a blow to her ego and made her hesitant to outwardly display her power. It was a hesitation that they really couldn't afford at this time, not with the growing unease she felt regarding the invasion. Claire needed all the potentials working confidently and tirelessly to achieve Guardian status, and she needed it much faster than she would care to admit.

Agent Barton and Steve Rogers strolled into the room without preamble, Barton talking animatedly about something Claire couldn't hear. They were wearing Shield issue sweat pants and t-shirts, silently signaling their allegiance. Camilla's face brightened upon seeing them and she crossed the room to greet Barton with a hug and a light kiss. Steve, for his part, looked away and Claire thought she could see a tinge of blush on his fair cheeks. She shook her head, wondering at how a man of his age could possibly be embarrassed by such a small show of affection.

August observed from afar, then hopped up from the counter and moved to the center of the room, turning in a circle. "I'm feeling up for a fight. Any takers?"

The room was quiet, not even Claire wishing to pit her skills against the young woman. August pouted a little, her hands resting impetuously on her hips. She glanced at each person, eager to stretch her power just a little in a friendly battle as opposed to fighting for her life or proving a point. Eventually, Steve's face crumpled, apparently unable to take the pleading looks from August. He stepped forward, hunching down a bit, making himself a little less intimidating.

"What are you looking for, doll?"

August's brow rose a little, but she didn't inquire about the name, "Hand to hand okay with you?"

"You sure?" He replied, flashing half a smile of iridescently white teeth, "I'm a lot bigger than you."

She smirked, "Taken down bigger, sweetheart. My daddy always told me the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

Steve took a moment to digest her confidence, his eyes flicking down August's petite body. "Alright."

They took their initial positions, Steve holding his guard up and August looking strangely at him for a moment before doing the same. She mirrored him again and again, the two bodies circling each other for long minutes. Claire gazed at them, confused, for a long time before she realized that August had never fought this way before—without magic. August was feeling Steve out, trying to gauge how dangerous he was, how adept at combat, before making her move. It was a common practice taught to most Guardians when faced with the unknown. She was proud that August remembered her training, even if the woman wasn't aware that she was remembering it.

The fight began with a sidekick from August that Steve dodged nimbly, the motion continuing to force August to circle him. He danced back when she threw a one-two punch, leaning left to evade the following uppercut. August pulled back and watched him, moving slowly with her guard remaining in place. Her eyes narrowed as she realized Steve was trying to wear her out early, but Claire could see the small smile working its way across her lips. Pushing from the wall, Claire prepared a burst of energy, just in case, knowing August might play dirty to keep Steve on his toes.

Feinting to the left, August brought a swift knee upwards, the blow blocked by Steve even as August moved into his space. She pulled around, grabbing one of his shoulders and jumping upwards and over. Using his greater weight against him, August rolled Steve downwards so that he landed hard on his back. Recovering quickly, Steve leapt up and dodged yet another punch before wrapping both arms around August's middle and pushing her back a few feet. He tried to get a leg beneath her to trip August, but she ducked beneath his shoulder and dropped both hands to the floor, kicking up with one leg.

Steve's head snapped backwards as her foot made contact with his chin, a little grunt pushing out of his lungs. Curling inwards, August crawled away, turning in a crouch to see her handiwork. Steve was wiping blood from his mouth, the blue of his eyes sparking with pain and surprise. August smiled. The fight intensified from there, Steve swinging a the more sturdy parts of August's frame while she moved with the finesse of a gymnast to keep his constantly turning so that he could protect himself from her swift swats at him.

Claire leaned back on the wall and folded her hands across her chest, finally convinced that Steve was going to take August seriously. He was clearly more of a brawler than August, his bulk centered in his shoulders and thighs. August maneuvered him carefully, seeming to like how hard he struck, when he actually landed a punch. She would wince, followed by a smile and a new tactic, each more complex than the last. Eventually, however, August got a little too confident, a little too close, and Steve got a hold of her torso and one leg, squeezing and lifting her from the ground so that August couldn't move despite how hard she struggled.

For a second, Claire thought the fight would end, but August's expression hardened to stone and she sent out a burst of electric blue magic that sent Steve halfway across the room, sprawled in a heap. She landed on her toes, her magic drawn back into her body without as much as a thought. Rising, August sauntered over to Steve, who had lifted to his elbows and was watching her warily. Begrudgingly, August leaned down and helped Steve to his feet, her eyes slipping down a little to settle on the floor.

"You good?" August uttered haltingly.

Steve nodded, brushing his hands on his pants, "I'm good."

"Good," August finished, turning and stepping from the room silently.

The air in the room was still charged with tension from the fight, the silence carrying on for several more shadowed moments. Claire glanced from face to face, trying to understand how they had taken August yet again hurting someone on their team. Barton was stone faced, Evan and Belinda looked disheartened, Steve was rubbing at his chest, and Camilla had dropped her head into her hands. It seemed more than a little ridiculous to Claire that anyone expected anything different from August, given her history. Or, perhaps, it was the fact that even after several hard-landing blows, it took complete immobilization for August to use her tremendous power.

Claire sighed, "Let's break for a while. Evan, Belinda, we're going to the Market this afternoon."

Camilla perked up, "We need supplies?"

"No," Claire answered with a shake of her head, "Whatever came for us came from the portal."

Expression dropping, Camilla breathed deep and let her head fall back, staring at the ceiling. She glanced at Barton for a moment, then nodded. "We have to take a look."

Barton shifted his weight, "Could be a trap."

"Could be our only lead," Steve interjected, coming out of his stunned silence.

Evan stepped forward, Belinda standing just a little behind, "What's the Market?"

"It's exactly what it sounds like," Claire explained, "We go there to get the magical supplies we need to perform higher level spells. There are a lot of vendors who do their business strictly through the Market and its where a lot of the magical headquarters intersect."

Thinking for a moment, Evan followed up with, "Like Magical Wall Street."

Camilla chuckled, "Yeah, just like that and twice as vicious."

Stepping forward just a bit, Belinda emitted lowly, "When do we go?"

"Get cleaned up and talk with Regina. Eat a good meal. We'll go in three hours, before sunset," Claire directed, sending Camilla a significant glance. She needed to talk with her before they entered the Market, knowing that a trap was a very real possibility and wanting to prepare as much as possible for that risk. Barton was still stone faced, but he looked determined to come along, something that Claire was not opposed to happening. In fact, she wanted as much force as she could bring with her discreetly.

When the potentials exited the room, Claire turned to the people who she knew were intimately experienced with loss. She eased her weight to one side and touched the ends strands of her hair to stall for a little more time. The Market seemed to be the best lead for answers on how and why the headquarters were attacked, but Claire knew just how dangerous the place could be. Guardians were well respected because they had the backing and power of the Council to support them. With the Council dead, that world may have dissolved into anarchy as factions vied to spots at the top of the magical food chain.

"I'm going to have Brent to a little reconnaissance before we head out," Claire said finally. "Might help us prepare for the atmosphere of the place."

Camilla shook her head, "Already taken care of. It's pretty bad, apparently."

"Who's winning?" Claire asked with a raised brow.

Shrugging, Camilla edged, "No real winner right now, but there are a lot of deaths. The Yetis were wiped out by a poison developed by the mages. We had at least three factions of dragons dueling in the streets of the Market."

Claire's brow winged upwards, "I didn't know that dragons were still part of the magical community. Last I heard they had broken off and were stationed in South Africa."

Shaking her head, Camilla crossed her arms, "I guess they couldn't pass up the opportunity to take out some rivals."

That was the danger of not having a governing body in their world—without it, chaos shook their lives as old grudges produced new wars and once solid alliances shattered in the struggle. Claire had read many warnings in her studies about the need for the Council and their responsibility for not only the humans, but the magically inclined. The inmates August couldn't get to during her killing spree in the prison were now infiltrating the realms and taking their places amongst the mercenary clans.

"I think we need to raid the weapons room this time."

Camilla shot a fist in the air, "I call the crossbow!"

"Of course you do," Claire said with a smile. She then turned to Barton and Steve, "Any particular weapon you're good with?"

"I've got my own," Barton answered with a rough drawl.

Steve confirmed, "Yes, I have something to bring with me. I'm sure Tony will want to come as well—should I let him know we're leaving?"

Claire nodded, "That would be great. And, if you could, send Coulson my way. We'll need to discuss logistics."

They group broke to prepare for the mission, Claire and Camilla moving in unison down the halls to the weapons room. The more complex magical arms were kept in the vault with the artifacts and guarded by security that could be unlocked by certain magical signatures. Luckily, Claire's signature was one that would be accepted by the system. She stepped through the doors, ignoring the computer's welcome of the Gatekeeper. Camilla headed straight for her preferred weapon while Claire took a moment to gather the inventory. There were enough flares and flash grenades to take out an entire host of demons, enough silver lances to take out most vampires, and enough potions to make a sorcerer blush. During the most productive days, the Council had a team of alchemists drawing up potions and coating weapons until their fingers turned blue with the dyes. It was only now, faced with the unknown, that Claire understood why they were so assertive about the need for more and more protective options.

Taking a turn about the room, Claire ran her hands over several potential weapons—swords, daggers, whips, maces, and cuffs. Each had their advantages and disadvantages and Claire had been trained on all of them at some point in her career. She wasn't a huge fan of weaponry, choosing instead to rely on her internal magical skills. Still, she realized that the situation called for a little extra protection due to the unpredictability of the Market and how many enemies she may have waiting for her on the other side of the portal.

At the back of the room, there stood a pedestal on which her prized weapon sat, looking innocent. Folded in upon itself, the oil slick mass looked like some kind of disturbed lava lamp. Its internal mechanisms made it easily adaptable to any body type, once unfolded. Claire knew that she could pull the armor down and use it to protect her body and the bodies of those around her, but there were caveats to working with something this powerful. It called upon the light and dark parts of her magic in equal portions, drawing forth power that Claire wasn't certain she could control. The few times she'd used the weapon, Claire had to withdraw into her rooms for several days afterwards to bring her magic back to heel.

Bypassing the urge to put the weapon on, Claire chose instead to pick up the arm cuffs brought out of Iraq. They were very difficult to find and even more difficult to research as their full capacity could only be tapped by blood sacrifices. The golden cuffs wrapped around each wrist, each one equipped with a collapsible pin that would pierce the skin to draw and channel the power in her blood. Claire's tattoos were excellently paired with the cuffs as the power channeled through the marking was enhanced at least tenfold by the cuffs.

Donning them, Claire checked on Camilla, who had put on a necklace that dropped low over her torso and wrapped around to fasten at the small of her back. It was a good choice, the metal carved with glyphs that would repel strong bursts of power. Claire gave a jerk of her head and both stepped from the room, the hiss of the sealing door echoing behind them.

"I'm going to get changed—put on some shoes that will take the heat of dragon fire," Claire announced as they left the caverns.

Camilla, whose expression was hard, murmured, "Probably a good idea. I'll be in the kitchen."

The response was typical of Camilla, who often released stress through cooking large meals. It would be good to have something waiting for them when they got back, drained and no doubt exhausted from the potential fight. For those of them that were injured, the extra nutrition would jump start the healing process. For those of them who lost someone, it would give them an opportunity to be in company without having to make conversation.

Her room was dark when she got back to it, but Claire moved through it by memory until she reached her bedside table. Turning on the light, Claire shoved off her less than practical shoes and reached down for her specially made combat boots. The cuffs on her arms glinted in the light, reminding her that she would need to be conscious of the extra power while she worked that evening. Strong magical pulses had the tendency to create more collateral damage than the user intended and Claire was working with a mass of novices in spell work. She didn't want to accidentally take one of her allies out during the fight.

Sliding on her boots and lacing them, Claire pushed to standing and crossed the room to her bathroom, pulling the tie out of her hair. With quick strokes of her decade old brush, she adjusted the strands so that they sat close to her scalp and braided the length, wrapping it around the base to minimize an attacker's ability to grasp it and maneuver her against her will. She then removed her stud earrings and her belt. Staring at herself in the mirror, Claire pressed the pads of her fingers to her cheeks. Her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes despite the fact that she slept for a full night. Fighting evil certainly wasn't helping her complexion.

For a few minutes, Claire thought about what the night might bring in the market. There were a lot of unknowns in their next mission and that did not sit well with her. She liked plans, strategies, facts, none of which were present at the moment. They could be walking into a war, a trap, or a dead zone and they wouldn't know which until they crossed the portal. It was frustrating that she would have to drop through the doorway without understanding what she was doing, without really knowing how things would turn out. Even more maddening was the fact that she was bringing people along with her that had little to no experience with real battle.

Shaking her head, Claire dismissed her misgivings of the Shield agents, her real worry for the Potentials. This was their first true fight and there was no way to control the potential for damage. Claire felt a kind of intense responsibility for each of them, given the fact that she was brought them into the fold, that she had, had a hand in their training. Camilla was a driven individual; she worked hard at her task and saw it through to completion despite her own misgivings. Claire trusted her long time comrade to have given them as in depth of an understanding of the aspects of being a Guardian as was possible in the short amount of time.

Heading back out into the bedroom, Claire reached for the bag she designated long ago for missions. It was filled with flares and a few special artifacts that would help in a pinch. The straps and material would absorb wayward spells and help to protect her body from harm. It had saved her life many times over the years and she would always carry it, if she had any say in the matter. The weight of it was comforting against the worries flying around in her head. She tossed the bag onto the bed and sat next to it, rolling her shoulders to loosen the strain. Mind settling into a tentative calm, Claire was just about to fall into her favorite meditation when a knock sounded at the door.

Standing, Claire answered it, brows rising as Coulson stepped through with a nod in greeting.

"We should be leaving shortly," Claire commented lightly.

Coulson turned and folded his hands in front of him, his eyes flicking around, gathering information, "I wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm holding up."

"Good," he replied, seeming to grasp for words. "Do we have any idea what we're walking into?"

Claire shook her head, "It's a mystery."

He smirked, "I can't imagine how exasperating that is for you."

"No, you can't," Claire huffed with a smile. "Speaking of the unknown. I have something that may help."

Looking dubious, Phil stepped to the side as Claire made her way to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. She plucked a sharpie pen from mass of miscellaneous items inside, turning with a smile.

"Take off your shirt."

Phil's expression was simultaneously surprised and intrigued. "I may be having a flashback from college."

Claire laughed, saying, "Relax, I'm going to give you some extra protection against the big bad monsters."

"I don't understand what a sharpie pen has to do with protection," Phil uttered even as he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. Claire watched him methodically remove his cuff links and set them on her dresser before he returned to the vertical line running down his chest. He slid the material off his shoulders to reveal the crisp white shirt underneath. Claire recalled how he relegated each shirt to a series of outings until they showed wear and tear, and then cut them into pieces to make rags for cleaning up around his apartment. He'd kept her in fresh supply of cotton towels for months after they broke up, the scent of him still wafting from them when she grabbed a new one from the stack.

Phil pulled the shirt over his head and Claire relished the familiar sight of his body. She had traced those planes many times in the middle of the night, memorizing the feel of him as if her mind was already predicting their separation. Claire wondered if there was a training schedule for agents who still worked in the field. Phil was still in shape, though he was probably near fifty, and his body was still wrapped with solid muscle. When Claire was young, the men around her were built with limbs that were lanky and limber from spending more time in front of a monitor than in the gym. The first time Phil had taken off his shirt, she had stared for half a minute or so, wondering at the fact that he was broad, almost stout in his build. To be honest, Claire was utterly delighted.

She enjoyed the sight of him just as much as the first time, smiling a little as he folded his shirts on the dressed and turned with his hands on his hips, waiting. Uncapping the pen, Claire sauntered up to him and reached out to draw a glyph on his shoulder. Balancing herself with one hand on his bicep, Claire drew out a series of glyphs to form a protection spell. She mirrored the spell on the other shoulder before moving to his back. As she traced strengthening spells up his spine, she noticed a scar she hadn't seen before.

Tapping it, she asked, "Where did this come from?"

Phil craned his neck around, shifting his weight, "You know, crazy alien overlord."

"Looks pretty serious," Claire continued in a soft voice that in no way reflected the concern dropping low in her chest.

He shrugged, "I hear it was touch and go for a little while. I made it, though."

"I'm glad," Claire croaked, steeling her expression before stepping around him to draw the glyph for stamina and persistence over his heart.

He glanced down at the marks, checking them with curiosity. "These are going to help."

"Hold your horses," Claire urged, placing one hand in the center of his chest. With just the tiniest pulse of power, she activated the glyphs on Phil's body, the power making them glow briefly.

