Since the Triskelion's destruction by the Chitauri years ago, most of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s east coast operations were shuffled around. The majority of New York's personnel wound up in Washington, at the agency's headquarters. Space is at a premium. Quinjet hangars squeeze between storage warehouses, office buildings, and other urban facilities.

Despite all this crowding, one hangar stands apart. The isolation and guards posted at its doors set it apart from the rest. The one isn't normal, cordoned off from the others, fenced and guarded.

The only thing inside is a single quinjet. A lone bulb hangs from the roof, and its lines and shadows are too sleek and too predatory for an ordinary transport.

Beside it stands a card table with a laptop on one side; a cheap coffee maker on the other. Ropes of cable run from the laptop to the quinjet's open cargo ramp. Inside, only the running lights paint the interior in soft blue light. Every so often the coffee maker wheezes coffee-scented steam.

Agent Anneka Stojespal stands with her hip leaned against the table, staring blearily at the coffee maker.

This late it's just her, the ground crews, diagnostics, and a broken coffee maker.

She disguises a yawn, poorly, passing a hand over the side of her face. As her fingertips brush the ridged scarring, they move automatically to nudge her eyepatch into place.

At about the same time, the progress bar on the laptop stops, and the coffee maker wheezes asthmatically. Silence falls over the hangar as both machines threaten to quit at the same time.

Agent Stojespal heaves a sigh, shoulders slumping. Long red hair settles loose about her.

"Oh Great God, I do not have time for any of this." The words echo in the empty hangar, accented in an Eastern European dialect. Her ire thickens it even more.

According to agency flight schedules, Captain Stojespal, you are not required to depart until morning. Technically speaking, you have plenty of time.

"Shut it, Val." That the obnoxious AI is right only makes the Valkyrie's smooth, feminine voice all the more annoying. The only thing worse than a jet that talks is a jet that talks back. "Didn't ask your opinion."

Beside the laptop, Anneka's phone starts buzzing. She observes, with tranquil fury, a headache building behind her left eye.

Well. At least the call overrides her daily argument with the Valkyrie.

Anneka's eye slides to the screen. Coulson? At this hour? Can't be good, she decides, taking the call with a swipe of her thumb.

"Agent Stojespal."

"Agent Stojespal!" It's criminal how cheery he can sound before dawn. Criminal, and also irritating. "Pop quiz for you. How fast can you get the Valkyrie into the sky?"

"Son of a bitch we just landed." She makes no effort to disguise her frustration, scrubbing one-handed at her face and whistling a sigh through her teeth. "Fifteen. Ten minutes, maybe." Halting diagnostics and unplugging cables, she gathers up an armful of equipment, balancing her phone against her shoulder to listen. "Where?"

"Nick sent me some very interesting coordinates." He's grinning. She can hear it through his voice. "Ever been to Arizona? I hear it's really something in the spring."

"You know I haven't." She gives the coffee maker an impatient smack. "You have not approved vacation time for me in four years and you know it." The scent of burnt coffee rewards her a moment later. "Granted, I never asked." Anneka tries not to let her annoyance show, but she knows it's leaking through. "Philip Coulson, I have not had a day off for a week," she adds, plaintively.

"Hear me out, Agent Stojespal. We're getting a lot of reports of strange activity in the area. Inexplicable stuff. We've got former SHIELD personnel on-site keeping an eye on things until we can really get our boots on the ground."

"Uh huh," she agrees distractedly, fiddling with the coffee maker. The scent of burnt cheap coffee rewards her a few seconds later. "...Ahh." There's a change in her voice once the smell of coffee hits her. After risking their lives together too many times across too many missions to count, he knows the effects of coffee on her system. "Turbines hot in ten minutes," she reports, and she can hear his chuckle.

"Heh. Coffee?"

His voice is too loud for the phone--

Agent Philip Coulson drops his phone into a pocket as he strolls through the door, grinning. "Good morning, Anneka."

She jumps and makes a little strangled sound. The coffee cup and the phone each go in a different reaction. Only her quick reflexes save the coffee. Her phone clatters to the ground as she winces. "Agent Philip Coulson, when are you going to stop doing that?" she growls.

"When you start passing your situational awareness check." He doesn't skip a beat, tone good-natured. "You failed, by the way. Morning, Val."

Good morning, Agent Coulson.

He turns to Anneka as she busies herself with gathering equipment and hauling it aboard the quinjet. Cases and totes are strewn across the hold; from inside echoes the sound of stowing gear and lids snapping shut. It doesn't take long to finish and lope for the pilot's chair.

"Good. We may be gone for a few days this time," Coulson calls. He lingers by the table to pour himself coffee before following, easing into the co-pilot's chair. "I can have supplies sent to us. Sorry, there's no time to pack," he adds. "We need to move fast on this one. As fast as we've ever moved. If this is real, it's so new even HYDRA doesn't know about it yet."

"Is it really that big?" Her frown is audible.

Coulson sips at his coffee, eyes the cup, and shrugs. "You know I can't tell you that, but what I can tell you is that we have all the support we can get from Nick, and he says the rest is up to us." He grins. It's not his bland, disarming grin. It's the crooked one; the one that says he's genuinely amused. "In so many words. I trust you; I know you can handle this."

"In so many words," she agrees, blandly. Anneka eyes her fellow agent. That affable smile tells her she's already slated for too much overtime and not enough coffee. She reaches up to flick the last series of overhead toggles with a sigh.

The sound of the Valkyrie's turbines are eerily silent.

"We are good to go." Reaching up to a storage compartment, she one-handedly flicks open and balances a pair of aviator sunglasses over her eyepatch. "Val, lay in a course for--"

Error: Provisional Level Five Agent security credentials denied. Security clearance level insufficient.

"Damn it." Anneka whacks the heel of her gloved hand against the console.

This battle of security clearance is a regular event. It never happens during crunch time, of course. It never happens in front of the technicians. It is entirely Val gaslighting her human pilot for amusement's sake. Anneka knows it. Val knows it. They both know it.

Agent Coulson coughs.

...Phil knows it, too.

"Security protocols overridden," he says, expression so bland she knows he's hiding a grin. He glances over. "Anneka?"

"Let's go," the pilot growls.

One of the last ground crew members hauls opens the hangar door. Lamplight gleams from the wings as the quinjet taxis toward the landing pad.

When it ascends, it does so without a sound, vanishing into the night-dark sky.