Summary: What if Captain Marvel wasn't the only secret Nick Fury had kept from the world? In 2001, Nick Fury encounters a girl with an extraordinary power to see the future. Now the threat of Thanos looms closer, maybe Rachel James is the only one with the power to stop it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything, apart from my OC, belongs to Marvel.

Author's Note: Welcome and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One

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2001

Columbus, Ohio

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In their home in Ohio, Susan James sat worriedly on the couch in their sitting room, cradling a cup of steaming hot coffee. In front of her, her husband Gregory James paced before the fireplace—every five minutes, his pacing would pause, he would approach the window and peer through the drawn curtains. The clock above the mantelpiece read midnight.

It was a dark, wintery night—the remains of the recent snowfall still lingered on the grounds, roofs and treetops across the city—and the sleeping street was silent bar the occasional sound of a distant car or train that passed through.

"Whoever it is, I don't think they're coming," Susan murmured, finally breaking the silence that had surrounded them for the past thirty minutes, as she watched her husband resume his regimental pacing in front of the fireplace.

Dark circles painted under her eyes, and sickly pale hues to her skin, were from the many restless nights they had endured over the years. Despite only being in her mid-thirties, Susan looked years older than her true age; the first grey appeared unnoticed by Susan, on her thirty-first birthday—a whole year after their daughter's birth—but as her daughter grew, the grey hairs continued to appear, along with new wrinkles and worry lines, still unnoticed by Susan. The wear that the past years had taken an evident toll to Susan James, worries voiced to her by her sister and brother—but those worries went ignored. Her siblings didn't know the whole truth—how could they possibly understand the turmoil that had engulfed the past six years of their life.

"They're coming." Gregory James responded, tone firm and short. Much like his wife, time had equally not been as kind to him. His once thick head of brown hair, had thinned and greyed on the top of his head, and the once fit-physique had now whittled away over time. "Malcolm said they could help, and that they'd know what to do."

Susan dropped her head, trying not to let her frustrations get ahead of her. After years of arguments and lashes of pent up emotions, Susan knew this wasn't the right time to pick a fight. "So who… or what are they?" Susan didn't fully understand the visitors they were currently expecting; her husband had only explained one evening, after hurrying home from work, to express the excitement that he had found someone who might be able to help—and at the time, that was all Susan wanted to hear.

Gregory paused his pacing, tugging a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous or stressed habit that he had adopted more over the past few years. "Malcolm said… they are some kind of federation—I don't exactly know what to call them. Like the FBI, but not. Malcolm… Malcolm he said they deal with this kind of thing a lot and that they would know what to do. He worked for them for six years and still has ways to get in touch with the right people."

Susan swallowed and nodded slowly. "But what if they see her and... they take her away from us?" staring up at her husband, her green eyes wide in fear.

Gregory opened his mouth but words failed him. "T-they can't…"—Gregory let out a huff of aggravation—"Susan… they are our last hope."—Gregory was interrupted by the tapping of two knocks on the front door. Gregory and Susan both froze in their spot. Susan's grip on her mug of coffee visibly tightened—"They're here." Gregory breathed to himself, aloud. "They're here." Gregory repeated, louder this time, unfreezing his spot and headed to their front door.

Susan slowly stood from the couch, placing the mug on the coffee table, and nervously straightened her creased shirt.

Gregory glanced back at Susan once, both of their faces pale with worry, before he opened the door. Two men stood on the other side. The first man, was medium height—perhaps similar height and age to Gregory, with a somewhat-kind face; the second man was tall, dark-skinned—but the most interesting and noticeable feature was the black eye-patch covering his left eye.

"Mr. James?" the smaller of the two men asked. Gregory nodded. "My name is Agent Phil Coulson, and this is my boss, Nick Fury. I believe you were expecting us."

Gregory pulled the door and stepped to the side. "Yes, yes, please come in." he hastily gestured for the two men to step inside.

"You have a lovely home." The agent spoke, as they stepped inside, casting his eyes around the room, before landing on Susan who looked unsure how to stand or move. "You must be Mrs. James?" the woman nodded. "I apologize for the lateness of our call-in. We figured that we ought to keep this visit low key."

"That's quite alright." Susan spoke, nervously, eyes casting back and forth between the two suit-donned men and her husband. "May I get you anything to drink—tea? Coffee?"

"A coffee would be lovely, thank you." Agent Coulson responded.

Nick Fury—whom had been stiffly moving his singular eye around the room—finally turned his attention to the woman. "Nothing for me, thank you." he responded, his tone cool and unwavered.