Hissing, Phil curled inwards a little, his eyes squinting with the strange sensation. Claire's expression was soft, her memory of the first time she felt magic jumping forward in her mind. It was a wholly unforgettable experience, but one that would drive and direct the course of the rest of her life. Phil, on the other hand, would probably never experience it again, if the look on his face said anything. He was glaring at her a little, touching the mark over his heart tenderly.

"Oh, don't be such a baby. It doesn't hurt that much."

Phil rolled his eyes, "Says the professional practitioner. How did you do that?"

"Magic," Claire retorted sarcastically.

He sighed and raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck, "I don't know what these do, but thank you."

"Not a problem," Claire replied, patting his chest. She turned to put the sharpie away only to be stopped by Phil's hand on her arm.

He looked at her for a long moment, then, without a word, leaned down and kissed her soundly. It wasn't soft or tentative, as some of their earlier kisses had been. The joining was reflective of those nights spent exploring each other on the floor next to her couch, unable and unwilling to make it to the bedroom. He kissed her with the same ferocity that he fought with her, hands drawing her in to press hard against his body. Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting onto her toes to facilitate a deeper angle, her tongue tracing his bottom lip.

Groaning, Phil slid his hands down to slide into the back pockets of her pants, using them as leverage to fit her hips against him. Claire chuckled into the kiss as she felt his erection prodding her stomach, rolling her hips a little just because she knew he liked the movement. With a deep breath, Phil broke the kiss, his grip tightening near to the point of pain. He seemed to be trying to control himself and Claire was having none of that. She kissed him again, biting down on his lip so that she could slip her tongue inside, taunting him with short caresses. He made a few attempts to draw her deeper, hands kneading her flesh, tongue and teeth working to gain more friction. Claire evaded him with studied moves, knowing what buttons to push and, for once, damning the consequences of her actions. She wanted to feel again, wanted to know what it was to be wanted again. The possibilities running around in her mind were heady and painted with shades and flashes of red haze.

Breaking away again, Phil dropped his head to her neck and pressed his forehead to her skin. Claire pressed closer, if possible, feeling the hairs on his chest scratch against the exposed skin.

"You never could resist me," she murmured lowly.

Phil shook his head, "I used to think needing you so much was a weakness."

"And now?"

He sighed deeply, pressing kisses up the column of her neck until he reached her mouth, his arms sliding upwards to draw her into a tight embrace. Pulling away for a third time, Phil confessed, "I think it's the only thing that matters."

Heart constricting, Claire cupped his jaw with both hands, unable to speak for several seconds. "This is a really bad time to start over, what with evil looming nearby."

Phil smiled a little, shoulders relaxing, "I think it's the perfect time to start over. What do we have to lose?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Beware. Lemons ahead. XD**

The market lay in ruins, stalls tipped over and half burned littered the streets. The masses of streetlights still held their glow, subsisting on the remnants of magic pulsing in the alleys. Claire could smell the bits and pieces of seared flesh and dark magic as she stepped carefully in front of the group. Camilla, at her right, moved in tandem, directing the people behind them silently so that Claire could focus on navigation. Having spent many days bartering with vendors and policing the unscrupulous transactions, Claire knew the ins and outs of the market far better than any other in their group. The knowledge was worth little in the wreckage left behind. Power struggles in the magical community often destroyed whole clans of ancient families—the unstoppable destruction part of the catalyst in creating the Council.

For the first time in an unthinkable number of years, the sole power of monitoring and enforcing law was no longer capable of doing so, and chaos had once again flourished in their world. The fighting must have driven away the meekest, the bold left to end their quarrels in duels. Whole sections of buildings were missing and the paths beneath their feet were cracked in jagged fissures. The quiet was so disconcerting amidst the carnage, not a soul stirring around them. Claire pushed forward, sidestepping what might have been a torso to take the back way towards the center.

No matter where she looked, Claire could only see stall after fallen stall, blood spattered and reeking of darkness. She noted that Stonehelm had been ravaged for its fine ceremonial wines and Rickvore's corpse was hanging next to his welcome sign. The dread kept building with each new structure, each recognized dead vendor.

When Claire had seen enough, she stopped the group and revised her plan. "It's empty. Anyone here would have noticed our arrival and investigated."

"Or attacked," Barton interjected with a grim expression.

Nodding in agreement, Claire placed her hands on her hips, "We should gather some supplies—sacred stones, if there are any left. Then, we'll head back home. There's nothing left for us here."

Camilla adjusted the crossbow in her hands, "I know a place."  
"Can you get us there?" Claire asked, noting the blocked paths to their left.

Camilla nodded, "It's not far, maybe a few blocks. We got some solid stones there last time."  
Choosing to ignore that 'last time' had gone horribly wrong, Claire indicated that Camilla should lead the way, following her fellow Guardian. Beside her, Regina scanned the area, looking almost hyper vigilant in her search for danger. Evan strolled along just behind, Belinda falling into his shadow, both seeming to grow increasingly wary as more bodies appeared in their line of sight. Claire wanted to feel badly for them, but couldn't quite bring herself to do so. The ravages of war would never quite go away, but Guardians had to get used to dealing with occasional carnage.

Claire wondered how many of those August had failed to kill were still out there, taking down their enemies and feeding on the helpless. Though the market was empty at the moment, she could feel the signatures of familiar prisoners, could tell which had made an impact on the souls around her. The skin on her arms prickled and her hair stood on end as she realized that some of the more powerful agents of darkness had escaped August's very capable hands. An incubus had been there, and probably at least two fear demons. None of that mattered, though, not when they had so obviously moved on to bigger and better game.

Camilla brought them to a stall marked with a torn sign, stating, "Wentworth's." Claire knew the family vaguely, but had never frequented the vendor. She trusted Camilla's tastes, though, having never been led astray by the women. They ducked inside, stepping around fallen tables and shattered glass. The place was cleaned out, empty from top to bottom. Camilla eased into the back room carefully, her shoulders tilting around and her arms up and firing with energy. Claire, too, raised her arms and waited, anticipating…something.

Camilla leaned back, shaking her head. "Nothing back here, either."

As they exited the group, Claire cast a glance at Phil, who was signaling to Barton that they should fan out. She sighed, turning to look at the booth behind them in contemplation. Regina stepped up next to her, cocking one hip and twisting her mouth in thought.

"You know what's funny?"

Claire blinked, "What's funny?"

"This is the only booth still standing," Regina commented, her hands stretching out wide. "It's so weird."

Looking to the left and then to the right, Claire took stock of the street. Regina was spot on in her assessment; Wentworth's was the only stand still holding onto its roof despite the fact that it had obviously been ransacked. She checked again, coming up with the same strange conclusion that something about this booth had held it together in the storm. Scratching at the back of her head, she shrugged at Regina, not sure how to explain the anomaly. The odds were that Wentworth, herself, was probably dead by now along with anyone else who might be able to give them any additional information.

Camilla stomped from the booth, agitated by the empty contents and the missing vendor. She paced in circles for a moment, eyes closed in concentration until Barton stopped her. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders while she tilted her head back to look towards the sky. Finally, Camilla centered her attention. Claire had seen this look—she was trying to bring on a vision. The act was near useless as Camilla had never been able to master bring her visions forward on command. She let Camilla keep trying for a moment, though, hopeful that in a cruel twist of luck Camilla would be successful.

Her hope was not fulfilled, left hanging in the air in heavy disappointment. Claire turned her back to the booth and looked outwards. Part of her wished Tony was there with his robotic suit. He could fly upward and give them an aerial view. He had, uncharacteristically, chosen to stay behind, working with Brent on their categorical system and trying to decipher the glyphs from around the portal. Tony's mathematical and technological genius was a skill Claire definitely needed, but Brent was protective of his work and she wondered if they would be able to work together. Perhaps Darcy's amiable presence would temper their egos a bit. She had also elected to stay behind, more interested in working on the glyphs and answering long held questions than seeking out danger.

Coulson moved to stand beside her, gun out of its holster, but lowered in a relax stance.

"It's a bust," Claire acknowledged begrudgingly.

Coulson shrugged, "Maybe not so much. We can still gather supplies."

"Yeah, but we have no idea who was the winner in all this. The magical signatures are mixed so seamlessly. I can barely tell them apart." She left out the fact that the ones that stood out the most were the most notorious of the prisoners released not long ago.

"It doesn't matter who won right now," Coulson replied, looking back to their team. "We need to figure out what got in, how it got in, and how to stop it from moving forward with whatever plan it has."

Claire scoffed, "So simple."

"Not quite," Coulson retorted, sounding tired. "We've got a lot of work before us."

"I know," Claire sighed, turning. "Okay, let's spread out. Explore the area for ten minutes—set your watches. We'll meet back here at that time. If you run into any trouble, use the torches."

There was a collective understanding of the group, some of them pairing together for extra protection. At a time like this, Claire wished she'd allowed August to come with them, knowing that the extra firepower and intuition would be worth the risk of her falling off the deep end during the mission. But, the risk seemed to great for Claire back at headquarters, when the threat of ambush still hung heavily about her shoulders. August had been left in the capable hands of Mr. Steve Rogers, safe for the moment and unable to throw a wrench into their plans. She hoped both of them came out of their time together unscathed.

August hadn't spoken to or about the Captain since their fight in the training room, but she saw the looks August sent his way when she thought no one was looking. He was interesting to her, and what was interesting to August often was damaged in the process of her investigating her interests. There were still two ancient vases laying in pieces down the Antiques hall from August's more rambunctious teen years. She had a brash way with things she wanted to explore and seemingly little contrition when her examinations went awry. It was a characteristic that made August endeared to some teachers and endangered to others.

Leaving that line of thought, Claire focused on working her way South, checking booths systematically with Coulson at her side. Having him there was a huge comfort for her, his quiet strength and unyielding loyalty one of the few constants in her usually upturned life. He scouted forward when she stopped to check something out and held back for her when she backtracked over some bit of nothing that caught her eye. Together, they found a few sacred relics and half a bag of rune dust. On the way back to Wentworth's, Coulson stopped cold, eyes squinting at something on the ground not far from them.

Claire craned her neck and waited for Coulson to judge the approach safe. It took far longer than she would have measured if it had been just herself standing in the middle of a burned street. But, eventually, he strode forward and leaned down, grasping something in the dirt and pulling gently. Uprooted, a shining sliver of metal lifted from the ground, dust spraying out and settling on the ground at Coulson's feet. Claire stared, wide eyed as she recognized a fine bit of metalwork, a sword that would have cost anyone a fortune to commission.

Coulson raised a brow and held it aloft, wrist easily rotating the blade. "Recognize it?"

"Yeah," Claire breathed, "But I don't know how it survived the pillage."

Testing the weight, Coulson swung the blade around with precision and not a little bit of flair. He turned it over, the details glinting in the light. "Nice."

"Very nice," Claire remarked. "One of the finest made here."

Coulson nodded, "We'll take it."

"Was there ever a question?" Claire asked with a smirk. "You seem to know what you're doing with it."

Silent for a few paces, Coulson looked like he would disregard her comment, but he eventually replied, "Guns and bombs aren't the only weapons in the world. It pays to have a little knowledge of a lot of them, just in case."

Claire shrugged, "Probably a good plan. I'm sure we have a scabbard in the armory somewhere that will fit the blade, if you'd like to carry it."

There was half a chortle from Coulson as he said, "You're not going to confiscate it—for investigative purposes?"

She laughed, "Why would I want to do that? You found it, you keep it."

Coulson looked like he was going to reply, but they had reached the Wentworth booth once more and there were far too many ears for anything beyond a cursory conversation. The expression on his face told her that Coulson was thinking hard about something and that he wanted to talk about it at some point. She was glad for the distraction, not sure if she wanted to broach emotional territory until her chest stopped clenching with the fear of failing humanity.

They gathered once more and moved through the market, passing the same lifeless bodies along the way. Clint noticed the new weaponry and admired it from afar, his hands clenching around an arrow.

"Nice sword," he said with a smirk.

Coulson gave him an acknowledging nod, "Thanks."

Clint, undeterred by the curt answer, leaned in, "Sir, I may be stepping out of line. But shouldn't you be assigning it to someone with a little training?"

Claire could feel Coulson's body tense from a few feet away, his brows dropping low over his expressive eyes. He tilted his head to the side and regarded Clint with a look that, to anyone with enough observation skills, would have denoted a rising aggression.

"Barton, I have your weapon training stats memorized. Stick to the bow."

Clint didn't even have the decency to look chastised, laughing full bellied and returning his spare arrow in the quiver. He slapped Phil on the back, stepping around his boss to hoist a bag over his shoulder. Camilla also had a small bag and Claire hoped that both were filled with enough useful items that whatever plan they came up with later would be fully supplied.

Claire called up the magic and transported them back to the grove outside of head quarters, the darkness of the sun having set creeping in around them. Inside, voices could be heard drifting down the halls, a tinkling laughter following the low tones. Curious, Claire followed them, forgetting for a moment that she had a whole host of people walking at her back. The noises were coming from the kitchen, where Claire's jaw dropped open as she spied August twirling a knife over a slab of thick meat.

Steve moved into her periphery, bringing a pot to the table and setting it beside the cutting board.

"You want to make sure the juices get into the meat real deep," August said, parroting a lesson Claire had taught her years before when Claire still thought August capable of cooking. While their first lesson had ended in disaster, August seemed to be handling herself quite well, talking with confidence.

Camilla eased her way around Claire, sauntering up to the pair with a smile, "I don't suppose you're using my leftovers to cook a midnight snack, are you?"

August looked dubious in her reply, "I didn't know they were claimed."

Camilla shrugged, "Not worried about it. Let me scrape up some potatoes and we'll make some sides. You keep on with the main course."

Claire stood back and waited, watching the group grow as the potentials came strolling in, tired and hungry. Barton leaned on the counter, keeping one eye on Camilla and the other on August, who was wielding the knife against the meat with smooth cuts. She was going to marinade it, steep it in the juice of vegetables and serve it baked in the oven like a roast. The meal would be heartily welcomed after the drop through to the market and back, the magic seeping some of the energy from each traveler. Claire, herself, felt a rising hunger clawing in her stomach, having expended far more energy than necessary in her worry.

Coulson appeared in Claire's shadow, silent but not quite as stoic as usual. Claire could feel some kind of roiling emotion coming from him, though he showed no outward appearance of anything other than interest in the group making dinner. She felt the hair on her arms rise, the air sizzling around and in between the layers of her skin with currents of pulsing electricity not unlike the magic she so often wielded. Like so many things with Coulson, the thing working its way between them existed on a constant low simmer, producing the occasional jarring puff of smoke.

When standing at the threshold of the room, feeling her chest welling up with feeling, was too much for Claire, she stepped forward, sending Phil a sidelong smirk. Camilla handed her a large bowl of potatoes and she set about to peeling them. August finished cutting the slab of meat and set it aside, handing the knife to Steve, who dutifully went about to washing the dirty dishes. Having not much else to do except wait—the others were taking care of the side dishes and prepping the place settings around the bar—August pushed back to sit cross legged on the counter, observing from a distance.

Regina helped Belinda carry plates, Evan setting out the silverware. Camilla guided each task absently with short directives, minding her own task. Claire kept an eye on the room while she peeled potatoes, dropping the skins into the bowl and setting the cool lumps aside. They were all tired, that much Claire could see plainly. But, there seemed to be this kind of coming together in the mission of making the meal that drove each of them to work in concert. Above that, there was some conversation that meant little in the way of gathering information, talk about after school practices and missed dances and Regina's forlorn face when talking about prom. These were experiences that Claire had never really understood, but she listened intently to their descriptions, hoping to garner a little vicarious life through them.

She felt old, too old to be sitting at a bar listening to conversation about music artists the relevance of Madonna now that Lady Gaga was around. This next generation of Guardians would carry on the legacy of the Council, the legacy of protection that had been their mission since before written word. It was a curious thing to be seeing the initiation of a new set of Guardians from its infancy, from the standpoint of a seasoned fighter. Their fresh faces were like bait for the darkness and it pained her that this kind of lightheartedness wouldn't last.

Working as a team, the meal took no time to complete and fairly soon it was steaming on a plate in front of each of them. Phil sat to her right, Camilla and Barton to her left, digging into their meals without preamble. August continued to sit on the counter behind her, scooping food with quick bites and swallowing without chewing. Claire ate carefully, savoring while the conversation continued around her. She flinched a little when Phil's hand rested casually on her knee. He drew a few small circles around the sensitive inner side before giving a light squeeze and going back to his meal. Claire sat through the rest of the meal with the comfort of Phil's hand on her knee, his presence beside her stilling and riling her at the same time.

After a few minutes, August set her plate aside and slid off the counter. She moved with liquid stealth to the bags Clint and Camilla had brought with them from the market, her curiosity palpable.

"What presents did you bring me?"

