April 14th, 2012
New York, New York—SHIELD HQ

"Good morning, Agent Scott."

Quinn smiled at the receptionist—the third new one in as many months—as she slipped her sunglasses from her face and pushed them back into her hair. It was getting almost unreasonably long, the ends curling around her biceps. "Morning, Trish. Anything exciting happening today?"

Trish adjusted her glasses and gave Quinn a small grin. "Agent Coulson told me to send you into his office as soon as you arrived. He had a smile on his face as bright as the sun, so I would guess something good is happening today. And he left this for you," she said, passing Quinn a thin black folder.

Butterflies of anticipation fluttered to life in Quinn's gut. A black folder meant one thing: the Avengers Initiative. "Thanks," she said, trying not to sound as excited as she felt. She took the folder and headed down the hall, deeper into the New York headquarters of SHIELD.

There hadn't been a serious development in any of the cases flagged for the Avengers Initiative in almost a year—the case in New Mexico had been the last where something had actually happened, and that thing had put Quinn in the hospital for a long time. And with Quinn having been on light duty since returning to work in March, she was starving for something exciting to happen. Agent Phil Coulson had done his best to keep his protégé from getting too bored, but there was only so much that could be done in the confines of an office, even if one worked for SHIELD. And tracking listings for old Captain America collectibles, specifically comics and trading cards, only filled so much of the dead time.

But the black folder Trish had handed Quinn… Something told Quinn that things were about to get very exciting.

She waited until she was in the elevator and headed for the twenty-fifth floor, her backpack propped up on the handrail running around the outside of the car to take some of the weight off her back and her bad leg, before she flipped open the slim folder. Something told her she wanted to be alone when she opened that folder.

Captain America's shield, covered in ice, was there to greet her.

The butterflies turned into an all-out twister; excitement buzzed along her nerves.

She flipped the photograph over. Her tawny eyes scanned the typed words on the next page, but she knew somehow what she would find.

They'd discovered the body of Steve Rogers.

Captain America had finally been found.

And he was alive.

She flipped that page and was greeted by another full-colour photo, this one of the infamous Captain himself, the blue, white, and red of his uniform resplendent even under the layers of ice covering him. Quinn knew she was smiling from ear-to-ear.

He was alive.

Something in his super soldier serum must have managed to keep him in some sort of hibernation… The full report would have the SHIELD scientist's hypotheses and equations she couldn't really understand—it didn't really matter why or how he was alive. All that mattered was that he was alive.

The elevator stopped and she stepped out into the hall. If she hadn't needed to wear a leg brace, she would have run to Coulson's office. As it was, she walked as fast she could, her limp more pronounced as she hurried. A brief pulse of pain forced her to slow down again. She made a small noise of frustration, but walked the rest of the way, obeying her body's warning signs.

Coulson's office door was closed, but she didn't bother knocking. Quinn strode right in and dropped the file on the surface of his desk, the pages slipping out and fanning across the black surface, the shield front and centre.

"No fucking way!" she exclaimed, no longer able to keep her exuberance contained.

"Watch your language." When Quinn raised an eyebrow at him, Coulson's face lit up in a grin of his own, deviousness in his eye. "But it's true." He grabbed the side of his monitor and turned it around so Quinn could see it. "They set up a live feed so we could watch the excavation of the craft he was found in."

Quinn sank into the chair she'd come to think of as hers—the one directly across from Coulson—dropping her backpack on the floor with a thud; she normally carried her things in a messenger bag, but the doctor insisted she use a backpack until she was healed—balance or some other crap like that. She crossed her arms on the desk and put her chin on them as she watched the slightly grainy footage.

It was dark, a small area illuminated only by the bright spotlights SHIELD's scientists and workmen had brought in. Part of the craft—it looked like a very big, very oddly shaped plane of some kind—was sticking out of the ground. The team had removed a few sections of panelling from the outside of it, revealing a snow-covered metal interior that reminded Quinn of a dream she'd repeatedly had after her accident. She'd chalked it up to medication and pain, but…

Freaky, she thought.

Just outside the craft, the frozen body of Steve Rogers lay on a stretcher, belted in with his shield secured below him. There were chunks of ice sticking to his body, and his skin looked a little blueish, but he had been mostly freed from the ice. Quinn had a bizarre urge to reach out and touch the screen, but she withheld it. From the look on Coulson's face though, they might have been thinking the same thing.