Susan quietly shuffled into the kitchen, with one last fleeting glance in her husband's direction before she disappeared. As the sound of a kettle and clatter of mugs echoed from the kitchen, Gregory gestured for the two men to sit. Agent Coulson placed himself on one of the armchairs, whilst Fury remained standing.

"We are so pleased you came," Gregory placed himself awkwardly on the edge of the couch. "We had no idea who to turn to. Our daughter . . ." Gregory trailed off, shutting his eyes and rubbed a hand across his stubbled cheek. "We hired a private investigator—just a contact through a contact. Said he used to work for... yourselves. He said you work with situations like this—said you'd be able to help." His gaze flashed between the two men, a look of desperate hope in his eyes.

By this point, Susan had returned to the room and was placing a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of Agent Coulson.

Agent Coulson smiled and quietly thanked the woman, who returned to sit at her husband's side at the couch. "Why don't you start by telling us about your daughter?" Gregory and Susan shared a look of hesitation. "What is her name? How old is she?" Agent Coulson prompted.

"Her name is Rachel Lily James." Gregory responded. "She's only six." His hand grasped his wife's silently as she let out a distinctive sniff. "Born June 12th 1995. That's her." Agent Coulson turned in his armchair to see Nick Fury—during their conversation—had been inspecting the large array of photographs on the mantelpiece, and was now holding a framed picture of a young girl. The said young girl had a head of brown curls, large expressive green eyes—undoubtedly inherited from her mother. In her photograph, she was smiling at the camera, her two front teeth missing. To anyone, the young girl appeared a picture of health.

"She's a beautiful child." Agent Coulson commented.

Susan smiled through her tears. "Thank you. My older sister often says she's pageant-material. Not that she would want to go through with them, even if she wanted to—she always preferred playing outside, getting filthy, than wearing pretty dresses and playing with dolls." Susan rattled, the pride she has for her daughter evidently running across her face.

Gregory nodded through his own wet smile. "We're outdoors people - hiking, fishing, camping trips, you name it. Rachel loves it. She is the perfect daughter for us." The hold on the couple tightened, each other keeping the other from falling apart from where they sat.

"But she's different from other children?" Nick Fury finally spoke for the first time. The couple nervously nodded. "How so?"

Gregory inhaled and exhaled loudly. "From as long as we can remember, she has suffered with night terrors—ones that would have her waking up screaming every night." Gregory shook his head. "We've had to move so many times because the neighbors used to complain about the noise. Some would call the cops on us—thought we were abusing our own child, which is sick." Gregory spat with venom. "We tried going to doctors—they prescribed her medicines to help her sleep."

"And did they work?" Agent Coulson asked.

Gregory sighed. "Sometimes, if they were strong enough. But they would affect how she was throughout the day. She could barely stay awake, she wasn't herself anymore. We couldn't take her to school without the teacher calling up to say she had fallen asleep in class and they couldn't wake her up."

"She wasn't a person anymore. She was just existing." Susan sniffed. "She wouldn't laugh or smile. She would wake up, eat and then go to sleep again."

"And these night-terrors—what were they of?" said Coulson.

Gregory and Susan exchanged another look of apprehension.

"We won't be able to help you if you are not completely honest with us, Mr and Mrs James." Fury commented firmly.

Gregory nodded, shaking his head to himself. "Yes, of course. Rachel… sees things. When she sleeps, she gets… visions."

"Visions? Can you elaborate on that, Mr James?" Coulson responded.

"Gregory, please." Gregory waved a hand at the agent. "And, well, it's hard to explain." Gregory tugged at his hair frustratingly. "We dismissed them at first, thinking they were just coincidences, but then . . ."

Susan squeezed her husband's knee in comfort. "The visions we have come to believe are visions of the future."

Coulson and Fury shared a fleeting glance. "The future?" Fury repeated, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Yes," Susan breathed. "It sounds crazy—believe us, we know." Susan chuckled dryly and little humour. "First, it was little things—how she would recount how we did the exact same things we did in her dreams; go to the park, see her grandparents, watch a film at the movies…" Susan trailed off, pausing for a moment as she glanced at the two agents carefully. "We would shrug it off at first, thought that maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe she just overheard the plans we were making when we thought she wasn't around. But then, after she turned six, bigger things happened."

"Bigger things? What do you mean by bigger things?"