Evan was standing in an instant, his body between August and her query. "These aren't for you."

August was unperturbed, "Wasn't askin' you." She turned to glance at Claire, "What's in the bags?"

Claire made a dismissive motion with her hand, "Just supplies for our stores."

"Seems about right," August murmured, brushing her fingers over the material of the bags. Her voice took on a sing-song quality, "But someone is hiding something."

Claire's brows drew together as Evan squared off with August, his shoulders hunching protectively. August, having scented new prey, was in magnificent form. She rose so very slowly that the movement, itself, drew intensity to the air around her. Her expression was half playful, half focused, and entirely untrustworthy. Evan kept his front to her, stepping back just a bit. August's hands clenched.

"Naughty little boy. I reckon you thought I wouldn't notice." She clapped in quick succession, "Show us what you've brought."

Evan, sheepish, reached down reluctantly into his pockets and drew forth a small blue-gilded object, the weight of it heavy in his palm. Claire's eyes narrowed as she tried to place it, tried to figure out if Evan had taken something dangerous from the stalls unknowingly.

"What is it?" Camilla asked, pulling the words from Claire's mouth.

Shrugging, Evan replied, "I thought it was a puzzle."

"I love puzzles," August asserted, eyes brightening. She moved forward as if to take the object from Evan, but stopped quite suddenly. "But not that one. There's some bad mojo in that one."

Claire moved around the table, "Set it down here."

In the middle of their used plates and half empty platters, the metallic blue thing looked quite innocent. Claire leaned closely and detected seams—it was a box of some kind. There were tiny indentions in each side, little pulleys of some kind that would be the key to opening it. She squinted at it, curling a lip.

"Rule number… whatever number we're on now," she uttered, leaning back and away. "Don't mess with puzzles or locks of any kind. You don't know what they're keeping at bay. Camilla, would you make sure this gets to the armory? I think that's the only place we'll be safe from it."

Camilla nodded, "One creepy delivery, coming right up."

August watched Camilla go with an inquisitive look, seeming to want to follow her but also shying away from the idea. Claire had never seen the girl so indecisive. At fifteen, she was rambunctious and so confident in her decisions that even the bad ones seemed right in the aftermath. At twenty, that characteristic hadn't seemed to fade, but now… now she looked positively brooding. Claire made a note to investigate the object further in one of their labs.

When the meal was finished and the dishes cleaned, Phil guided her away from the group with one hand on the small of her back and the other holding her upper arm. In a dim part of her mind, Claire recalled this tentative hold being taught to her in the early stages of her training. It was a nonviolent intervention that kept people from harming themselves or others. The hold was meant to be gentle enough to keep them from harm, but enforced strongly enough that even the most slippery of people could not escape it.

There was no fear in Claire as she recalled these details, her knowledge that Phil had no intention of hurting her being absolute. The lack of fear didn't, however, stem the hard beat of her heart and the pump of adrenaline through her veins. She could feel her internal magical core react to the change in body chemistry, her tattoos tingling fiercely on her skin. They made the long trek to her rooms, the door closing with finality behind them.

Standing in the center of the room, Phil pulled her tank top over her head and slipped her boots off, taking her cargos down as well. He then pulled her against him, the fabric of his clothing raking against her skin, electrifying the sensation. Warm, calloused hands pushed her abdomen backwards, taking the small arch out of her back so that she was pressed flush against his torso. Claire smiled when he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. He traced the length of her arm, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and guiding it back around both of their bodies to rest at the small of his back.

Prone and waiting, Claire breathed deep, eyes darting back and forth as she wondered at his plans. She allowed him to kick apart her legs, holding them wide with his knees. His free hand threaded through their limbs to rest against the small indention of her bellybutton, pausing to trace the little circle. Claire worked to keep her lungs inflating normally, shifting her balance as much as he would allow. She balled her hands into fists, the anticipation building inside her as he continued to hold steady, to hold still at her back.

With a deep breath at her neck, Phil dropped his hand beneath the fabric of her underwear, cupping her possessively. His grip lifted her a little onto her toes, his fingers slipping against the wet folds at her center. He teased that flesh for long moments, tracing the length of it before pushing two digits deep inside. Claire hissed, her body unused to the invasion and stretching to accommodate. She gripped the nearest swatch of fabric, pulling at it as he pushed a few centimeters deeper. Her body remembered the feel of him, singing with the renewed connection. It arched and bent, trying to get more of what it wanted as soon as possible.

Phil shushed her gently, working his fingers into her body with firm strokes, curling them to touch at that puckered part of her that sent shoots of pleasure through her body. She squirmed, rolling her head backwards to rest on Phil's shoulder even as he tightened the hold on her wrist. When she shifted her weight again, he bit down on the bend of her neck as if to warn her wordlessly. The pressure mounted with each pump, each new dip and press of his hand, the wrist working roughly against her clit. Claire groaned towards the ceiling, her eyes squeezing shut as her body pulsed with orgasm. Her muscles twisted tightly, strung like the bow sitting next to her cello in the corner.

When her body hung limply against him, Phil eased her forward onto the bed. She landed on her elbows and knees, her head hanging towards the comforter. The bed dipped behind her and Phil helped her to lean back onto her heels, his body almost uncomfortably hot against her already sweating skin. He'd opened his shirt in the interim; she could feel the soft brush of the hair on his chest. A small snap between her shoulder blades and her bra was slid off her shoulders, his hands cupping her breasts before guiding her back towards the bed.

Claire sighed as he draped himself over her, fitting her body into the bend of his torso so that his erection prodded at her backside. He dropped his hands to the bed beside her and ground himself against her, the buckle of his belt scraping. Smiling into the bedspread, Claire eased her thighs apart and lowered her chest so that it lay nearly flat beneath her, hoisting her ass into the air invitingly. Her smile widened at his growl of approval, his hands grasping at her hips to enhance the view.

There was a shuffling of fabric and then he was shoving her underwear down her thighs, the material catching at her knees. He pressed into her without further warning, sinking deeply and with perhaps more force than he originally intended. It seemed to surprise him, the warmth and depth, his hips stuttered for several thrusts before he could find his rhythm. Claire pushed her palms into the mattress, lifting upwards and back to meet him halfway. Her breaths grew ragged, her body straining below him as she fell into something so intensely felt that it seared right through the discomfort of Phil's rough treatment of her body. He snapped his hips forward with such force that Claire was continually thrown forward inches at a time, her fingers digging in an attempt to keep her balance.

Arms wrapping around her torso, Phil leaned back and away, turning her body and pushing her down. Claire went willingly, biting her lip at the familiar focus of his expression. His pants were slung low over his hips, the marks she'd made earlier for protection glowing very slightly at the exchange of power she kept inadvertently throwing at him. She doubted he noticed, a tornado could tear through the room and he'd probably keep right on target. The thought was absolutely thrilling. Her expression must have shown her excitement—Phil stopped only for a moment as if to gauge the emotion. The pause was short lived as he dismissed whatever line of thought he was considering and leaned over her to kiss the air from her lungs.

Tongue tracing and seeking, Phil grasped her chin and held her still for the kiss, his free hand taking a wrist and holding it above her head. Knowing where he was going, Claire freely lifted her other wrist and rotated it to settle next to its pair. She then settled into the position, lifting her knees to pull at him, to bring more of him to her.

Phil acquiesced, lowering his hips and reaching down to guide himself back inside her, the initial meeting slow. Hilted, he waited a beat, his forehead touching hers and their breaths mingling as they both savored the connection. Then, as if another second of postponing the inevitable would be torture, Phil took up the punishing rhythm he seemed to require, grinding himself inside her at intervals when he needed to catch his breath.

Claire let her knees fall to the side, opening herself completely, her throat filling with sounds she barely recognized. Her breasts bounced with each movement, nipples abrading against his skin. The sensation added to the already overwhelming experience, the pressure building once more. Seconds later, Claire was tumbling into orgasm once more, her partner falling quickly behind her. Biting her lip, Claire arched back until her spine cried out with the strain before collapsing boneless onto the mattress.

Careful of his weight, Phil rolled to lay next to her, breath coming in ragged gasps. Claire stared at the ceiling, her eyes unseeing, for a long time as her heart tried to catch up to the demands of her body. It pounded hard in her chest, stuttering over the rhythm to keep the blood flowing in her veins. Her tired muscles tingled with the exertion, more exercise than she'd had in at least a week. They burned pleasantly, her toes curling with delayed delight. All in all, Claire felt amazing.

"That was unexpected," she murmured, though she was pretty sure at least part of that sentence was a lie.

Phil hummed softly, running one hand through his short hair, "Made a decision. Followed through."

"How very," Claire scrambled for the words, "characteristic of you."

"What can I say?" Phil breathed, "I'm predictable."

Claire shrugged, "Not entirely." She thought for a moment, going over her knowledge of him from the gathering of memories over their relationship, "You're reliable. There's a difference."

"Do you really want to get into a discussion of semantics right now?"

"Maybe I do," Claire retorted, turning to lie on her stomach, her head propped up on a pillow. "Debate me."

Phil laughed, "I think my brain just short circuited and you want to hold a linguistics debate."

"I'm being spontaneous," Claire defended with a pout.

Leaning down, Phil dropped a kiss on her forehead, "Another time, Claire. Be fair to an old man."

She huffed, "We're both old."

"I'm older."

Claire smirked, "Do you really want to get into a debate of chronology right now?"

His laugh was softer this time, but no less filled with mirth. "And this is why I love you." Phil paused for a moment. "I do love you, you know."  
Claire nodded, "Yes. I know. I love you, too."

Twisting to look her in the eye, Phil narrowed a very serious expression at Claire, "When all this is over. When we're starting over like we talked about, we're going on a long vacation. No work. No demons. No interruptions. Understood?"

"Understood, and heartily agreed," Claire returned with a smile. "I think Camilla has control over the group. She's really turned into quite a leader."

Phil nodded, "Barton encourages her confidence."

"Yeah." Claire rubbed her face against the pillow, thinking about how this might be the perfect opportunity to step out of the danger zone altogether and to leave this life behind. She thought that she might like to settle down, get a permanent house outside of headquarters, practice her music a little bit more. That line of thought inevitably led to having Phil at her side when everything dropped into place—which led to the thought that she might just get the chance to grow old with someone like a normal person. Normality had never been an option for her, but Phil seemed to think they could handle it.

Handing the team over to Camilla was a natural consequence of the chaos being wreaked on their lives and over the headquarters. She would be a strong leader, she would be kind to them in a way Claire may never quite manage. The potentials liked Camilla, seemed to want to follow her directives. Patterns formed in Claire's head, solutions and potentialities that seemed to give her the out she needed to let go of a situation that had never been her life's dream. Could she let go of Guardianship? It had been her entire life for so long and she did love the knowledge and the power it brought, the experiences that no one else could claim to have. Being a Guardian was exhilarating, but it was life threatening, and Claire had long ago grown tired of running towards and away from the things in the night.

She sighed, turning over into Phil's arms, her thoughts becoming hazy as she drifted towards sleep. Part of her recognized that maybe her meditation on the decision was premature. She still had to get through whatever apocalypse awaited them in the coming days. She and Phil, both, had to make it out alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**I must apologize for the delay in posting this. Thing have been super hectic at work and in my personal life, leaving very little time for writing. But, I've put in a little unplanned bit of citrus at the end. Enjoy. **

Twenty minutes into Brent's explanation of the new system of glyph management, the whole of headquarters went completely dark. The lights fizzled out and the air vents wheezed a final breath as the computers powered down around them. Claire would have rolled her eyes if the hair on the back of her neck hadn't stretched straight up in reaction to a change in the atmosphere.

"It wasn't me," Tony blurted, the only light in the room glowing from beneath his t shirt.

Claire finally allowed herself to roll her eyes despite no one being able to see her expression. The tapping of keys skittered around the room as Brent and Tony both competed to see who could solve the problem first. A few moments later and the screen across the room lit with the logo of the council.

"Pretty sure that was me," Brent murmured as he continued to work from his phone.

"Fat chance," Tony shot back petulantly, reaching out to swat at Brent's phone.

As it turned out, neither was correct. The monitor flashed with several news stations airing simultaneously, the headlines reading of strange occurrences across the nation. Claire read them, rapid fire, her brows furrowed as she tried to make a connection. The monitor blackened for a moment before it lit with a video that seemed to come from a cell phone. Claire's breath pooled low in her lungs, constricting them painfully.

"Brent," Claire urged gently as she crossed the room to get a closer look.

"As always," he replied, "Way ahead of you."

The video showed the wreckage of a small rural home. As the camera maneuvered up a set of cracked stairs it panned inside turning left into a darkened living room. The furniture, save for a single armchair, was all destroyed, flung to pieces about the room. In the chair sat a blood-spattered child, a blank expression on his face. Claire's mind whirred as she tried to make connections, recognizing that the kid was probably bespelled. She bit her lip, helpless but to wait for whatever the sender wanted them to see.

A human hand reached out from behind the camera and the child's head wrenched to the side. Claire squeezed her eyes shut, opening them a moment later to yet another scene. This time a family of four was laid out, tied down and covered top to bottom in bloody glyphs. The camera seemed stationary, as if mounted. From a side door stepped a tattooed warlock, his ceremonial braids indicating a practitioner of black magic. He raised a staff made of what looked like a rib, flicking it. The victims writhed as they were set aflame from the inside.

Scene after scene played out, murder and blood compiling until they blurred into a single voice screaming in Claire's head that she didn't understand the point. No one scene was the same, no one killer enacting more than one act of violence. She could place some of the locations and none seemed to be in the same city or region. When, finally, the videos came to a halt, the screen simply returned to the logo of the Council. No ransom note, no manipulation, no figurehead. Just darkness, until the lights once more flickered to life.

"We've been getting reports similar to this for about an hour now."

Claire spun to see Coulson standing nearby, his phone held loosely in his hand.

He shrugged, "The person behind this is using the web to upload to social media, to news stations, and to every message board that has a viewership over ten million."

Claire swallowed dryly, "Do we have a point of origin?"

Shaking his head, Coulson replied, "Romanoff has been on it. They're using some pretty sophisticated technology."

Tony stood from his computer, "Maybe I should take a crack at it."

Coulson nodded, "We can use the help."

"Brent, go with Tony."

As if realizing that they were going to get their bearings, the alarms for the facility went off, red flashing everywhere. Brent rushed to the main screen and pulled up the security cameras. Claire's jaw dropped as she saw the dark mist rolling in from the gateway. It was moving slowly, but surely, towards headquarters.

"Get everyone to the Gate," she ordered. "Now."

They met up with panicking Potentials along the way, Camilla dragging August down the hall followed by a wide eyed Darcy. Steve was the last to arrive, his hair mussed from sleep. Claire ushered them unyieldingly through to the deep room, making a split second decision to access the weapons vault. She ducked inside and headed for the back of the room, grabbing the dark matter from the pedestal and shoving it into its carrying case on the floor next to the column. She wasn't sure what she'd use it for, but it was the most powerful weapon they had, despite being the most unstable. Her initial reservations against using it were stifled in the heightened anxiety of the run towards the Gate.

As she pushed the group into the room holding the Gate, she sensed the darkness coming closer. Turning, she caught the cool wind of the mist, the blackness pushing through the closed door of the third cavern, inky and thick as it oozed towards her. Feeling her hair stand on end, she activated the glyph that would close the door to the Gate. Made of reinforced titanium and magical shields, the door would hold back even an onslaught of dragons. She only hoped it would hold against the dark fog.

The group huddled around the pounding pulse of the Gate, the magic inside the door reacting to the magic inside the fog. Claire glanced at August, who held her head high, eyes glued to the door. She had one hand on the Gate, the glyphs around the edge magnetized to her skin. To Claire's extreme disappointment, the fog slipped through the door and eased into the room. Instinctively, they pushed backwards to the far wall. The heat surrounding the Gate pulled back against the muggy wind of the fog, shrinking the air in the room to a fine point.

Coulson pulled Claire back, but she refused to budge, squaring off with the darkness even though her knees felt weak from fear. There was nothing inside it, just the complete absence of light. Her eyes narrowed, she could fix that. Lifting a hand, Claire called on her magical core, shooting a pulse of magic into the fog. Her shoulders dropped as the fog absorbed the power and shifted directions, coming at them from the opposite side.

Her free hand gripped the carrying case, fighting with herself about whether or not she would use the weapon she'd created. In the end, she would not risk the weapon being recognized by whatever was controlling the fog and lost to the darkness. She slipped it back behind Phil, focusing her energy on her magic.

Camilla pulled off her sweatshirt and mimicked Claire's actions, throwing a burst of power at the fog with similar results. It absorbed and moved away, as if disgusted by Guardian magic.