It was Coulson who had turned Quinn on to the collectibles surrounding Captain America, building on her desire to learn about him in a historical context, thanks to the journals her great-grandfather, Colonel Chester Phillips, had left behind. Coulson collected Captain America trading cards and Quinn was focused on the comics about his adventures. She also had a couple other assorted things—digitized versions of his films included—but the comics were her favourite. But their admiration for Captain America had been one of the things responsible for giving Quinn and Coulson their close relationship and now that SHIELD had managed to locate the man himself…

Quinn drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she smiled again.

Exciting things were certainly in store.

"How come you're not up there, Boss?" Quinn asked suddenly. She knew there was no other place Coulson would rather have been. There was no place she would have rather been.

"You heard about the Level 8 mission in the Arctic from Natasha and Clint, I assume?" he asked, his eyes not moving from the screen; Quinn's weren't either.

"Yeah—science personnel only."

"There's your answer."

Her eyes did dart form the screen then. "What? Fury wouldn't even let you go to oversee? He knows how much this would—you stayed because of me, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

Coulson met her gaze, a small grimace on his lips. "It's not recommended you fly anywhere if it'll take longer than a couple hours—"

"Hell, Coulson, you should have been there so you could tell me what it was like."

"I'm sorry, kid." His eyes darted back to the screen and then back, brightening as they found her again. "I do have some good news for you, though."

"Better than finding Captain America?"

Coulson smiled. "Connected to finding Captain America."

Those butterflies were back. Quinn pushed herself upright. "What is it?"

"I got you assigned to him." Quinn's eyes widened in confusion, but before she could ask what he meant, Coulson elaborated. "They're sending him here to defrost, and someone needs to keep an eye on him and the equipment. Fury wants to move him to a room set up to look like the 40s for when he wakes up—something about lessening the shock."

"I've been assigned to Captain America?" Quinn asked, her voice betraying the shock and confusion she was still feeling.

"You're also in charge of getting the room ready, but that shouldn't be too hard…"

Coulson might have continued speaking, but Quinn's mind had kicked into overdrive and, with her thoughts turning and her eyes on the video feed from the arctic, she didn't hear a word.

Coulson had got her assigned to Captain America and Directory Fury had approved it… After New Mexico, Quinn had been afraid the director would keep her on the edge of the Avengers Initiative, but this… A smile spread across Quinn's face, the expression bringing an end to whatever Coulson was saying. His eyes lit up.

"Thanks Boss," Quinn said. "Thank you."

He reached across the desk to squeeze her arm. "No problem, kid."

Without another word between them, they turned their attention back to the computer screen and watched the discovery of the century in action.

April 15th, 2012
New York City, New York—SHIELD HQ

"Quinn, you need to take a break."

She flapped her hand in an attempt to get Mike Vaughn, her physical therapist, to back off. He'd been bugging her to take a break for the last thirty minutes, but there was too much to get done. "I will in a bit, Mike, but this room is not going to build itself and they're bringing Captain America here tomorrow."

"I understand that, but you are limping worse than I've seen you since Mr. Stark gave you that brace. Do you want to risk undoing all the progress you've made?"

Quinn huffed loudly and turned to face Mike, coming to a stop for the first time in about three hours. Pain immediately shot through her leg and lower back and she fought to hide her wince. After months of intense physical therapy sessions together though, Mike saw it. He raised his eyebrows. Quinn sighed, her shoulders dropping, and limped to a chair in the corner of the room—the one she'd be sitting in while observing the Captain.

"Happy?" she asked, dropping her tablet into her lap and crossing her arms.

Mike handed her a bottle of water and perched on the arm of the chair. "Relatively so, yes. I'd be happier if you delegated this to someone else and took an actual break, but I know better than to argue."

"About work, yes, you do."

"Quinn—"

"Relax, Mike," she said, draining half the bottle of water in a few large swallows. "And tell me how things have been with you? It's been almost three weeks since I saw you."

The big man sighed and crossed his tattoo-covered arms loosely. Since Quinn had returned to work with the brace Tony Stark had designed for her, Mike had been coming to check on her and to run sessions less and less—as was the nature of his job—but Quinn had found she missed her physical therapist. The idle chatting he'd kept up during their sessions to keep her distracted from her pain meant they'd gotten to know each other pretty well.

"Sydney's finally settled on a venue and colours for the wedding," he said. The tone of his voice told Quinn he would much rather be lecturing her about the importance of pacing herself.