"After one particular dream she had, she said she was going to break her arm. She was adamant that she wouldn't go to the park that day. But, I ignored her and low and behold, she ends up in the ER being placed into a cast." Susan wiped a tear from her eye. "She was in a cast for six months because I didn't listen to her." Susan sniffed. "And then in August, it happened again. Only this time, her visions were harder to ignore. I had picked Rachel up from school, and she was quiet—quieter than normal—and then she tells me…"—Susan inhaled a shaky breath—"…that I should call my mother—her grandmother—because something is wrong. And then when we got home, I got the call." Susan wiped her eyes. "She had had a stroke suddenly. She was talking and laughing one minute, and having a stroke the next. It was unpredictable—the doctors weren't entirely sure what did it. Only that it had killed her. How could my six year old daughter possibly know her grandmother was going to die that day?"

"That must have been very disturbing for you. I am sorry for your loss."

Sarah nodded. "Thank you."

"And these visions, do they only revolve around her life?"

Gregory shook his head. "No." he responded, pulling himself to his feet and walked across the room, returning with a handful of drawings which he handed to Coulson. "These are some drawings she did—of some of the things she sees."

Fury moved across the room, peering down over Coulson's shoulder at the drawings in his hands; the drawings were very obviously done by a child, but nonetheless it was still clear what each drawing was depicting. "Stop," Fury said. Coulson paused flicking through each drawing, pausing on the one Fury had noticed. "Holy shit." He muttered.

"What?" Coulson stared at the drawing of two towers, burning in flashes of red and orange. "Jesus . . . is this what I think this is?" Coulson asked the couple.

Gregory nodded numbly. "She drew this a week before the Twin Towers burnt down." He pointed to the date at the bottom of the drawing. "We always date and file away every drawing she does. Just in-case we ever needed them for some reason." Gregory uncomfortably crossed his arms over his chest. "We had no idea what buildings she was drawing until the day we saw the Twin Towers fall on the TV three months ago."

"Your daughter predicted the biggest terror attack our country has ever faced, a week before it even happened?" said Fury.

"Yes." Gregory responded. "Can you see why we need your help now?"

"Yes," Coulson responded, putting the drawing of the 9/11 down and looking at the next drawing, trying to ignore the chill that had entered the room. "Who is this?" Coulson gestured to the figure in red and yellow in the next drawing.

Susan looked at the figure. "We have no idea. She calls him Iron Man. We think those are just one of the characters she has made up—there are more if you keep looking through. Captain America is one—you know the one from the Second World War? I blame my grandfather for introducing her to that one."

Coulson grinned as he looked at the next image of Captain America—blue, red and white shield the same as the one on his vintage playing cards.

"There's also the Hulk—a giant green monster, that she swears is the good guy despite the fact everyone fears him. And then there's, Oh—honey what are their names?" Susan huffed in frustration, clicking her fingers as she attempted to remember. "Hawk… Hawk…"

"Hawkeye?" Coulson responded.

"That's the one!" Susan responded in glee. "Hawkeye and Black Widow." She noticed the way the two agents exchanged a look between each other. "Wait—you aren't saying these characters are real are you?"

Fury answered quickly. "No." as Coulson diverted the subject moments later; "Do these visions only come in Rachel's dreams?"

"No," Susan shook her head. "They did at first, but sometimes, I'm not too sure—there are times were her eyes glaze over and she's unresponsive for several minutes, then she's snapped out of it and acting as if nothing has ever happened." Susan nervously tugged at the sleeves of her cardigan. "Do you think there is something you can do for her? Please tell me you can help her."

"I don't know." Fury answered honestly. "Your daughter would be the only one we have encountered with her… abilities. We would need to examine her and find a way to understand what makes these visions occur."

Susan grasped her husbands arm. "Examine? You mean experiment on her?" a flash of fear flashed over her eyes. "You will not be experimenting on our daughter. She is only six years old!"

"Honey…" Gregory moved to comfort her wife. "Maybe we should listen to what they have to say…"

Susan turned to look at her husband in disbelief. "So you think it's perfectly acceptable to let these strangers take our daughter away and experiment on her like a lab rat?"

"No, of course not, but…"-

"Mommy? Daddy?" a small voice spoke, interrupting the two adults. The four adults turned to see the young girl in question standing a few feet from them, donning her nightgown and a fluffy bear clutched to her stomach. "Why are you fighting again?"

"Rachel," Susan quickly rushed to her daughter's side, pulling her into her arms. "What are you doing out of bed, honey?" Susan asked the young girl, running a hand through her brown curls.