"Darcy," Claire murmured. "Give me your hand."

Darcy slipped her palm into Claire's unquestioningly, her fingers trembling. Claire squeezed it in reassurance, and then focused on the core of Darcy's power, far more developed than any of the other Potentials. She drew from it, using the magical differences to create a new pulse of magic that would attack many different kinds of darkness. The power that burst forth from her fingers was unfamiliar, but it beat back the fog a little bit. Her heart hammered with the effort, but she did it again, nodding to Camilla, who had already caught on to her plan. The combined energy of Potentials and Guardians was the most efficient kind of magic, a foundational power that called on ancient blood ties. If anything would push away the force of darkness infringing upon them, it would be this.

Burst after burst was tossed forward, but the fog kept coming, manipulating itself to fill more of the space slowly. Claire could feel the fatigue of overuse, could sense the Darcy was fading fast. Camilla had already run through Evan and Regina's magic and Belinda looked pale from the effort. She gritted her teeth and forced another bolt forward, wincing in pain. Releasing Darcy, Claire leaned over Coulson's shoulder, feeling for the first time that his arms had been holding her upright. She reached out and held her hand to August, asking for her cooperation.

August glanced at her, her lips thinning. "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can," Claire urged, her eyes flicking over to the darkness as it encroached further on them.

Shaking her head, August's expression turned very nearly sad, "My magic is too much for you. It would kill you to take it on."

Flabbergasted and more than a little bit angry, Claire curled her fingers into a fist, "We're all going to die if you don't help us out."

August's eyes hardened, "Wouldn't be the first time."

Claire's heart dropped into her stomach, her hand falling to her side. She shook her head unable to form a sentence, relying more and more on Coulson's arms to hold her up. To her right, Camilla sagged against the rock wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. And still the darkness came, it consumed the room, eating the light from the Gate and destroying the glyphs on the walls and floors. Claire let her head drop back to Coulson's shoulder, but refused to allow the tears to come. She vaguely heard Steve's voice whispering lowly to August. He had her by the wrist, keeping her from moving away while he spoke. August looked up at him, craning her neck to accommodate for the massive height differential. Her face was unreadable, but her chest was pushed outwards, proud in bearing. She scrunched her face at his words, then rolled her eyes.

Leaning down, August touched the rim of the Gate, pulsing magic into it until the glow intensified so greatly that Claire had to close her eyes against the light. The heat burned against her skin and Claire thought that it might sear her apart like a pig on a spit. She'd been to a luau only one time, with Coulson, during the summer they were together. It was the only time she'd seen him drunk—an excellent memory to die with as he'd serenaded her with "Kokomo" for two hours. She sighed, wincing as the heat from the room burned through her lungs.

And then suddenly it was gone and the room was cold, dark. Claire chanced to open her eyes, wondering if the fog had finally gotten them and that they were floating around somewhere in the mist. But, Coulson's arms were still around her, his breath fanning across the back of her neck. She glanced around, seeing Brent's face illuminated by the phone in his hands, Tony right behind him trying to point things out. Brent swatted him away and they wrestled for the device for several seconds until Claire realized that she was laughing out loud.

Camilla called out to her, "You okay, Claire?"

"Perfect," Claire replied, still laughing. "Does anyone know what the hell just happened?"

"I sent the Gate away," August piped up, pressing a hand to the wall and illuminating the glyphs. In the low light, her face was smirking.

Confused, Claire asked, "What do you mean you sent the Gate away?"

"Just what I said," August answered, piqued. "I sent it away."

Barton ground out, "Where did you send it?"

August shrugged, "It'll show up somewhere."

Behind her, Steve was holding his face in his palm, eyes squeezed shut in frustration. August might have been laughing, but her face was now hidden by her hair. Claire gathered herself up, turning to check for further danger.

"Where did you send the darkness?"

August pushed her hair out of her face, "Um, not sure. Pretty sure it wanted the Gate, so… I sent away what it wanted. Knew it would follow."

Claire rolled her tongue around in her mouth, settling for a brisk, 'thank you', which August completely ignored. She rubbed at the back of her head, trying to get the sequence of events straight in her head while simultaneously working at keeping the hysterical laughter from bubbling up in her throat.

"We have to get out of here. We have to figure out where the Gate went and we have to figure out who sent us those videos."

Tony piped up, "My vote is to head back to the Tower. I need to pick up my dry cleaning."

"I second that," Coulson said. "We have more resources there and this place… is falling apart."

Claire glared at him, but mentally agreed. Headquarters had been wrecked and now there wasn't even the Gate to protect. There was nothing left for her here in the dark caves, save for the library, which could be brought to the surface and stored elsewhere.

Coulson took her hand, sensing her conflicted emotions, "We'll spend some time at Shield and come back after we solve this thing, okay?"

Claire sighed and nodded, "Camilla, we'll need to grab some weapons."

"Definitely," Camilla replied, seeming tired. "Guys, go get your stuff packed and meet me at the entrance. I want everyone accounted for before we leave."

Claire packed a Duffel with most of her 'battle clothes', tucking a wrapped parcel deep into the confines. Tank tops, t shirts, jeans, and cargoes all were folded neatly atop socks, underwear, bras, and two pairs of solid sneakers. Her crisp pant suits and heels would have to wait until she came back for them later. Coulson had a serious point, headquarters was a disaster zone of barely contained chaos. If major repairs weren't made, the structure could fall down around them. Still, it hurt to know that this part of her life-the major part ofbher life- was over. She could not go back to being Gatekeeper and ambassador for the Council.

After completing this final mission, Claire could not see her purpose. The training and initiation of the Potentials had been completely overtaken by Camilla. Claire wasn't even sure she wanted to be involved anymore. While she was proud of the progress they'd made and interested to see where they would go, Claire no more wanted to be their leader than she wanted to continue facing the endless darkness. Belatedly, Claire realized that she was burned out.

Sighing, she hoisted her Duffel over her should and locked up her room. As she made her way out to the lobby, Claire recalled some of the more notable events in her memory. Her first kiss had occurred in the far corner of the South Halls withcan intern who thought her tattoos were an act of rebellion. She'd had her first disciplinary action in a pale conference room where where she later exorcised a demon from a young boy. He didn't make it, dying hours after. There were two outbreaks of voodoo zombie magic in the West offices. They'd had to do thorough checks for hex bags that took two weeks to complete. It was a disaster during the event, but she and the other staff started laughing about it at meetings six months later.

Claire's childhood had been spent in the wing closest to the lobby, away from the Deep Room and higher security levels. She remembered that no one had thought it strange when her magic was flung out into open space. No one had chastised her for spending hours unthinkable the knots in the net. It was the most accepting place she could have experienced, but it failed to prepare her for the horrors of her adulthood. Counselors used to tell her she was well adjusted. Claire had always replied that this life was all she knew-how could she not adjust?

The group was waiting for her in the lobby, the floor still shining with its last coat of wax. Brent looked mildly annoyed as he set the security system, but everyone else seemed relieved. Claire felt a stab of something foreign in her belly as she strolled out behind them, as if she were the only one who might actually miss the place. Her mind told her that this was a building of secrets and death, but her heart reminded her that she had loved spending time here. With her father across the country and her mother long gone, headquarters was the only home she had known for almost two decades. And almost all the people who could relate to that feeling were dead. August hated the place and Brent merely seemed to tolerate it. Camilla's emotions had always been hard to gauge, but Claire doubted the woman had any sympathetic feelings for headquarters. The realization crept in, exacerbating her sense of loneliness. She shook her head and sighed, pushing the sense of melancholy away to be examined at a later date. There was work to do.

When the doors were locked behind them, the group made their way out to Tony's plane, still waiting in the field. Inside, the engines roared and the air pressure popped between her ears. She sat next to Coulson who, for once, wasn't attached to his phone. He patted her arm briefly, saying nothing as the plane began to cross the mountains. There were ten minutes of blessed silence before Darcy's shrill squeak echoed throughout the cabin.

"Holy shit! Evan, take a look at this."

Evan rolled his eyes, but peered down and Darcy's phone, eyebrows lifting.

"Hey, isn't that a ritual sacrifice?"

Claire's attention perked and she craned her neck to get a look at their expressions. Darcy glanced up and waved her forward. With half a sigh, Claire stood and eased around Coulson's knees, shooting him a smirk as he gave a discreet swat to her ass. She stepped down the length of the aisle and leaned over Evan's shoulder to get a look at the screen. The familiarity of the video made her skin grow cold. She knew how it would end.

"Who posted it?"

Darcy shrugged, "That's the big story. No one knows and they can't figure out how to stop the feed." Her face softened dubiously, "Do you know about this?"

Claire nodded, "We had similar problems finding the cameraman."

Brent's hand shot up, "Had." He rose and tossed her a translucent pad marked "Stark Industries". "We have a connection into the feed."

Belinda's meek voice asked airily, "Can we turn it off?"

Claire glanced at the pad in her hands and shook her head, "Best we let it lie for now. We don't need to alert them and send them running. We may never catch up."

Belinda looked decidedly crestfallen, "Children could be watching this."

"I know," Claire replied with a small smile, "But sometimes we have to give a little to gain the most."

Regina, who had been uncharacteristically silent, huffed, "What I'd like to know if why we weren't told. We should have been in the loop."

"And what could you have done?" Claire barked, feeling her frustration rise as the video played over again. "You need to focus on learning as much as you can. Thinking about this," she held up the pad, "Would have been a distraction."

Regina bristled, "We're part of the team, too."

"Yes," Claire offered, "But you're also our biggest liability."

The silence that filled the plane was oppressive, Regina's glare visceral and vaguely uncomfortable for Claire. She held on, wordlessly asserting her authority despite the fact that she knew it would wear down the foundation of the team. She didn't care, needing to control this one thing for just a minute before she went back to figuring out how to stop ritualistic slayings of innocents that were now being broadcast across the internet.

The muggy air seeped into her body, making her feel heavy and tired. It seemed that anger, frustration, and resignation were all she was capable of feeling. She raged against the odds, reaching for familiar defenses as she tried to regain her equilibrium. Behind her, she felt more than heard August lean forward in her seat. She could picture her face brightening with the turmoil around her. It served to anger her more, she could feel the blush of the emotional flushing down her face to her neckline and down the back of her neck. God damn it if she wasn't embarrassed by her inability to keep it in check.

Steve cleared his throat, "I think we have a lot more to worry about than who knew what and when."

"Point," Camilla murmured as she leaned into Clint's body. "We're all on the same team."

"I'm not sure I believe that," Regina muttered.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Claire shot back, the hair on her arms standing on end as her core magic flared. She could feel it rumbling inside her, desperate for a little target practice. "You tell me," Regina replied. "You brought us out of our lives, amateurs in the fight. I saw the kind of tech you had at headquarters, got a glimpse of the weapons. There are masses of defense written all over the place and yet everyone is slaughtered. You can't tell me the fact that you and your assistant being the only ones left alive isn't suspicious."

Camilla interjected gently, "I survived, too."

"And me," August called out, rising.

Camilla nodded and rose as well, "We're all that's left of tradition centuries old. We have contacts all over the world, sure, but who can we trust if everything we hold dear is destroyed. I trust Claire, and August to a certain extent." She sent August an apologetic look. "We have to stick together if we're going to survive."

Tony swung his legs up to the back of the seat in front of him, "Cheeks is right. Suspicion amongst the ranks isn't going to bode well."

Camilla rolled her eyes, but chose not to comment further. The cabin, stuffed full of accusation, fell silent. Claire rubbed at the skin of her neck, letting the silence continue despite how uncomfortable the rest of the group appeared. She had never been accused of disloyalty before and she found she didn't like the feeling it evoked. Her stomach burned with anger and resentment, her skin turning embarrassingly pink. She couldn't even look around at the faces of her comrades for fear of seeing further suspicion. It pained her that anyone could think she would have orchestrated such terror and slaughter, especially that of her own people.

Telling herself that Regina was looking for an outlet of her frustration, Claire shook her head and returned to her seat. From behind her, she heard Belinda ask timidly what they were going to do about the murders. Darcy gave a long suffering sigh and told her that they would figure it out once they got home. So quiet that Claire almost missed it, Belinda uttered that they could never go home again.

The plane landed without ceremony and the group fanned out over the rooftop with the previous weight of foreboding still hanging over them. Claire ignored Camilla's entreating glances, focused on getting alone and working out her next step. She heard Coulson begin to issue orders distantly, directing Steve to show August to one of the guest rooms and scheduling a brief respite before the whole group-including the members of his own team-would meet again.

As she headed for the elevators, Claire was caught by the elbow and turned down the hall and away from everyone else. Coulson led her through a set of doors and down another corridor until they reached a high security door. He tapped in a code and ushered her inside, leaning down to press the lowest button on he panel.

"Regina shouldn't have said that," Phil began conversationally.

Claire smiled without humor, "She has a right to be suspicious. I've been one step behind the whole time." She shrugged, "They're taking me to school, Phil, and they're beginners. Maybe I've lost my touch."

From across the relatively small carriage of the elevator, Phil leveled a look at Claire that made her breath catch. Though his hands were folded neatly in front of him, his bearing intentionally non-threatening, Phil's expression was decidedly furious.

"We caught the signal. We're going to track them down. And when we do, you're going to put a bullet in their head. Understood?"

Claire chuckled sardonically, "Might take more than a bullet."

He shifted his stance, a little frustrated with her response. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," she replied. "I do."

Reaching out, Claire brushed her hand down the front of his chest, tugging a little on the fabric. Phil caught her hand and nodded to the side. Cameras pointed down at them from the roof, humming gently.

"You've never shied away from a little exhibitionism before." She knew firsthand that Phil could be rather discreet when feeling amorous in public.

Phil's jaw clenched, "I do when I know Tony records every second of every day for the sole purpose of blackmail."

Claire's brows rose, "I wish I could say I was surprised. Even the bedrooms?"

"No," Phil answered with half a smirk, "We have imposed _some_ limitations."

The doors opened and they stepped out into another nondescript hall, Phil motioning to the left where there stood another security door. He keyed in and showed her inside, following close behind and closing the door. Claire glanced around, for the first time wondering just where he had led her. The room was furnished with sturdy furniture that looked standard issue and the air was mildly stale, as if it hadn't been disturbed in some time.

"Your place?" She questioned.

Phil nodded, "When I'm stationed here."

Claire continued her perusal, "Still have the apartment?" She rather liked the place and the memories stored within.

"I do," he replied, stepping past her, "The bed room is through here if you'd like to unpack."

Blinking, Claire watched his back as he sauntered away through an open door. She could see a large bed set against the far wall, a nightstand in a similar style as the living room sitting innocently nearby. Most of the décor was nondescript, factory made ceramics and not a single personalized note to fill the space.

"I gather you want me to stay here," Claire murmured, feeling just a little off balance.

Phil called out from the bedroom, "That was the plan."

Feeling more than a little facetious, Claire moved to the doorway and said, "Did you think it might be pertinent to ask me if I wanted to stay in your rooms?"

Freezing in the very action of hanging his suit in the closet, Phil turned to her. "I'm sorry. I just assumed…"

Claire smiled, "Lucky for you, living together isn't new territory for us. I'm sure I can manage."

The air flew out of Phil's lungs in an almost unheard breath, and Claire congratulated herself that she could at least still keep him on his toes. She set her duffel on the bed and unzipped it, reaching down to grab her few sets of clothes. Holding them up, she caught Phil's eye in question.

"Over there," he urged, pointing to the dresser behind her. "Third drawer down is yours."

Claire's brow rose, "I have a drawer."

He had the good grace to look a little sheepish, but chose not to comment. She dropped her clothes into the drawer, easing the hidden parcel in behind them with as much nonchalance as she could manage. She then folded the duffel and slid it beneath the bed, standing and glancing around the room. Nothing in it reminded her of the man nearby, save for the gun resting on the nightstand. The apartment they frequented before was filled with old vinyl and a surprising collection of vintage cards. His kitchen was always stocked with fresh fruit next to a case of beer and the radio could be heard for most of the day. She doubted the little cubby hole kitchen near the door would even have a working toaster.

Phil stepped to her side, touching the exposed tattoo on her forearm, "I used to wonder what these were for, what they represented."

Claire glanced up at him with a smirk, "You could have asked."

"I could have, but I wanted you to tell me." He continued to trace the tattoos, swiping his fingers over her skin smoothly.

Claire's smirk grew into a smile, "I'm sorry. I just wasn't allowed to let you in on that."

He returned her smile, tracing the whirling lines, "But I know now."

"Yes," she answered, "You know now." A thought occurred to her, suddenly and with a mischievous heat. "Want to know a little more?"