"Did she go with purple and silver?" Quinn asked. "Hey, Smythe, we can't have that alarm clock in here," she said with a wave at one of the agents placing the final props in the room.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yes, though she went with a darker purple than she originally talked about. Apparently, anyway. I can't really tell the difference between the two shades, but I told her to do whatever would make her happy and I'll be sure to show up."

"Having met Sydney, I can confirm that was a wise choice." Quinn emptied the bottle of water. Mike's fiancée was a beautiful and determined woman, who never settled and rarely compromised on what was important. Quinn didn't have much experience with relationships, but she was pretty sure Mike and Sydney were a perfect match. "I'm sure it'll be a beautiful wedding. She's got impeccable taste."

"Indeed she does." Mike smiled. "How's the Star Trek rewatch going?"

"Great—Hey! Why can I see the wall around the picture of New York?" Quinn yelled, pushing herself out of the chair and marching out of the room. "Move it closer! He'll pick out any mistake. Fury wants this perfect so he has time to adjust—"

"Quinn."

She jumped when Mike appeared at her shoulder. "Fucking hell—you scared me."

"You have got to sit down for more than two minutes."

"Someone has to keep an eye on these—"

"Tell me what to do and who to yell at and I'll make sure it gets done," Mike said, resigned.

"Uh… thanks."

Quinn limped back to her chair and dropped heavily into it. As much as she wanted to keep working and as much as she was loathe to admit it, she was in a lot of pain and Mike was right. She should sit down. For as long as possible. She would follow Mike's instructions for as long as he was there to reinforce them, but as soon as he went home, she would be back on her feet, making sure every detail of the room was perfect.

She didn't want to mess up her chance to impress Fury, and to prove to him that she could handle whatever he gave her, regardless of how unlike anything she'd done before it was.

"Agent Scott?" a very young-looking agent asked, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

"Yeah?"

"Did we want the baseball game playing on the radio when he wakes up or not?"

"Did you find one from 1945?" The agent nodded, but Quinn didn't trust the overeager glint in her eye. "Are you sure it's from 1945?"

"It was in the database as a World Series game from 1945."

"Double check the teams playing before you put it in place, but if it is actually from 1945, then I want it playing." The agent nodded and scurried away.

Mike shook his head. "You're restless. You get mean when you're restless."

Quinn looked up at him. "This is important. It has to be perfect."

Mike rolled his eyes, but when Quinn gave him instructions, he followed them. As long as she stayed seated.

Despite how much she tried to talk herself into staying in her office, Quinn was back down in the 1940s room at the end of the day, double and triple checking everything. Her leg hadn't stopped throbbing all day, despite Mike all but strapping her into the chair, and her head had joined in the pain, thumping in time with her heartbeat. She was tired and hungry and wanted to go home, but more than that… More than all of that, the room had to be perfect.

It was late when she finally made it home, but even then, she couldn't sleep. Quinn lay in bed and stared at the wall opposite where her favourite Captain America comics were framed and hanging. On a shelf below them, sat the other comics, a couple action figures, and the shield replica Coulson had given her for Christmas one year. Her mind reeled through what she would be doing tomorrow. The butterflies she'd felt when first taking that black folder from Trish's hands were back, swarming in her gut.

Eventually, after she forced her eyes to close and stay closed, Quinn did fall asleep. But then she dreamt.

She was back inside the metal hall, snow blowing around her on an icy wind, but now the metal hall looked like the plane they'd found Captain America in, and the feeling that had plagued her before—the desire to find something—was gone. Replaced by the desire to reach Captain America; she could see him standing at the other side of the plane, dressed in his red, white, and blue uniform, his shield shining on his arm. His eyes locked onto hers across the distance and she was riveted to the spot.

But she needed to get to him.

Quinn pushed herself through the snow, her head tilted against the wind, her hair blowing around her in dark brown tangles. Her muscles began to ache, her eyes were watering, her nose running. A few steps away from Captain America, the ice beneath her cracked, the sound like a gunshot.

A great chunk of ice lifted up, blocking Captain America from her line of sight, and sending Quinn tumbling backward to land in the cold water lapping beneath her.

She woke up on the floor, her blankets tangled around her legs, her body covered with sweat and her breathing laboured.

After getting her bearings again, Quinn huffed and lay back on the floor, arms spread to either side, eyes on the orange night out her window.

April 16th, 2012
New York City, New York—SHIELD HQ

"I don't understand why I can't tell Peggy," Quinn said, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she supressed a yawn.