"I had a bad dream." Rachel mumbled into her mother's neck. "Aliens were falling from the sky and killing people."

Susan hushed her daughter. "You're safe, sweetie, there's no aliens falling from the sky."

"Not right now there isn't." Rachel said. "But it's OK—Iron Man, Captain America, and the others were there to save the day."

Susan squeezed her daughter. "See? Nothing to worry about then."

The mother and daughter embraced for a moment, before pulling away. Rachel's large green eyes finally landing on the two agents in the room. Rachel squeezed her bear tighter to her chest, and moved to hide behind her mother's legs.

"Hello," Coulson said softly, slowly approaching the young girl behind her mother's legs. "My name is Phil Coulson and this is Nick Fury. Your parents asked to meet us. They were telling us such wonderful things about you. They were showing us your amazing drawings. Do you like to draw?"

The little girl, that was now peeking out from behind her mother's legs to look at Coulson shyly, and nodded slowly before her eyes slowly moved to stare past Coulson—her childish gaze resting on Nick Fury, whom returned her gaze with a hard, expressionless stare. There were several moments of silence and Rachel's gaze remained trained on the man with the one eye.

"Sweetie?" Gregory walked to her daughter's side, crouching down beside her. "Do you know this man?" Rachel gave a small nod in response. The adults all shared a look. "Do you know this man from your dreams?" Rachel answered with another nod.

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2018

Seattle, Washington

(After the events of Civil War, at the beginning of Infinity War)

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It was raining in Seattle which made it a normal day for Rachel James. The clock behind the coffee counter struck noon and Rachel worked tirelessly, creating her umpteenth number of coffee that day. Making coffee for living wasn't exactly the funniest job in the world, but it provided her enough income to rent an apartment in the city with her best friend Blaire, and allowed her the time to study for her PhD in Art Therapy. And on a good day, the tips were alright, which gave her the extra cash in her pocket to life luxuries that she wouldn't usually entertain on her minimal wage income.

"Skinny Latte for Lisa," Rachel said, passing the cup to a suit-donned woman, who looked up from her phone wordlessly accepting the cup without a thanks and disappeared from the crowd. Rachel tried her best not to roll her eyes—she was used to the non-pleasantries of the city after three years of living there—and turned to make her next order, frothing up the metal jug of milk, listening to the loud whirl of the machine grounding the coffee together. The sound was deafening when Rachel first started working at the independent coffee shop, but after the years, Rachel had become attuned to it.

Much similarly to before, Rachel returned to the counter announcing, steaming cup in hand; "Cappuccino for Logan?" Rachel watched as man reached forward, grasping the cup from her hand, with a small smile and a 'thanks'. Rachel smiled, however as the man's grasped the cup from hers, she felt his fingertips brush against hers. Rachel sucked in a sharp inhale of breath as suddenly her surroundings glazed over and flashes of images came before her eyes—the same man, Logan, standing in a delivery room as his partner gave birth to a baby boy. And as soon as image appeared, it disappeared as the cup disappeared from her hands. Rachel blinked and watched as her surroundings returned to her. She was once again back in the coffee shop and the man—completely oblivious—was turning to leave. "Have a good day, sir."

The man nodded and waved before disappearing out the door, into the busy crowds. Rachel sighed and turned back to her coffee machine once more, reading her next order, as if nothing had ever happened.

Over the course of her life, while the visions never went away—and if anything her power progressed over time—her ability to hide her reactions had improved over time. Working in an environment where you can be accidentally touched by anyone made it necessary for her to find a way to hide her reactions. Whether it was as simple as the brush of a hand, whenever someone was to touch Rachel, she would see what was to come in their lives. The longer the touch lasted, the further Rachel could see into their future—from the day they met the person they will marry to the day they die.

Overtime, Rachel had become immune to seeing what was to come of a stranger's life, but there was the occasional exception where it would be too much to bare—to look in the person's eye as she passed them their drink, knowing at some point in the near future, something tragic was going to happen to their lives. There were some days that all Rachel could do was curl up in her bad at the end of the day and let the tears fall until there were no more tears left to cry. Other days, she found ways to outlet her emotions—usually through art; whether it was painting or drawing. Even from a little girl, Rachel used her art to express her inner demons—whether it was visions of what was to come, or simply the emotions she felt within. Art brought her freedom, expression and hopefulness when life failed her or others around her.