His eyes narrowed at the question, mouth thinning just a little in thought before he nodded curtly. Claire smiled, gesturing to the bed.

"Lay down," she ordered gently, "Take off your shirt." She felt her belly seize with excitement, a new experience to share with someone she trusted deeply. The inner workings of her magic were the most intimate thing she knew, and there were certain perks to knowing how to manipulate spells and alter sensation through glyph work.

Brow winging up, Phil followed her direction, laying back on the bed and folding his arms across his stomach, waiting. Claire gestured vaguely, and he lifted up, pulling the shirt from his body and tossing it carelessly over the side. She settled nearby and grasped his wrists, holding them up by his head and pressing firmly. It wouldn't do for him to interfere while she was working, she needed him still and mostly cooperative.

"Leave your hands up, okay?"

He nodded.

Her smile deepened.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Leaning down, she traced a glyph on the center of his chest nonchalantly, feeling her power flow through her fingertips to lie heavily on his skin. She kept her expression neutral, not wanting to give away the surprise too soon. The glyph glowed briefly before dissolving into his flesh, leaving nothing in its wake but a subtle disturbance of the fine hair around it. Claire stood and toed off her shoes, moving to the far end of the bed. She watched and waited for the first wave to fall over him, doing her best to restrain her toothy grin.

"I don't understand."

She spared him a brief glance before unzipping her cargos, "Give it a second. You'll feel it shortly."

He snorted softly, "What am I supposed to—oh." Phil's back bowed a little, his knees falling apart as the muscles in his body relaxed suddenly.

"Right," Claire taunted as she folded her cargos and laid them to the side. "Oh."

She crawled up to sit near his spread legs, watching as his skin grew pink and his hands flexed around the edges of one of the pillows. She hoped the fabric would hold. There was no telling what the experience would bring or how much Phil could take before causing some damage. Claire tilted her head to the side, observing him as he squirmed on the mattress. His breath was coming out in soft pants, eyes unfocused and slightly strained. Claire kind of liked that he wasn't quite in control of his faculties, that she had gained the upper hand with a spell she'd kept in her arsenal for more than five years, waiting to use it on the right person.

"I wanted to try this earlier, you know," she murmured, sitting back on her heels and taking in the sweat beading on Phil's brow. "But, that would have required a more detailed explanation of how I came by this kind of power."

Phil gasped out a short, almost exasperated, "Definitely."

His attention was very clearly on what power was creeping over his body, inching over and under his skin, stimulating the nerves. The spell was one she hadn't needed to tweak in the dark corners of the library, the underhanded nature of it used by assassins for the Council for many years. It burned slowly, until the either the spell caster removed it or the person experiencing it blacked out from the sensation. Depending on how the glyph was drawn, the spell could bring enormous amounts of pain or pleasure. Her experiments on bringing a confusing mixture of both had proved ill conceived and ultimately fruitless. She debated on how she wanted this to play out, having already decided on the obvious route of pleasure. Even now, he was having trouble keeping his hands in place, the muscles of his arms straining as he tried to keep his word.

Leaning forward, Claire pulled Phil's belt from its loops and tossed it aside, easing open his pants and sliding them and his underwear down at the same time. She was pleased that he was already half hard, hips shifting against the cool air. When she crawled upwards to kiss him, Phil gave in to the instinct grasp her hair and hold her in place while his tongue delved deep to taste.

With a chuckle, she reached up and set his wrists back to the bed, using her forefinger to draw more glyphs on his skin to hold them down. He resisted the hold, groaning and shifting beneath her as he began to seek friction to ease the tension in his body. She kissed him again, one hand holding his chin up so that she could nip at his skin.

"What is this?" Phil moaned, eyes squeezing shut as a new wave his him.

Claire gazed down at him, "Does it matter?"

He hissed, "Not really."

"Good," she replied shortly, tugging her tank top over her head and slipping her bra from her shoulders. "Because I'm just getting warmed up."

With a bit of maneuvering, Claire managed to slip off her underwear while maintaining her balance atop Phil's torso. She shifted back a little to allow him a few quick thrusts against the apex of her thighs, groans rumbling from his chest. Lifting lightly, Claire braced herself on her palms, looking down the length of their bodies. Phil's back bowed, reaching unspeaking towards her, his head falling backwards with the effort. Claire felt her mouth twist with the notion of prolonging the torture just a little while longer. The thought was stopped abruptly by her body, more than ready to get the show moving forward as quickly as possible.

Dropping her full weight onto one palm, Claire tapped his chest gently, removing the spell. In a nearly the same moment, she slipped down upon him, seated low until their hips pressed firmly together. The sound that came from Phil's throat was raw with want and he rocked beneath her with as much force as he could manage, given the position. Claire steadied herself before picking up a brutal pace. She turned her hips and squeezed hard with her inner muscles, using everything she knew about what he liked down to the feeling of her hair fanning out over the tops of his thighs.

He shouted his release, hands clenching so tightly Claire could hear the knuckles crack. She slowed her pace, allowing him to find his center again. Then, with a heavy sigh, she lilted to the side and rolled to her back. Beside her, Phil caught his breath raggedly.

"Good?" She questioned with a smirk.

Phil's eyes opened, still a little unfocused, "Very good. Can I have my hands back?"

"Oh," Claire cried, extending one arm to tap the glyphs on his wrists.

Rubbing at the skin, Phil examined it for a moment before turning to his side. "That was new."

"Hmmm," she answered, curling a little so that she faced him.

He glanced down at her body, one hand skimming the curves, "Did you?"

She smiled, "No, but this was kind of an experiment. We can try out new variables later."

Kissing her lightly, Phil pulled her close. "Give me twenty." Then, "Does it work on you, too?"


	11. Chapter 11

The team sat around a sleek black table, the mirror finish reflecting their concerned faces towards the ceiling. Claire eyed the small object near her, sitting not-so-innocently three feet away. She had tried once or twice prior to the meeting to use her own magical skill to seek out its properties, but was blocked by some kind of shield. Her power was reflected back to her, reeking of something alien and cold. Phil sat to her right, typing furiously on his phone and occasionally laying a hand on her thigh. He'd sought revenge upon her twice the previous night for the spell she'd cast. It was a revenge she'd gladly receive time and time again. While not much of a talker, Phil's quiet strength manifested into an explosive intensity when he got going. The ache in her calves was a constant reminder of that fact.

The doors swished open and Director Fury strode in, his coat flapping out behind him dramatically. Claire settled a little lower into her chair, stretching out her legs in front of her beneath the table and flicking her hair from the nape of her neck. She refused to be intimidated by a show of flair and tried to allow a sense of amusement to filter through her worry. Her mildly sarcastic mind wondered who actually wore a calf length leather coat and whether or not he was hot in it despite the air conditioning.

Director Fury stood at the far end of the table, looking out at all of them with his jaw set so hard she thought she could hear his jaw creak. His eyes dropped down to the object, lip curling.

"Mr. Stark has tracked down the location of the video feed. We are now sending in a team to perform recon while we figure out the location of the actual killings."

He would have continued, Claire felt, if the doors to the meeting room hadn't slid open once more, Loki sauntering in with measured steps. He, too, wore a coat that rustled in the wind caused by the very act of walking. Claire thought it might become an epidemic and vaguely pictured Director Fury, in a fit of competition, wearing a long train and cat walking towards a fast spinning fan. Almost immediately, she dropped her eyes to her hands and tried to hide her smile. Three cups of coffee had definitely warped her brain enough that her internal fantasies were now reminiscent of an acid trip.

Darcy hopped up and ushered Loki into her seat, settling primly on his lap and throwing on arm around his neck. Loki slid both arms around her torso and gestured dismissively for Director Fury to continue. Fury had to visibly work to control his rage and Claire had to cough to disguise her laughter. There was a moment of tense silence before Fury began to speak again.

"Our partners, the Guardians, have found a powerful magical artifact that may or may not be attached to the crimes." He looked to Claire to elaborate.

Claire sat forward, "Evan found this in the ruins of the Market. August recognizes it as a powerful relic, but its unlike anything I've ever seen."

August, who sat on the table two seats over, tapped her hand on the glass, "I can feel the vibes even through the walls. Reminds me of feed time in the hole."

Unable and, perhaps, unwilling to address what exactly she meant by 'feed time', Fury moved on, circling the table.

"If we can figure out what it does, we might be able to use it."

"Not a lot of hope of that," Claire interjected, "I can't even get a reading on it."

"You wouldn't be able to," Loki murmured, pulling Darcy's hair over the skin of her neck and observing the line of muscle. "It's far too old for the likes of you to dissect."

Claire's eyes narrowed, "How would you know that?"

"Because Asgard housed it for millennia before it was stolen from our weapons room not long ago."

The words forming in her head died in her throat as Claire comprehended Loki's exceptionally simple explanation of the object's origins. She stared at him for several seconds, her jaw slack with shock. Phil's slide of hand across her back woke her from her stupor and she sputtered a little before leaning forward on her hands.

"So what does it do?"

Loki shrugged.

"Can you find out?" Claire asked, exasperated.

"I might," Loki replied enigmatically.

After a moment, Claire's brows drew together, "What do you want?"

His smile was vicious, "I want ten minutes with that one."

Claire followed the direction of his finger to August, who seemed to have stamped her approval with a hardy 'challenge accepted.'

Unable to keep the question from her mouth, Claire uttered, "Why?"

Loki's expression darkened thunderously, his arms tightening around the woman in his lap, "She made Darcy bleed."

August chuckled merrily, "Not exactly my fault that she was in the line of fire. The girl should have ducked."

Amidst Claire's head shaking from side to side with the realization that August would only make this worse on herself, Loki sneered, his breath hissing out.

"Your recklessness is what caused her injury."

Darcy was visibly trying to calm her lover, whispering in his ear and looking to Camilla for guidance. Camilla, for all her mediation experience, simply shrugged and continued to look back and forth between the dueling magicians.

August rolled forward on her hands and knees, crouching low, "Give me your best shot, hair boy."

Loki looked about ready to take her bait, but relented suddenly, "Later. First, the box."

He lifted his hand and the box flew from the tabletop to his palm, whizzing past their faces with an audible 'swoosh'. Flipping the box around several times, he spun the box until the light reflecting over the carved edges caught and shimmered like a strobe. Claire had to blink several times to keep her eyes from crossing at the illusion. With a flourish, Loki set the box down and touched the top with tips of his fingers.

"The markings here denote a riddle that is older than I, but can be discovered and solved with a bit of research. Lucky for you I already know the proper code to open the lock."

Darcy shrank back a little, "Magic man, I don't think opening that is a good idea."

Loki shrugged, "Opening the box will do little to nothing."

"I don't follow," Fury stated, his brows falling low over his eyes.

With a sigh that was vaguely indulgent, Loki ran a finger around the base of the box. There was a faint clicking noise and the top of the box flowered open to reveal its contents, which were, surprisingly, empty. Every neck in the room craned over the expanse of the table in an attempt to get a closer look at the air filling the box, several confused expressions emerging across the audience.

"Get to the point," Fury ordered. "There are people dying."

Loki's face softened and grew somehow more sardonic, "Your kind is always dying."

Darcy uttered Loki's name softly, her cheeks reddening and her lip sneaking backwards to sit between her teeth. He glanced down at her, visibly relenting.

"The box, itself, is harmless. What it opens is a vastly different situation."

Phil sat forward, seemingly interested in the conversation for the first time, "It's a key."

Loki's returning look was slicing. "Yes," he replied slowly. "It is a key."

"What does this key open?" Fury asked, clearly losing patience. He gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles whitening under the pressure.

The demi-god shrugged, "The tomes are remarkably vague about the details. The theme, however, is death and destruction."

It seemed to Claire that Loki knew quite a lot about an object randomly found in a zone of destruction. She could not bring herself to suspect him of wrongdoing, given that Darcy was so fond of him and was, to her knowledge, a decent judge of character. Still, there was something very off about how easily the pieces were falling into place, as if they were marionettes being guided by an unseen hand. The thought process was disturbing to say that least, and Claire didn't much appreciate that she might be manipulated by another party in the game the whole world would soon be playing.

Evan stood, circling around to pick up the box, and Claire flinched, her attention focusing on the boy.

"I found this behind that store we were at," he said, holding the box high. "The only one that wasn't destroyed."

Claire rose slowly, "I think we will need to study it a little more. Loki, can you find those books?"

Loki nodded, leaning down to speak to Darcy, "Feeling up to a trip?"

"To Asgard?" Darcy asked with a widening smile, "Totally. I need to get my ipod."

Evan chuckled a little, "I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like we're going to actually try to track down the door, are we?" He tossed the box between his hands, as if it were a basketball.

Claire reacted out of instinct, one hand flying out before her. She was about a nanosecond too late. The box landed hard in the middle of Evan's palm, a burst of magic blooming out in a burst of fine mist. It encapsulated Evan blindingly, the box falling to gravity's pull and landing on the floor where his feet had been. The room stared agape at the empty space, taking half a minute to comprehend that Evan had been either magically transported to another location or, worse, totally obliterated between worlds. Claire hoped for the former.

"The fuck?" Darcy exclaimed, and several voices rang out in conjunction. Fury called out for analysts to take the box and secure it. Phil was moving to lean down into the spot, looking for evidence and barking orders onto his phone. Regina bellowed and Belinda began to cry. To her credit, Camilla was already working on calming both down, though it didn't look like she'd make progress soon. Claire was one of the few who sat in silence along with August. The girl leaned down from her perch on the table, her hair touching the table.

"I don't think we'll be getting him back."

Claire looked up at August, "You can't possibly know that."

August smiled toothily, "You're right. I don't. S'only a guess. I reckon we'll find out soon enough."

Claire continued to stare at August, wondering how her callous nature had come to be and blaming it on the time spent wallowing in prison. She was all hard anymore, the traces of the August she knew coming fewer and farther between as they moved through this mission. Claire wanted to scream, wanted to pound her fists on the table and demand answers of the higher powers she still believed in. None of that would do any good, she knew, but the feeling remained despite her own rationalization of the outcome.

Phil wandered back to her, easing into the chair next to her and leaning on the arm, "I'm already on thin ice with their parents. What am I going to tell them now?"

Claire glanced at him, having completely forgotten that the Potentials had lives that they had left behind, people who would care about them and wonder what became of them. It startled her that she might have to tell some crying mother that Evan was gone, that he wasn't coming back, and that it was at least partially her fault. How could she explain that he had been the victim of some kind of spell, and that his destiny was so very different from the one she imagined for him? The idea seemed preposterously melodramatic. The idea was also a reality that she would have to face very soon if she didn't figure out what the hell had happened to her charge.

Camilla strode over purposefully, dropping down to talk on her level, "I think we're in a heap of shit right now."

"I agree," Claire said, pulling absently at her hair. "There's only one option I can think of and I'm not keen on making a visit."

Camilla shook her head, "I really didn't want to make another trip so soon."

Rolling a shoulder, Claire sighed, "I know. But, if he's alive, we'll be able to track him easier."

Standing, Camilla placed her hands on her hips, "I'll go get the scrying crystals. I'm sure Tony won't mind us using his pool again." She growled a little in her throat, "This sucks."

"Yeah," Claire muttered, pushing to standing, "Definitely sucks."

When the room began to disperse in response to orders and direction, Phil fell into step beside Claire. She heard his unspoken question.

"Camilla and I are going to go into the Other. We can scry for Evan there."

Phil's bearing stiffened, "I don't suppose we can talk about this."

Claire stopped and turned to Phil, an incredulous look on her face, "What is there to talk about?"

"I think we should consider all options," Phil returned, folding his arms across his chest.

Mimicking his motion, Claire backed away a step, "What other options are there? Please tell me how else we are going to find a boy who was magically transported by a box of unknown origin that opens a door to—and I quote—'death and destruction.'"

Phil sighed and ran a hand through his cropped hair, "Listen, I'm not trying to start a fight, but we can't just rush to the first answer that presents itself. We need a plan."

"We have a plan. You and your people will use whatever resources you have to figure out what the box is for and if it presents a danger. I and my people will work to bring back one of our own."

His already frowning expression deepened, "He became one of our people, too, when we partnered with you. We're on the same team, now, remember?" He let out a soft breath, "You seem to keep forgetting that."

Incensed, Claire retorted, "I'm not forgetting anything. I'm just trying to do what's best for my team."

"Our team," Phil countered, some acidity in his voice. "And ditto."

Claire swallowed, feeling the tension between them ebb for a moment as they both worked to control their residual stresses. She sighed and dropped her hands to her sides, actively trying to see the situation from Phil's perspective. He, like everyone else in that room, had just been witness to an abduction in the very bowels of what was supposed to be a safe house. She imagined that the incident must have come as quite a shock to Phil and every other member of the security team. Magic had probably never been a huge problem for them and being introduced to it in large doses was probably putting a strain on their feelings of protection. It had also probably been a hit to their ego, given that the event was in their top security room. Claire would have laughed at the understanding of their hurt pride if she wasn't so worried that Evan was being slowly torn apart by one monster or another at that very second.