Coulson looked down at her. They were standing on the helipad on top of the building, waiting for the helicopter carrying the body of Captain America to land; at last report, it was ten minutes out. "You do understand," he said. "If something goes wrong and he doesn't wake up, or—"

Quinn raised her hand, cutting her boss off. "Of course I get it, Boss. I just… It feels wrong, not telling her. If anyone should know about this, it's Peggy Carter." The wind picked up and Quinn pushed the hair back from her face. "I was thinking about it all yesterday, as I was getting the room set up—which, by the way, was more difficult than it should be have been, thanks to that useless intern who kept questioning my research." Quinn huffed as Coulson chuckled. "I was never that bad," she stated, guessing the nature of Coulson's amusement.

"You were pretty bad. Questions about everything. Always thought you knew best."

"I did not."

Coulson bumped his arm against Quinn's. "Relax, kid. You got the room done, Captain America is on his way here, and soon, we'll have our idol here in the flesh…" His eyes took on the maniacal gleam they sometimes did when Steve Rogers came up in conversation, and Quinn shook her head. "I'll be cool."

"Sure you will, Boss."

"I will." He nudged Quinn again. "And you can tell Peggy when we're sure everything is okay, and when the Captain wants to. It should be up to him, I think."

"You're right."

"Did you get enough sleep last night?" he asked when Quinn fought and lost to another yawn.

She shrugged. "I was here late, then had a weird dream. Fell out of bed. Couldn't get back to sleep. I've got lots of coffee in me though—I'll be fine."

Coulson narrowed his eyes. "How's your leg?"

"Did Mike talk to you?" she asked, tense. Coulson shook his head, confusion in his eyes. She huffed. "My leg is fine."

"Whatever you say…"

Quinn didn't think she'd heard the last of it, but she averted her gaze from Agent Coulson and focused on the sky above.

They stood in silence for a moment or two before the air filled with the noise of the approaching helicopter. Quinn bounced a few times on the balls of her feet, her tablet clutched tightly in her hands. Coulson was smiling, his arms crossed over his chest as his suit jacket flapped madly in the downdraft. Quinn gathered her hair in one hand and held it as much in place as she could; strands still whipped around, no doubt tangling themselves into an impressive knot. But then, the helicopter landed and the rotors stopped turning, allowing Quinn and Coulson to approach the bird and help the doctors on board unload Steve Rogers.

Only when they were in the elevator and headed down to the proper floor did Quinn allow herself to indulge in looking at the Captain. He was strapped tightly to the stretcher, his arms at his sides; one of the doctors had given the shield to Coulson to hold, and the older SHIELD agent was staring at it in his hands like it held all the secrets of the universe. Quinn looked at Captain Rogers much the same way, though she did her best to school her expression. He looked bigger than she'd expected, even lying there peacefully. She might have thought he was just asleep, except that his skin still held the faintest tinge of blue, and any movement to his chest or eyes was so minimal, Quinn couldn't see it.

She stood back as the doctors got Steve set up in the medical observation room he'd be in while he finished defrosting. They hooked monitors up to him and set up heat lamps to bathe him in light and heat. He was covered in a warming blanket that would have to be changed every half hour. The doctors would have given him an IV with warm saline solution, but they weren't sure how that would react; the SSR files on Captain America were woefully incomplete by modern standards.

"You don't look nearly as excited as I thought you would," Coulson said, coming to stand in front of her and effectively cutting off her view of the room.

"I was just thinking it might be easier to tell Captain Rogers the truth. He might not take too kindly to the whole 1940s façade," she said, gesturing toward the room where he'd be moved when he was normal temperature again.

"You may be right, but this is what the Director wants."

"I know."

Quinn stepped around Coulson when the doctors signalled for her and moved to join them so they could give her the rundown on what to watch for. There would be an actual doctor stopping by at least once an hour, but with the high-profile nature of the patient—and, Quinn suspected, since she wasn't doing anything else important—Fury wanted someone in the room at all times. If Steve Rogers awoke earlier or later than expected, it would be good to have a pair of eyes there to see it. Or, if something went wrong.

Eventually, the doctors left to check on their other patients, and Quinn and Coulson were left, standing on either side of the hospital bed, staring down at Captain America. And then, when it became clear neither of them was going to say anything more, Coulson left and Quinn was alone, wondering what the frozen hero would be like when he woke up.