"So, I'm thinking of getting lip fillers - what do you think?" her close work friend, Lucas, appeared by her side, flipping his long platinum blonde sweeping fringe from his face. Somehow, despite working in front of a steaming coffee machine all day, Lucas' makeup managed to look flawless. Rachel gave up after the first two months when she would repeatedly come home with mascara streaking down her face.

Rachel blinked and looked at her friend, eyebrow raised. "You're kidding."

"I am not." Lucas shook his head. "Just a small lift, y'know? Give them boys something to think about."

Rachel shook her head and chuckled. "You don't need them, Lucas. You'll get it once and then you'll get addicted and turn out looking like Jocelyn Wildenstein."

"I know but guys always like fat lips when you're going down…"-

-"Ew, please don't finish that sentence."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Prude."

"Slut." Rachel retorted.

Lucas flashed a pearly-white grin and blew her a kiss before the two of them were swallowed into the busyness of the crowds once more. Rachel was grateful to have Lucas as a friend; when it wasn't Blaire, Lucas was usually the one pushing her to be more social. If it weren't for Blaire or Lucas, she would spend most of her weekends holed up in her room studying or painting. Going out for drinks wasn't exactly what Rachel called fun—the chance of accidentally brushing against someone's skin on a dance-floor or at a crowded bar was bound to happen—but on the nights were it was going out for meals, going to the movies, or mani-pedis, Rachel was glad to have two extraverted friends.

As the hours ticked on, the lunchtime rush didn't calm down until an hour before Rachel's shift ended. By that time, Lucas had clocked off and hurried home to get ready for his Tinder date, and someone else had clocked on, which meant the last hour went by quietly. At the end of her shift, Rachel shoved on her khaki raincoat, picked up her belongings and clocked out. Rain hadn't stopped since noon, which meant when Rachel stepped outside the coffee shop since 7am that morning the streets were damp and filled with puddles. Rachel slipped her hood over her head and made her way home.

Luckily Rachel only lived a twenty minute walk from the coffee shop, which meant when she returned to her apartment, she was only marginally soaked. Blaire glanced at her from her spot on the couch, laptop on lap, as Rachel shrugged off her coat and added it to the other coats on the row of hooks. "Hey Oracle," Blaire perkily said from her spot on the couch.

Rachel rolled her eyes. Blaire was one of the few people in her life that new the truth of her powers. After knowing each other for over 10 years, Rachel had told Blaire the truth four years ago, when they first moved into a dorm together at college. Rachel knew there was no way she could keep the visions that wake her up at night a secret, thus made the decision to tell Blaire everything. Blaire liked to joke from time to time that she was a superhero—which Rachel denied doubtlessly—and gave her the nickname Oracle.

"Hey" Rachel flopped on the end of the sofa that Blaire wasn't sitting. Like Rachel, Blaire worked shifts at a local Italian restaurant, whilst she continued to study her events planning course on the side.

An hour passed as Rachel and Blaire chatted about everything and anything, before Blaire headed out for work. After Blaire had left, Rachel made herself dinner and headed to her room where she changed out of her work-wear and into a comfy pair of sweats and jumper. She curled herself up in her bed, switched on her laptop and began to load up Netflix and eating her dinner. Before long, Rachel began to feel her eyes droop and her body become heavy. Putting her half-touched food on her bedside table, Rachel lay her head down on the pillow and began to drift into a sleep, to the sound of Suits playing in the background.

…

Rachel was at work. It was a normal day. She was dressed in her usual white tee, jeans and green apron and baseball cap, and was working behind the counter serving. Lucas was on shift, making and distributing coffees as the line queued back to the door. Rachel accepted the change from the customer standing at the till and rang through her order. It was as the next customer approached the till that something strange began to happen.

"Noah?" a woman shouted from somewhere in the shop. Rachel looked over the crowd to see a woman frantically looking around the room and underneath tables. "Noah—where are you? Where've you gone?" Rachel looked back to see Lucas looking over also, like many others in the store. He caught her eye but then shrugged his shoulder, returning to his work. "Sweetie? Noah?" the woman shouted.

Rachel turned to the customer, excusing herself and approached the woman. "Excuse me, Miss—is something wrong?"

The woman frantically turned to look at her. "My s-son. H-He's just disappeared. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't."

Rachel reached forward to comfort the woman without touching her skin. "I'm sure he's here somewhere. I'll help you look."

However, as the woman went to speak, another voice spoke from nearby. "D-Dad?"

Rachel looked around to the girl that had spoke. She looked no older than fifteen. She was sitting at the table by the window with what appeared to be her father. However, something was wrong; Rachel's eyes widened as she stared at the middle-aged man who appeared to be turning into dust before her very eyes. People around them gasped and the young girl began to scream as the man crumbled into dust and began to float into the air.