"I know this is stressful," Claire began, "But going into the Other is the fastest way to check the other dimensions, if Evan has been sent through worlds. We can't afford to waste time."

"Be that as it may," Phil stated, some formality returning to his voice. Claire could tell that he was going to aim for negotiations, to try to change her mind. "I think we should find out what the key opens before we rush into a rescue mission. More than likely, it has sent Evan to the opening and I don't think it would be prudent to walk right into an ambush."

He had a point. Damnit.

"We won't be rushing into a rescue. Camilla and I will find his location and come back her for back up before we save him."

Phil's lip quirked, "That doesn't sound like a compromise."

Claire sent him a look that said she had given all the ground she would give. Phil held up both hands, yielding silently. They resumed their pace this time, unspeaking until they reached the elevator. Once inside, Claire felt her bearing falter.

"I have to get him back," she whispered, "I can't lose him. I can't lose any more people."

Phil reached around her, pulling her in for a tight embrace that finally broke that eerie calm that Claire seemed to wrap around her as a defense mechanism. She sobbed sloppily into his coat, gripping his lapels to keep her balance. Phil helped her out of the elevator and into their room where he sat her down on the couch and went to the kitchen to make tea. The mug was hot in her shaking hands, the liquid burning her tongue. She didn't care. The tea was comforting, Phil's presence even more so. She hadn't realized just how hard losing a Potential would hit her. Claire hadn't been too very much involved in their training, knew little to nothing about them personally. And yet, here she was, worrying like some kind of mother hen about a boy that could very well already be dead.

Claire recalled hearing one of her trainers talking about her predecessors with one of the Council members. There was sadness that she didn't quite comprehend in the tone of voice. The trainers were her teachers, but they never actively involved themselves in her life. She moved from class to class without wondering how they spent their nights or whether or not she was liked. At the time, it didn't make sense that a trainer would express sorrow for losing a pupil. Now, in the wake of possibly losing one of her own, the understanding hit her with the force of speeding train. It stung and ached and spread through her so quickly she couldn't control it.

It may have been about an hour before Phil could get her to loosen the grip she held on her mug, his presence silent and comforting. He then led her back to the bedroom and laid her down beneath the sheets, pulling her into his embrace and stroking her hair back from her face. Claire had never been so grateful to have him with her than she was with a red, puffy face, her hair matted to her head, still trembling from the tears she hadn't know she was shedding.

After a while, Phil's phone rang with a text message and he let her know that they were preparing the pool for their expedition. She nodded and went to the bathroom to wash her face and pull her hair back into a pony tail. Donning her battle clothes, Claire followed Phil out of their room and into the hall. The ride to the ground floor was silent, but the tension of the last few hours was somehow gone. In its place was a steadfast determination, a union of purpose.

Camilla was waiting for her at the shallow end of the pool, Clint holding her from behind, his arms around her middle. Her eyes were rimmed with red and it was a mutual decision between the two of them not to mention that either had been crying. They simply stood side by side and gazed out into the water with the same kind of determination that was contagious amongst those that were searching for something dear.

"Are you ready?" Claire murmured, eyes still on the softly rippling water.

"Always," Camilla replied.

"Okay," Claire replied, taking the first step. "In and out."

"Right there with you," Camilla uttered.

They submerged themselves, allowing a moment to sink to the bottom of the pool, then Claire drew a set of glyphs that would allow them into the Other and hold the door open for them. It was a risky move. Anything could walk right through their open portal, but she knew they would be mere feet from it, scrying for Evan. There would be no need to travel between the dimensions, just observe them from a distance. The sharp cold of the Other was an unfortunately familiar feeling as Claire stepped through into the open. There was a staleness to the air, the murky dark always present. She looked to the four cardinal directions, picking out the vast towers topped with fire and orienting herself to the landscape.

Camilla, task focused, set about drawing out a rough map of the known dimensions in the dust at their feet. She knelt on one knee, the scrying stone set safely to the side. Claire kept watch, just in case trouble showed up unexpectedly. She turned in a slow circle, eyes focused on the horizon and the formations in between. From behind her, Claire heard Camilla begin to call for Evan.

The known chant was rhythmic and spoken low enough so as to not draw unwanted attention from others looking to be drawn from dimension to dimension on the flow of magic. Evan, she hoped, would hear and respond. Camilla repeated the chant, sending just a bit more of her magical signature into it, and Claire watched as the Other began to respond. The thin boundaries that separated the worlds rippled, as if waking from deep sleep. She braced her feet firmly, feeling her tattoos come alive with her heightened sense of danger.

Again, Camilla repeated the chant. Again, the Other responded. Claire gathered her power in the palms of her hand, waiting and watching. The Other was beginning to recognize their presence, and someone would eventually come to investigate, drawn by the shift in power. Camilla repeated the chant and Claire crouched low, eyes trained on a speck of movement in the distance. She whispered Camilla's name, pushing for urgency.

After a few more rounds, Claire was definitely seeing something slowly approaching, circling. She stood and turned to tell Camilla that it was time to go only to find Camilla looking up at her with a smile. She'd found him.

"Pack it up," Claire ordered, already drawing her power into herself to make the trip back to their plane of existence.

They scuffed the drawing of the map out and eased back into the portal. Claire came up out of the water gasping and sputtering. She swam to the side of the pool and lifted herself out onto the cement, rolling to her back and staring up at the dark sky.

Phil's face leaned over her, "Did you find him?"

Claire pointed to Camilla, out of breath.

Camilla sat up and rolled a shoulder, "We found him. He's here. On this plane."

Incensed, Claire lifted her head and sent a look to Camilla, "Guess we should have tried it here first."

Laughing, Camilla nodded and allowed Clint to lift her to standing, "I'm going to dry off and go get the map."

"Sure thing," Claire breathed, letting her body relax for a moment. "I'll be just a minute."

Lying there, Claire stared up at the sky, noting the there were no stars despite the lack of sunlight. The city was certainly alive around her, blotting out the constellations Claire had once loved looking at from the roof of headquarters. Even the balcony she laid upon was buzzing with electricity and power. It occurred to her that she could take it all down in a single blast, destroy what seemed to be a marvel of engineering. Then, it occurred to her that she was being fanciful and that she needed to put her head back in the game. The Other always had a way of distracting her, of reminding her that she was so powerful—maybe not as powerful as August—but powerful in her own right. That understanding was seductive, could be used against her. Claire tamped it down.

Camilla was already standing over a large map in the living room, her wet hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. She chanted lowly, power flowing through her tattoos to the crystal held aloft by a sterling silver chain. Claire sidled up next to her and touched Camilla's arm. The crystal shot to the side, landing in the middle of Iraq. Camilla glanced sidelong at her, amused at Claire's rolling eyes. _Of course_, Evan was taken to the desert.

"It couldn't be Italy, for once?" Claire groaned, leaning a palm on the table.

Phil, who was already sending off an email, called out, "What about Italy?"

"Just that it's not our destination," Claire answered, "We're going to Iraq."

The phone dropped a little, "We have a safe house there."

"S'pretty nice," Clint interjected with a smile. "If you like mattresses on the floor."

Camilla smirked, "I'm sure we'll manage."

"Yes we will," Clint said slyly.

Scoffing a little, Claire turned from them and placed her hands on her hips. "Can we borrow your safe house?"

Phil slipped his phone in the pocket of his slacks, "What's mine is yours."

Claire's smile was warm, "Thank you."

He leaned down, "You can thank me later."

Blushing, Claire swatted his arm. Across the living room was a deep pit of pillows, a low hanging TV situated in front. Darcy was settled in with popcorn, Loki at her side. Claire sent them a little wave, remembering that Loki still owed August a fight. Part of her wanted to take bets on who would win. Part of her thought the insurance couldn't handle the amount of damage that the fight would cause. Part of her wanted to record it for future training reference. Mostly, she thought August needed an ass kicking. She was going to become uncontrollable if someone didn't put her in check soon and Loki was as good as any person to do so.

It was decided that the team would leave early that morning on a Shield issue jet. Claire declined reinforcements, knowing that they would only be collateral damage, should a warlock be the culprit. She couldn't allow herself to bring anyone else into the fight, couldn't allow more senseless killing. It was best to leave it to the professionals.

Back in their room, Claire laid on Phil's chest, waiting for sleep and counting his heartbeats. He stroked her hair with one hand and her forearm with the other. There were few words exchanged, but Claire reveled in the security he offered. She had missed this in those long nights, especially during her hospital visit. Occasionally, when she was feeling exceptionally lonely, Claire would take out some of the old t-shirt rags he'd left at her place and pathetically press them to her face, breathing in his scent. She'd never admit that to him, or maybe she would eventually, but he helped her through those nights even though he was across the country.

The next morning, they ate around the table. Camilla made them oatmeal pancakes from the skillet—Clint had three plates. Then, they all piled onto a jet in the middle of some kind of below ground hanger and before Claire knew what was happening, Phil was handing her their lunch. The flight lasted far longer than Claire would have liked, her neck hurting from trying to sleep in the, admittedly, large seats.

From the runway, Phil ushered them into a row of black SUVs and as the sun was dropping low they keyed into the safe house. Clint was right. The place wasn't that bad, but the mattresses were on the floor and the furniture was Spartan at best. Moving quickly, Phil claimed their room and explained to a protesting Clint that he needed it for the surveillance view. Claire had to cover her laughing mouth, knowing damn well that Phil loved watching the sunrise and that the room faced east. Clint grumbled, but pulled Camilla by the arm into an adjacent room. August threw her bag on the couch, staking her own claim on the only soft piece of furniture and demurring when Claire suggested she should take one of the mattresses. Steve hauled one of the spare mattresses from Camilla's room into the far side of the living room. Last to file in were Darcy, Belinda, and Regina. It took about three minutes before Darcy was complaining about the shoddy internet signal. She made several attempts before hollering a "Eureka" to the ceiling. Bouncing happily, she began to tap her screen, taking a picture and sending it to, Claire guessed, Loki.

Sitting around the slightly sloping table, Camilla spread out a map of the country. They would have to scry one more time for Evan to get a closer estimation of his location. Claire hoped that he was simply lost and not guarded by any other dark entity. She really didn't want any more complications adding to their already complicated mission. August chomped happily on a bag of chips, commenting on Camilla's technique until Darcy jabbed her in the side with her elbow.

"Sheesh," August griped, "She's doing it wrong anyways."

Camilla braced both palms on the table and glared up at August, "Do _you_ want to do it?"

"Be glad to," August preened, handing the crinkled bag haphazardly to Steve. "Watch and learn, grasshoppers."

Setting the scrying crystal to the side, August held both hands above the map, palms down. She closed her eyes and the magic formed in oblong blobs below. Coursing out, the magic spanned the length and width of the map, a gelatin sheen reflecting in the low hanging overhead light. There it sat for half a minute, looking like a fluorescent pink patch of mucus. Claire wondered how it was so think in texture when every other core magic she'd seen was like a mist. It was as if August had found a way to compact the mist into a near solid and Claire thought that might account for the amplification of her power.

"What am I supposed to be learning?" Camilla muttered, clearly agitated.

"Patience is a virtue," August said in sing song. Her brows drew down, a frown tilting downwards at her lips. Her concentration was new, the act of magic having always come so easily for her. It piqued Claire's interest and she made a mental note to have Stark test her in his big concrete box some day.

After another long moment, the blob began to move, shift, and audibly grumble. It slid over itself, turning inwards towards the North East of the map. The team's eyes shifted with it, following the path until the blob settled into a very small dot in approximately a four mile radius.

"Easy peasy," August called out, dusting her hands. "An' I didn't even break a sweat."

Camilla eyed her speculatively, "Doesn't mean anything."

August was incensed, "It means a lot. Ain't nobody got it that close without body parts and blood involved."

"Be that as it may," Claire interjected, wanted to stop a fight, "We are grateful for your help."

August sniffed and turned her head away petulantly. Soothing her would take more than words, but Claire simply didn't have the energy.

Steve leaned down, "We need a plan of attack. Do we have any contacts in the area?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Phil answered, "But I have a delivery of supplies coming in the morning. We should be well armed."

Clint set a hip on the table, "Camilla and I will do recon tomorrow before dawn. You in, Cap?"

"Absolutely," Steve responded, eyes still on the map. "Been a little too long at rest."

Clint smirked, "You'll shake off the rust, old man."

Claire's instinct was to note that Steve really didn't look that old, but August was already taking her attention, digging through the sparse groceries that had come with them. She came up with a fun sized bag of Oreos, holding the blue package high above her head.

Darcy made to grab it, but August ducked beneath Steve's arm and scrambled across the table to the other side. In her haste, Belinda was able to discreetly snag the bag and edge around Phil to the hallway where she took off towards the bedroom, Regina hot on her heels by then. There was a stomping of feet as a mad scramble for the Oreos began. Claire angled her head to the side, watching as three women pushed against the closed door, calling out about how unfair it was. She then slipped over to the counter and dug around in the bag, producing another package of Oreos. Nimbly, she hopped on the counter and opened it, pulling a cookie out and offering the package to Camilla. While Camilla balked, Clint stuck a hand in the bag and pulled out two cookies, slipping one between his teeth and grinning.

Rolling her eyes, Claire turned the bag over and dropped the final cookie into the palm of her hand, holding it up for Phil. When he declined, she happily nibbled on it, waiting for the cookie war in the back of the house to finish. They tussled for a few more minutes, pounding on the door. Soon, however, Darcy, Regina, and August were ambling back into the kitchen, cookie-less.

"Cookie hog," August yelled, sitting sulkily on the couch.

Claire could hear Belinda laughing from the bedroom, the first real burst of joy she'd heard out of the girl since the first day in the training room. It was good that they were feeling happy now, before the real work set in the next day. They would need all the strength they could draw upon if Evan turned out dead or if they lost another in pursuit of saving him.

Phil called everyone to bed early, noting that their night would be cut short by an early breakfast. The Potentials and August griped, but Phil merely held up his hands told them that he didn't want to hear it. They were going to bed and that was that. Claire rolled onto the bed, wincing at the slight pain in her lower back. She definitely missed her bed and the thick mattress, but this would do for a few days. Phil slid in beside her, fluffing his pillow in vain as he tried to get comfortable.

"Why don't we have contacts in the area?" Claire asked, turning to lie on her side.

One of Phil's eyes cracked open, "We don't have any at our disposal right now."

Brow raising, Claire said, "That's not what you told us."

With a deep sigh, Phil flipped to his back and stared at the ceiling, "They've been out of contact for several weeks now. No one has had twenty on them for almost two months."

"Oh," Claire replied lowly, "Do you think… something happened to them?"

Phil shrugged, "It's possible. Shield wants me to find out if they went rogue. Clint will be using the recon time to investigate some of the safe houses in the area."

"Oh," Claire said again. "I'm sorry to hear that."  
"S'not that uncommon," Phil muttered, rubbing at his tired eyes. "We get a few a year."

Slipping a hand beneath her head, Claire asked, "And they send you out to find them?"

"No, just the dangerous ones."

Claire turned to mirror his position, staring at the ceiling. She thought about what hunting down one of your own meant for Phil. She'd seen the way he cared for his people, taking on their training with great care and determination. To know that all that preparation and training had turned into some kind of rebellion against their own teachers must have hit hard. Claire wrapped a hand around Phil's forearm, giving him a little silent comfort as they both drifted off to sleep. There would be more answers in the morning.

**Just one chapter and an epilogue after this. I'm not as happy with this story as I am with the others. I think its because this is more of a transitional story and I'm trying to tie up the loose ends before August takes over. She's ready and rearing to fuck shit up and I want things as organized as possible before she throws it all to hell. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Off we go!**

Breakfast was a tense affair with Clint, Camilla, and Steve still out in the field after the sun rose above the horizon. Phil kept checking his watch and phone, alternating irritably between devices while Claire made everyone a protein laden breakfast. She tried to ignore Phil's anxiety as August, Belinda, and Regina fought over the last few pieces of bacon, Darcy watching on from her perch at the window. Shooing them away from the table, Claire physically redirected Phil to a seat and set a plate down in front of him. She then slid a cup of coffee to him and sat down to eat. The eggs were a little overcooked, but the toast was crisp and even though Belinda had a penchant for slathering butter on everything, Claire was able to commandeer a tablespoon for herself.

"They'll come back," Claire murmured absently, refilling her cup.

Phil glanced sidelong at her, "I know."

"You don't look like you know," she replied, purposefully keeping her tone light. The muscles along his neck were strained with tension and his shoulders hunched over. Clearly, he was worried.

He set his fork down and focused a disapproving look at her, "Are you done?"

"Yes," Claire retorted, primly. She stabbed an egg with her fork, shoving the morsel into her mouth and chewing viciously.

An hour after breakfast, Claire felt the soft tinges of worry she'd been feeling all morning bloom at the back of her skull. She paced the windows, peering down into the street every few minutes as the absence of her team mates stretched on. From the back room, she could hear Phil tapping on the keys of a laptop. He focused his own worry into productive searching through satellite feeds and the information fed for him from Stark Tower.

For their part, the young ones kept to themselves in the living room. The house was quiet in the way an ICU waiting room was quiet. Everyone inside was waiting for a verdict that had the potential to break them. Claire flopped down on the couch next to August. The bag of Cheetos in August's hand tilted over in silent offering. Claire glanced at it and mentally calculated how many chemicals would be inside before deciding it didn't matter and shoving her hand inside. They chomped together unspeaking, while the time dragged.

Quite suddenly, there came a knock at the door. Multiple bodies catapulted from sitting positions, Phil moving quickly through the halls, gun at the ready. He approached, turning the knob slowly with a little bob to his head that gave Claire an unspoken countdown. Flinging the door open, Phil grabbed the body standing outside and jerked them through, shoving them into one of the kitchen chairs and taking aim. Claire backed him up, charging her magic through her tattoos.

The man in the chair was dressed in a light cotton suit and a shirt open to the middle of his chest. His hair was slicked back artfully and there was a strategic amount of stubble dusting his jaw. Claire immediately wanted to throttle him on sheer looks, alone. He laughed indulgently, "I suppose I knew that was coming."

"Who the fuck are you?" Came Darcy's response as she stood in the doorway.

"Excellent question," the man replied. "I'm here to make a deal."

Phil widened his stance and Claire saw his finger curl around the trigger, "Talk."

There was a beat of silence that must have extended far too long because Regina stormed up to him and punching the man hard across the face.

"He said, 'talk', dickweed."

Blood dribbled down to the man's chin. He touched it gingerly and sniffed. "Well, I suppose I saw that coming, too. But, not from you. More from her." A long finger pointed to August, who was crouched on the couch cushions, watching.

Claire palmed a bolt of magic, "I'd get to the point if I were you."

The man's head swiveled, "Ok. I have four members of your team locked up in a pit. If you don't give me what I want, I will kill all of them without mercy. Believe me when I say that torture is the least of their worries in the pit."

Darcy swung out towards him and Claire had to hold her back, lifting her and turning so that her kicking feet didn't interrupt their mercenary guest. She sent a look to Phil, intimating that he needed to take lead and finish this while she controlled the group. Belinda had hold of Regina's arm, a silent reminder to show restraint. August continued to watch from the couch, her spine arched like an animal.

"I'm listening," Phil stated, his voice deceptively calm.

The man sat back in the chair, crossing his legs. "I want the key. You give me the key and you get your people back. Easy."

The nerve endings along Claire's spine tingled as she processed the patterns and threw some conclusions into place. Eyes closing, she settled Darcy down and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"We're not the negotiating type," Phil said, finally.

The man laughed, full bellied, "That's a shame, because getting me the key is the only way you'll get your people back alive."

Phil took a step forward, "And if I put a bullet in your head?"

"I'd rather we sawed his skin off in little pieces," August interrupted, stepping down from the couch. Her eyes blazed in a way Claire had never seen before, unhindered power lurking in their depths.

Claire narrowed her gaze, "You know, the pools of blood might actually enhance the décor."

The muscles around the man's mouth twitched slightly, as if he was thrown a little off balance. His shoulders held tension despite the relaxed posture. Claire wanted to smile. She stepped into the kitchen, reaching underneath Phil's jacket to pull the knife she knew he kept hidden in a sewn in pocket.

"Kill me, kill them. There's a time release mechanism on the lock. If I don't make it back, the pit opens into a ten mile deep chasm."

In a show off disgust, Claire flung the blade down onto the kitchen table, satisfied that it dug deep and stood erect.

"We'll need coordinates for the drop off," she sighed, feigning indifference.

Phil's eyes glared at her, but he held his ground.

"I'm sure you'll find the way," the man said airily. "I'll see you tonight. Shall we say, six-ish?"

"Perfect," Claire gritted, "We hadn't made dinner plans yet."

Phil lowered his gun, "Get out."

In a swish of arrogance, the man left the house, a bounce in his step. Claire had to resist the urge to get in a parting shot. She turned to Phil, who had holstered his gun and was standing with his hands on his hips, thinking.

"I vote we kill this guy," Darcy sneered, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

Regina's fists clenched, "I second that motion."

"Motion passed," Belinda chimed in, "Let's do this."

Claire thought she saw a ghost of a smile before Phil gathered himself to face their tense group of enraged young women. He held up both hands in an attempt to gain some control over the situation. Claire folded her arms and cocked a hip, feeling just as much anger and frustration that someone had just waltzed into their kitchen and demanded ransom. They didn't even know if the man actually had their people or if this was an elaborate ruse.

"Ok," Phil started, "Let's think about this. We don't even have the key in the country, so we're going to have to come at this from a different angle."

Claire cleared her throat, "It's in Camilla's bag."

"What?"

Dropping her arms, Claire shrugged, "It's in Camilla's bag. We thought it might help us locate Evan in a pinch."

Phil looked exasperated, "Really? When was I going to be told about this?"

"I'm sorry," Claire replied, licking her lips as she ran her hands over her ponytail, "We didn't know if we'd even need to use it."

Turning from her, Phil paced a few steps away and back, "What happened to us being on the same page, being a team."

Feeling the guilt rise, Claire could give no answer. She pressed her lips together, watching as Phil threw up his hands and headed for their bedroom. Casting a look to the girls, Claire followed with a sigh. She entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

"You're angry with me," Claire said, leaning against the door.

"You're damn right I'm angry," Phil spat, his expression thunderous. "You've brought a potential weapon with some kind of connection to dark forces right into the fray of the fight. You locked us into a corner because you didn't consult with me."

Her brows dropped, "_Consult_ with you? What are you, my lawyer?"

"No," Phil answered lowly, "I'm supposed to be your partner. And yet, you keep leaving me out of major decisions on this mission."

Clucking her tongue, Claire allowed, "I messed up. I said I'm sorry."

His expression tightened, "An apology isn't going to stop us from walking into a situation where we have no leverage."

"Ok, so I really fucked up," Claire volleyed back. "I can't change the fact that we have the key. I can't change the fact that four of our people are sitting ducks right now, and I can't change the fact that we need to make a decision about how to get them back. Quickly."

Phil ran his hands over his face, looking like he was going to say something before his phone rang. He whipped the device from his pocket and answered it with curt word. A second later his eyes flicked to Claire and he held out the phone to her.

"It's for you," he muttered.

Claire took it from him and held the phone to her ear, "Hello?"

Brent's voice came rapid fire over the line, asking what the hell was going on and why Clint was sending him fucked up text messages while they were supposed to be working. He ranted for about another half a minute before Claire was able to explain the situation and ask that the texts be sent her way. He faltered a bit before she hung up the phone.

"Be careful," he said. "Get back here in one piece, yeah?"

"I'll do my best," Claire replied, disconnecting.

There was a tense silence as they waited for the messages to come in, the phone sitting on the bed between them. Seated next to each other, Claire was able to avoid being directly struck by Phil's disapproving gaze. She leaned her forearms on her knees, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, flinching when the phone buzzed near her thigh. Phil pulled up the pictures and scoffed.

"Figures," he muttered.

The first was a picture of a strip joint, the lights still on despite the rising sun. The next was a series of photos from the bar, Camilla's watchful gaze half shielded by the flash of something in the background. The one picture of Steve was of an expression that was deeply uncomfortable with the woman propositioning him inches away. Claire could practically see Clint's grin from behind the camera. The final picture was of a stairwell that led down into an unforgiving darkness.

Phil scrolled through the photo set a few more times, lips pressed tightly together, before he set the phone down and looked at Claire. He shrugged.

"I guess we'll be following."

Claire's brows hit her hairline, "Seriously? You want to take three underage women into a," she could hardly say the words, "gentleman's club?"

Phil tilted his head to the side with a smile, allowing that she had a point, "I know. But, this is the only lead we have."

"Right," Claire replied, lying back on the bed, "Mr. Ransom Guy wasn't too forthcoming with the details."

Phil paused, "We're walking into a trap."

"Yep," Claire answered, her mouth popping on the final letter.

"Not much we can do about it."

"Nope."

He sighed, "Guess we're going to have to kill some people."

"Oh, definitely," Claire said, lifting to her elbows. "Do you think they're ready to take down an actual enemy combatant?"

Turning, Phil leveled a direct look at her, "They have to be. We need to trust that they will be able to handle themselves. We can't protect them, rescue our team, and protect ourselves at the same time."

"Look at you with the good points today," Claire muttered, dropping back onto the mattress.

Phil joined her, taking hold of her hand, "It's kind of my thing."

"I know," Claire said, squeezing his fingers. "It's a good thing."

"I know," he replied, gently.

They stayed like that for another few minutes before Phil decided that they didn't have another minute to waste. He hauled Claire up and pushed her out the door, calling for the rest of the team. While Phil prepped them, Claire made her way into Camilla's room and dug through her bag. She pulled the key out of the carrying cloth and slipped it into the pocket of her cargoes. In the hall, Claire detoured back to her own room and shoved a hand under the mattress, pulling her dark weapon from its case.

Holding it aloft, Claire stared at the inky black material, interwoven with more glyphs than she could count. The creation of the weapon had been spent in the darkness of her room, with endless amounts of energy and care. For almost a year, she tinkered with the design until its magic flowed like water with an infinite amount of power. If there was any time to put it to any kind of real test, this was it. She might be walking into a trap, but Claire would be damned if she wasn't going to walk into it prepared.

Carefully, Claire wrapped the material around her, watching in satisfaction as it faded into her skin, casting sprinkles of dark blue light over her. With a flourish, Claire drew a glyph and walked through it, further disguising the weapon as it sat on her body. It reacted to her magical core, humming pleasurably, as if it was happy to be back with her. Claire patted her arm amiably, stepping back out into the hall and making her way back to the living room.

It seemed the Phil had completed his debriefing and the team was ready to head out on the continuation of their mission. Darcy's expression was fierce and even though Regina and Belinda looked timid they faced her square when she entered their circle. August was sitting on the couch, appearing to be sulking. Claire raised a brow at her in question and August tossed her long hair, standing.

"I don't like this," she said.

Claire nodded, "None of us do, but we have to get our team back together alive."

August returned her nod, "Can I kill them?"

"Yes," Claire answered indulgently, "You can kill them."

Expression hardening, August said, "Perfect."

It took three hours to find the location of the strip club, the entrance hidden by layers of back alleys and a few false doors. Phil bribed at least three vendors for the entrance keys to the place, using money and a well placed pressure point to guarantee cooperation. Claire could hear the collective inhale and sigh as they entered the place, each one gearing up for a fight. She ran a hand along her arm, feeling her weapon stand at the ready.

Darcy made a show of ogling the dancers and ordering more drinks than they could probably consume and still remain standing. Regina looked mildly uncomfortable and played along while Belinda kept her gaze on the floor. August trailed in last, reaching up to touch Claire's arm in curiosity.

"Knew you'd get there eventually," she said conversationally, taking a large glass with an umbrella in it from Darcy. Her gaze narrowed, "Don't do anything stupid. You have people counting on you."

Claire lifted a brow, feeling the weapon shift uncomfortably in the presence of August's uncontrolled power. She pulled back a little, reaching for a frosted glass while she scanned the area. Beside her Phil was on high alert, his keen eyes taking in vast amounts of detail and cataloguing it. He leaned down, touching the small of her back.

"Staircase, three 'o' clock," he murmured.

Feigning interest in fixing Regina's hair, Claire glanced behind her and caught sight of the stair case from Clint's cell phone pictures. The good was that the entrance was near the back of the room in a darkened corner, the bad was that it was nowhere near the bathroom or any other tables. They couldn't sneak into the basement stealthily and, given the number of scarred and mean looking men about the room, the second option of storming the gates look equally as unappetizing.

"Guess you won't be hunting down those rogues today," Claire said conversationally.

Phil turned his glass in his hands, shifting closer, "I'd rather be in an illegal strip club with you, anyhow."

Claire smiled, "You say the sweetest things."

Darcy, having come to a decision, tossed her hair and noted the faint glances of Claire and Coulson. She shot back the rest of her drink and squealed loudly about a brain freeze. Haphazardly, she skipped back towards the staircase and, with a wink to Claire, gave a controlled fall through the entryway. In the few seconds between the tumble and their group reaction, Claire had to admit that Darcy was one ballsy chick. She congratulated her on the skill and guts it took to just throw herself down the stairs into uncertain danger. And then Claire had to start running to catch up with her.

Before the rest of the security team could get moving into action, the whole of their group was moving down the stairs into the darkness after their comrade. Darcy was waiting for them on the first landing, holding up a Zippo lighter and peering down over the rail. Regina barreled past her, throwing up a blast of magic to light the way. Claire mentally reprimanded her, but knew it wasn't the time or the place to be giving lessons. She tapped down the stairs, Phil at her side and Belinda behind her, keeping her eyes on Darcy's swinging hair. With a flourish of her wrist, Claire blocked the doorway behind them. The spell was as solid as granite and would hold against some serious damage. She flinched when the weapon on her skin reacted, strengthening the spell without her call. There was no time to consider what, exactly, that meant for their oncoming fight.

Regina eased to a stop near an arched opening in the stone walls, pulling Darcy into a crouch while the rest of the group caught up. One by one they dropped down next to each other, peering around the arch into the room. Claire nearly rolled her eyes at the sight, the situation taking a near comical turn. Camilla, Clint, and Steve were chained in a circular cage in the middle of a large room. Evan was nowhere to be found. To one side was a tall bookcase filled near to the brim. To the other was the man who'd requested the ransom. He was standing over what looked like a cauldron and was smiling manically.

Thinking that she would, for once, like to not have to deal with a mad scientist, Claire circled the group and whispered lowly.

"Okay, looks like the guy is alone, so I'll go in first."

"Bullshit you will," Darcy interjected.

Phil touched her arm, "Better he thinks just one has come than all of us." He turned to Claire, "I'll be at your back."

Claire nodded, "I'll go in first and try to talk the guy down. Then, when I give the signal, you guys come in and throw a few blasts to distract him while Belinda gets the doors open to the cage."

Belinda squeaked, "How do I get the locks open?"

Leveling a glare at Belinda, Claire intoned, "Stop doubting yourself. I know you can do it."

Claire moved to stand, but Regina stayed her, "What's the signal."

"Right," Claire replied, "Burrito."

Darcy huffed, "How are you going to work 'burrito' into a sentence?"

"Are we seriously arguing about this?"

Phil cleared his throat, "We're going with burrito because we don't have time to keep discussing the subject. Get out there, Claire."

Nodding, Claire stood and took a deep breath, stepping out into the light of the room.

"Yoohoo," she called, "Anyone home."

With a wave to her captured team, Claire stepped towards their enemy. "I've got what you asked for."

As she neared the cauldron, the weapon bristled, bunching up around her wrists and along her spine in disgust. Claire craned her neck, but couldn't get a clear look at the contents. She smiled, turning her head slightly.

Camilla called out from the cage, "Don't trust the little snot. Glen's a straight up asshole."

Claire froze, "You know this guy?"

"I think 'know' is a bit of a stretch," Camilla replied. "He's the Wentworth's cousin and he fucking _killed them_ to get that stupid key."

Glen laughed, "I don't think you're in any position to be accusing me of anything."

"I'm sorry," Camilla shot back, "I didn't realize stating the truth was accusation."

Claire shook her head to clear it. It didn't matter how Camilla knew their enemy or what he had done to get them all there. What mattered was getting her team out—killing Glen would be the cherry on top. "Okay, let's get back on track, shall we? Where is Evan?"

"The boy?" Glen asked, "He's somewhere safe. Strong blood in him, that one."

Jaw clenching, Claire growled, "This only works with all members of the team."

He shrugged, "Give me what I want and I'll happily hand _all of your team_ over to you." Circling the cauldron, he added, "I'll need to see the key before I can let your friends go."

Camilla scoffed, "She wouldn't bring the damn key here, you idiot. Claire, take this guy out so we can get home."