"T-that's wh-what happened to Noah!" the mother beside Rachel cried.

No sooner than that, the chaos began. Other screams and shouts echoed around the room. Rachel watched as people began to disintegrate into dust within seconds; those that didn't desperately attempted to grasp hold of their loved ones or the ones surrounding them in desperation and fear. Rachel was frozen, knowing there was nothing she could do, but watch as the people disappeared one after the other rapidly.

"Rachel!"

Rachel turned her head to the counter, Lucas was stumbling out from behind the counter.

"Lucas!" Rachel reached for her friend's hand with her own, but as her hand went to wrap around his, she felt only air. "Lucas, no!" she screamed, as Lucas began to crumble. Seconds later, the only remnants left of her friend was the dust that floated through the air. "Lucas," Rachel wept, screams still echoing around her.. In the distance nearby, Rachel could hear a load crash. She looked out of the coffee shop's window to see a car had crashed into a lamp-post, but there was no-one behind the wheel.

Rachel gasped as she saw people crying and screaming in the streets, dust seeping upwards into the air. As Rachel looked up at the skyscraper sky, she saw a dark cloud of dust hanging over the city.

Rachel opened her mouth and screamed.

…

"Rachel!"

Rachel snapped her eyes open, vividly aware of the hands that gently grasped her shoulders, stopping her from jumping up from her lying position. Panting, Rachel's eyes darted around her, letting her surroundings sink in; standing over her, was the worried face of Blaire—dressed in her waitressing uniform—and behind her, Rachel could recognise the familiarities of her bedroom. Rachel exhaled and inhaled heavily, attempting to calm her rapidly beating heart, realizing (much to her relief) she was back in the present.

"What happened? Are you OK?" Blaire frantically asked her, pulling away to let Rachel sit up in her bed.

Rachel wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. "I-I'm fine."

Blaire looked at her unbelievingly. "Was it another vision? What happened?" Rachel could see the panic in Blaire's eyes. Blaire understood that only a bad vision would come to her like this.

"I-I don't know," Rachel swallowed, her mouth dry. "I didn't understand it."

Blaire stared at her for a moment, her mouth opening and closing with questions, but eventually decided against asking them. "I'll get you some water." Rachel nodded and watched her friend disappear from the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Rachel quickly rolled onto her stomach, reaching blindly underneath her bed. Her hand ran along the frame of her bed, until finally it hit a small object strapped to the bed. Yanking it from its confinements, Rachel pulled the small disposable phone into sight. Glancing at the door, listening for her friend's approaching footsteps but heard only distant sounds from the kitchen, Rachel quickly began to type a message.

-:-

2018

Atlanta, Georgia

-:-

Nick Fury was tired. Since the split of the Avengers, and the implementation of the Sokovia Accords, Nick Fury has found himself having more sleepless nights—and this happened to be one of those nights were Nick Fury sat in his leather chair, in his small studio apartment in Atlanta, nursing his glass of whisky watching the sun rise. Sleep evaded him long ago, so Fury had turned to another alternative—a 15 year old bottle of bourbon—to pass by the time until Agent Hill came knocking on his door for their next move.

Ever since the downfall of SHIELD in 2014, Fury had laid low, letting Agent Hill take the lead with the Avengers as he watched from the shadows. But, after the events in Germany, Agent Hill decided that she would step away from her role and return to her duties with Fury. For the most part, they had been keeping tabs on Steve Rodgers, Sam Wilson and the other fugitives Avengers—which took most of their efforts, but for the most part Agent Hill had managed to keep a rough tab on where they appear every fortnight, and keeping authorities off their back. Scott Lang and Clint had currently accepted the terms of their sentencing, and were currently under house-arrest. Meanwhile, Tony Stark, Rominoff and Vision continued to abide by the accords, free to roam at the free will providing they stuck to the laws of the accords, whilst Banner's location still remained unknown since 2015.

Fury sighed and took another sip of bourbon. In that moment, Fury heard a sound that made him freeze in his spot. Carefully pulling his phone from his pocket to look at the message he had received.

From: UNKNOWN

Message: SOS

Author's Note: So…erm…Hi! I hope you're excited for this story as I am. After the events of Endgame this story just popped in my head and I couldn't let it go! I don't have a particular paring planned for this story yet—but I do love a good Bucky/OC story. We'll see where the story takes us, shall we?