Claire frowned, giving Camilla a thorough glance. Her eyes were dilated and she was sweating. The same went for Clint and Steve, who barely looked conscious. They'd been poisoned, or drugged, but more likely poisoned. She inwardly gave a long suffering sigh. Outwardly, she lifted a cool brow to Glen.

"What did you give them?"

Glen's smile was wide and toothy, "Just a little cocktail to keep them compliant."

Camilla scoffed from her spot in the cage, jerking irritably at her chains. "Claire, just kill the fucker."

"Your funeral," Glen replied, loftily.

Claire paused, gritting, "Why?"

He threw up his hands, "I'm the only one with the antidote, of course."

"Poison, then," Claire managed, checking her team for signs to indicate which poison he'd used. "You've added another factor to this negotiation."

Glen chuckled, "Merely an insurance plan." He ducked a low hanging tapestry, reaching around it. "I have your little parcel right here."

Eyeing the vial, Claire calculated whether or not she could get to it before he either broke it or used yet another surprise to disarm her. She braced her feet shoulder width apart and held up her hands, palms up.

"Looks like you have the floor," she said with a sweeping gesture.

"It appears I do," Glen replied smugly. They stared at each other for a few seconds, the air hardening between them.

"Jesus Christ," Camilla shouted, "Someone start fighting already." Beside her, Clint grunted. Steve looked thoroughly unconscious, hanging by his wrists.

Taking a step forward, Claire rolled a wrist, intimating that Glen should get a move on with the demands. She was, in fact, stalling for time so that she could try to get a leg up on the sorcerer. Claire was sure that this particular agent of darkness was what she was dealing with. Masters of poisons and ancient artifacts, sorcerers were filled with their own power. That Glen was clean cut when most sorcerers looked like homeless people was beside the point. Clearly, he was putting on a display for them, the oily shop owner persona meant to be a distraction.

Knowing that her team was probably getting antsy, Claire reached into her back pocket and pulled out the key, "Is this what you want?"

Glen's eyes glazed over for a nanosecond before zeroing in on the key with startling intensity. He licked his lips and smiled in a way that made her physically sick.

"Smart woman," he sneered, "I thought you might try to play me for a fool."

"Nope," Camilla interrupted, "Just a sleazy murderer—which is exactly what you are." She tried to pull herself to standing using the manacles, her strength giving out and her body falling back to the floor.

"Camilla," Claire urged, "Not helping."

Glen disregarded Camilla's statements, moving closer, "So, how shall we do this?"

Claire thought for a moment, "I'll set the key down just over there and you'll place the antidote equidistance from it. We will cross the room and pass each other, each picking up our prize. Then, we go on our merry way—all of us."

Glen considered it, "Done. Set the key down."

Claire obeyed, hands shaking. Discreetly, she traced a glyph on the bottom end of it. Then, she stepped over the key and waited patiently.

He set the antidote on the ground and took a confident step forward. Steady and measured, they stepped in tandem toward each other, passing within inches on their way across the room. Claire tried not to wince at the smell of dark magic wafting from him. As a secondary task, she peered into the cauldron, noting the inky black mass rumbling in the bottom. Her weapon shrank away in horror, sizzling on her skin fiercely.

Leaning down, Claire picked up the antidote, moving quickly to shove her hand through the cage and hand it to a woozy Camilla. The contents of the bottle were force fed to Steve and Clint before Camilla took her own draught. Claire wondered how long it would take to clear their heads and get them in the game.

"Burrito," Claire screamed, immediately tossing out a burst of magic to distract Glen. He groaned as the bolt his home, falling to the side. The group rushed in, Belinda at the front heading straight for the locks on the cell. She made quick work of the outer door, but the shackles held her up. Meanwhile, Phil was knocking the ever loving shit out of Glen in an impressive display of skill and strength. Claire watched with her jaw slack for several long seconds until Darcy shoved past her to help Belinda get the locks open.

Regina crouched near her, "Where is Evan?"

Claire shook her head, "No idea." She squinted into the darkness of the hall, "Where is August?"

Regina shrugged, "She was right behind us."

A fierce scream ripped through the air, Glen running across the room towards the cauldron, knocking it on its side. Thinking quickly, Claire grabbed Regina and pulled her back and away from the inky stuff flopping down upon the ground. It sunk into the stone and spread slowly, throwing light like oil. She bit her lip, inching away and waiting for whatever was to come. Glen rose in her periphery, grinning like an idiot.

"I'm so happy all of you…with your power and your blood could come by."

"Shut up, Glen," Camilla wailed, trying to stand.

Belinda held her up by the arms, Darcy working to get an unconscious Steve through the opening in the cage with Clint helping minimally. Before her, Claire watched as the darkness pushed downwards, opening up the room in a great chasm. She glanced to the side, catching the last of a large metal door closing the only entrance. Cursing, Claire threw off her jacket and geared up for the fight. The mixture reached out and flooded around the key, reacting chemically to the object.

A light shone in the middle of the chasm, growing larger by the second and it was with an interminable amount of fear that Claire recognized it for what it was. Glen had found a spell to call and open the Gate, the key acting as the catalyst. It yawned before her, the expanse reaching up and out with power. Dropping low, she crawled around the perimeter, fingers reaching over the perimeter of the oily stuff and grasping the key, pulling it from the floor. The glyph she'd drawn burned her, but she deactivated it quickly. After wiping the key clean with the sleeve of her discarded jacket, she shoved it back into her pocket for safekeeping.

The group backed towards the door in a long line of fighters, burdened by three disoriented members. Claire felt something terrible rise up in her belly, the great fear that had been with her since Astar's attack in the Other. Yet again, she was at risk of losing an entire team in one fell swoop, this time by a sorcerer hell bent on harnessing the power of the Gate. It ate at her stomach until she nearly doubled over in pain. Phil was at her side instantly, but that only seemed to make it worse. She'd dragged him into this, demanding that he play by her rules and work within the framework of her experience.

The weapon gathered in power, reacting to the Gate growing ever larger before her. Claire, silently losing her composure while watching the Gate widen towards her feet, looked to the ceiling as if to ask God for an intervention. What she found was August sitting on top of the bookshelf, smiling. Holding a finger to her lips, August asked for silence. Claire dropped her eyes back to Glen, who hadn't noticed her noticing August. He was standing near the upturned cauldron, reciting something from the book of spells in his hands. She recognized the acrid smell of dark magic as it swirled around the rim of the Gate, taking a turn about the room. It reached out to her, hissing backwards when the weapon threw out a warning blast. Sensing an advantage, Claire allowed her magical core to merge with the weapon and draw it out of its hidden space.

Expanding from her skin, the weapon swished outwards in a cape of magic. She felt Phil tense nearby, but her focus was on the Gate and getting it closed as soon as possible. In her periphery, she caught August hopping down from the bookcase and sliding along the back wall. Not knowing what August was planning, Claire moved forward towards the rim of the Gate.

"Call it back," she shouted, the human part of her unable to simply kill Glen, no matter how much of a sleaze ball he turned out to be. He was slick and oily, but certainly wasn't the mastermind behind the capturing of the Gate magic and utilizing the released inmates of the prison for ritualistic sacrifices. Someone else with a lot more knowledge than a second rate sorcerer had to have walked him through the process—someone ancient and dangerous.

Glen smiled at her and continued to recite the spell. The Gate flared in response, sending a shock of heat towards her. Claire flinched, the skin of her cheek searing painfully. Angry, she hurled a blast to him, knocking him off his feet. She threw another and another, sending him to the wall several times until his skull cracked against the rock, blood and pulp dropping to the floor in a wet splat. When he lay on the ground, unmoving, Claire tried to repress a smile.

August's petite body popped up from a hole in the floor she hadn't seen, her body hoisted upwards. She reached down and grabbed a hand, pulling Evan from the ground and closing the trap door behind her. Sighing, she dusted her hands and looked across the Gate, which had by then encompassed the entire length of the room.

"Guy knew what he was doing," she said, her lip curling as his still bleeding body. She hefted the book in the air, "Black magic. Looks like it was bound in human skin."

Camilla, who had been holding Clint upright, growled, "Groovy. Let's close the damn thing and be done with it."

Claire shook her head, knowing that it was far too late. She had never seen the Gate this big, but had researched its origins for many years. The larger the fiery pit, the stronger the magic that bound it to the earth. They would need more than just a glyph or a spell to close it now, something equally as dark and as powerful.

Cursing, Claire tried to edge around it, flailing back when the Gate shoved at her, trying to throw her off balance. It was a living, breathing thing, seeking out more power with which to glut itself. August held out a hand, her eyes widening.

"It's too big," she said. "I'm not going to be able to close it on my own."

The weapon tingled along her skin, shooting out sparks and drawing around her over and over until she felt that her body would fly apart. Claire waved her team as far back as she could, stepping away and staring into the pit. The weapon was made of dark magic, held together by the deepest fears in her mind, her most primal impulses. Already it was responding to the darkness in the Gate, to the beings waiting just beyond the door. She dropped to a crouch, chewing on her lips as she considered the options.

Phil, sensing that time was slipping away, shouted, "We can get the door open, we can get out and come back."

Shaking her head, Claire replied, "It will have swallowed the building by then. Who knows what will escape."

Glancing up, Claire stared at August, debating silently with her over the vast chasm between them. Her expression was hard and more than a little bit afraid. Through her curtain of hair, August was watching her make a decision, watching Claire's fate unfold. Her expression was unsettled, as if she could read the choice Claire had already made and was preparing to react.

Standing, Claire breathed deep. She couldn't look at Phil, couldn't look at Camilla. August was the only face she could rely on, the only one who wouldn't break her resolve. They were kindred, knew what it was to sacrifice. She understood and would let her do what was right.

Flinging out the perimeter of the weapon, Claire gritted her teeth and balanced on her toes. Eyes on August, Claire took the first running step. Jaw dropping, August caught the rhythm of her motion and snarled.

The heat of the Gate burned her skin and the weapon wrapped around her in a blinding cocoon of power. She could hear shouts, screams, yells, and panic from behind and a chanting from in front of her. Below, the Gate groaned as if meeting an old friend. Filling and expanding, the weapon continued to cling to her, stretching out to cover the Gate. It pulsed and sizzled, dropping down with gravity until Claire was enveloped. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, could now only vaguely hear August chanting in the dark.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted and Claire recognized the vague structure of the Other, except this time there was no eerie stillness. The Other moved with surprising voracity. It squeezed her body, choking the breath from her. Crawling along the stone pathway, Claire rolled to sit against the wall, looking up. The Gate opening swirled with magic, the faces of her team scrambling around the perimeter, disfigured by the bend of the horizon.

Claire stood, eyes flickering around her. She tried to draw a glyph, but her power was draining quickly. The Other was soaking her in, drawing her core out of her with every passing second. With a sick sense of recognition, Claire understood that the Other was feeding on the power of a Guardian. Muscles clenching, Claire called the weapon. In her weakened state, the darkness called her, drawing every negative thought and action from her memory. The feeling was painful, but Claire needed to get out of the Other and back into the physical plane before it took the very life from her.

The weapon strengthened, rising up from around her shoulders. With strength that she didn't know it possess, Claire was lifted upwards. The air thinned and Claire grew dizzy, her body rising limply. As she moved more and more away from the Other, Claire groggily understood that it wasn't the Other trying to take her power, but the weapon she had created. It was growing stronger by steadily feeding from her, a parasite. She struggled in vain, twisting as the edges of her vision darkened. Soon, the Other melted away and all she could see was the swirling, foggy, mass of deep gray sky. With one last burst of energy, Claire pushed the weapon forcefully from her shoulders, letting the strange gravity of the Other take over. The opening of the Gate was covered by the black expanse of the weapon, her last sight that of Phil reaching down as if to grasp the hand that she hadn't realized was outstretched.

**Okay guys, I know this was kind of a cliffhanger, but there is an epilogue coming soon. **


	13. Chapter 13

**And here we have the final chapter of Queen Takes Rook. Short, yes, but we finally get to see things from August's perspective. **

August was angry. No. August was pissed the _fuck _off at the one person she thought she could harbor no more anger for. Claire had been a complete and utter dumbass and tried to close the Gate using the darkness inside her. Valiant. Noble, even. But misguided. Darkness would feed on darkness, would foster only painful things. August had learned that in prison, had grown to understand that things that drove normal people to insanity while still in her formative years. She hated Claire for that. Hated that, when August needed her the most, Claire had been noble. Instead of stealing her away in the dead of night, Claire had allowed August to go to trial, thinking the Council would be lenient on one of their own.

And now, Claire had gone and tried to be noble again, nearly costing the oldest Guardian her life. August leaned over Claire's body on the spot where the Gate had closed, her nose wrinkled in disgust. She had shoved Camilla away, had sent Phil to the floor with a shock that had knocked him nearly unconscious. Easing down, August lay on her belly, her ear over Claire's heart. It had stopped, a hollow emptiness in her chest. Sighing, August touched her cool face, noting the complete drain of magic—not uncommon given the level of spell work Claire needed to perform in order to seal off the doorway between worlds. Claire's weapon had been turned on her, coerced by the darkness of the Gate and the promise of power.

Somehow, Claire had been able to create a new kind of magical being, though Claire was too stupid to see it. The weapon was a thing of beauty and reflection of Claire's darkest soul. It was a living thing, soaking in the surrounding magic and gorging itself on power. August had thought it beautiful when she'd first seen it. Now, with it contained in a blob of pure white power, August thought it incredibly dangerous. Yes, it had managed to close the Gate, but only because it had swallowed the doorways to the different planes entirely. The membranes of the Other had sewn together and brought several planes of existence into one. August could only imagine the kind of chaos going on in the different realms. Entire civilizations were being created and destroyed simultaneously within that tiny space.

She smiled and lifted to her knees, staring down one of the more powerful Guardians in history, save for herself, of course. Though, if she were being honest with herself, August could not technically call herself a Guardian as she had never taken the marks. No idiot magician was going to push a needle full of poison into her skin. No agent of magic would ever control her power. The Council had tried to keep her down, had tried to discipline her into a meek follower of their dogma. August knew better. Claire, despite her own internal struggles, had potential. If it weren't for those tattoos on her arms, Claire could be as powerful as August someday. Pity that she'd been indoctrinated into the Council's way of dealing with magical bloodlines so strong that they could traverse dimensions.

August felt her own magic rise, called by the comprehension that she would need to work fast. It rumbled beneath her skin, reacting to her emotion with tilts and turns, itching to be freed. She let it out, a neon pink filter of light dancing along her skin. Pooling it in her palm, August decided to attempt the one thing forbidden to Guardians across time and space. She would beget life to the dead.

"You owe me one," August murmured as she dropped the magic onto Claire's chest.

Convulsing on the floor, Claire's body rocked from side to side. August observed her work and nodded, knowing the job was done. She stood and headed for the outer edge of the room, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. It would take a minute, but they didn't have all day. There was an army gathering upstairs and August felt prime to eviscerate them. Having been so close to the Gate's power and with the dense glob of Claire's weapon sitting innocently beside the Norse key, the adrenaline ran high.

Still fuzzy from the drug, Steve approached her, one eye on Claire.

"You okay?"

He really was a boy scout. If he didn't have a girlfriend, August might have enjoyed corrupting him a little. The man had a seriously beautiful physique, like a Greek statue she'd seen in a book. It was a shame he was off limits. August didn't live by many rules, but she didn't take what wasn't hers to take. He was clearly very attached to his waitress lady and August had seen enough homes destroyed by straying men (usually drunk on moonshine or whiskey) to know that he was out of bounds.

"I'm fine. Shouldn't you be more worried about Claire?" She wiped at her nose, blood oozing out with the exertion of performing the forbidden spell.

Steve watched Phil haul Claire, who was now conscious, into a tight embrace. "I think Agent Coulson has it covered."

"Yeah," August drawled, "Phil's… positively gleeful."

And he was. Agent Coulson was crying with relief, cheeks still stained with the tears he'd shed in fear of losing what he held most dear. August wished she could understand that kind of attachment, wished she had something that meant as much to her. And then she changed her mind. Loving something that much only left room for error, for loss. It was a very large target on the back of a weakling. She couldn't have that.

Steve shuffled his feet, "That was a very brave thing you did, going in after her."

August raised a brow, "Bravery. Stupidity. Whatever."

He sighed and August could taste the lecture coming. Bravery was something to be honored—blah, blah, blah. If he wasn't so damn attractive, she'd hog tie him and kick his fine ass. Show him what bravery got people in the real world. Death. Instead, she settled for giving him a look that dared him to continue. Steve held up his hands, but she saw not a lick of defeat in them.

A few feet away, Camilla was rousing Clint, who had slept through the whole thing in a hazy, drugged state. His head lolled to the side. "Did somebody say burrito?"

**The End. (For now).  
**


End file.
