When her airliner touched down on the helipad near the landing base, Misty didn't wait for clearance to disembark. She jumped out of the helicopter (despite the pilot's instructions) and rushed the ramp as Agent Coulson descended beside a much taller and broad-shouldered man: Steve Rogers, she figured—he definitely was as good-looking as the newspaper clippings and old telecasts made him out to be. Misty stopped Agent Coulson on the Helicarrier ramp and, before she could open her mouth to speak, he interjected calmly.
"This is—" Coulson's scrutinous eyes travelled the base. "—not the place for a debriefing."
"God absolutely forbid including me in the loop," she said in jest, and lowered her voice to a harsh, acidic whisper. "If you told Natasha before me, I'm going to blow a fuse."
"There's a strategy, a purpose if you will, behind everything we do, Agent Cox. I know you. You know you. You'd skip off on your own to find him without ever conferring with us. No personal vendettas. We don't do that at S.H.I.E.L.D. and you know it. You'll be wound back into the loop. I promise. For right now, you're better off knowing what you don't."
"You're not helping my hypertension, Coulson."
In the very back of her mind, she knew that Fury and Coulson were looking out for her sanity, but they weren't abating her anger any. The truth was that Misty had a large spot in her heart where both agents resided comfortably. As often as they did contribute to her ever-present high blood pressure (she was on Clonidine HCL as her numbers typically read something like 150/90 at the end of a long day), she could not help but to let that place for them rest contentedly and undisturbed by anything.
Coulson patted her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze that didn't ease her tension. His eyebrows suddenly furrowed in confusion, nose membranes flaming and eyes narrowing once again to that scrutinous gaze. He noticed a twinge of red discoloring the white of her eyeball. Misty didn't like the look on his face, as it appeared that she was going to be reprimanded for something.
"Have you been smoking marijuana?"
Misty beamed. While she was very much agitated by the situation, she also felt the smallest, smallest stab of delight and still wanted a paper cone of crinkle-cut French fries. "Basking in it." As Coulson was about to offer his cross rebuttal, Misty held a finger up. "Under whose orders was I dropped in that field?" She pointed the finger at herself and shook her head. "Not mine."
Beside Coulson, Steve Rogers cleared his throat and wrung his hands together.
"Agent," Coulson began. "Steve Rogers."
Misty offered her hand, the smile still tugging at her mouth. "Captain Rogers. Agent Misty Cox. It's a pleasure."
Steve took her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Agent Cox. The pleasure is mine."
They released their grips on each other's hands and followed Coulson down the length of the ramp. At the bottom stood Agent Natasha Romanoff with her arms behind her back, a stoic look on her face. Misty stood behind Coulson, who approached Natasha with a faint smile and nodded slightly.
"Agent Romanoff." He gestured to Steve with an opened hand. "Captain Rogers."
"Ma'am?"
"Hi," Natasha replied curtly before turning back to face Coulson. "They need you on the bridge. Face time."
"See you there." Coulson walked away, but not before sternly pointing a finger at Misty. "No personal vendettas… and no more marijuana. I'll have your head, Agent Cox."
"God bless you, Agent Coulson," Misty said in jest, saluting Coulson.
"Marijuana?" Natasha asked.
Misty waved off the question. "Not important."
Natasha, Steve, and Misty all walked toward the edge of the ship. Sighing, Misty held the railing tight with both hands, discoloring the knuckles, and shifted her weight to one side of her body. They watched the ocean water, briny and dark blue, curl and shimmer as the waves rose gently then crashed down. While Misty's thoughts still remained snarled and awry in her head, the one thing she could distinguish from the rest was her deep-seated fear concerning Barton's whereabouts.
"There was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice," Natasha said, breaking the silence shared between the three. She started to walk away, and Steve and Misty followed closely. "I thought Coulson was gonna swoon. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?"
"Tasha…"
"What? I'm just asking."
"Trading cards?"
Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. "They're vintage. He's very proud."
Ahead, Misty noticed a familiar face. She has seen this face in green all over television, enlarged with high-gloss on tabloid covers, slandered and smeared everywhere she looked. Yet, all she saw before her was a tired man with soft eyes and a nervous, hesitant stride. Misty didn't believe that he was as terrible as people made him out to be as circumstances did apply and concern his case. She didn't know Bruce Banner very well, but she liked him (and his seemingly calm demeanor) already.
"Dr. Banner," Steve said and offered his hand to Bruce, who shook with the same hesitance he displayed in his gait.
"Oh, yeah. Hi. They told me you'd be coming."
"Dr. Banner," Misty interjected. "Agent Misty Cox." She offered her hand too, but Bruce looked at it with an immense disdain in his eyes. "I'm offended," she said dryly, drawing her hand back.
"Offense is not my intention," he replied. "I haven't had much luck with S.H.I.E.L.D." Bruce cleared his throat and motioned to Natasha, who smiled devilishly and seemed to blow a small kiss to him.
"We're not all Satan's children." Misty offered her hand again and, with a sincere albeit red look in her eyes, she whispered, "You can trust me, Doc. I'm the nice one." Her gaze was solid, but veered irregularly, always moving back to his face. Bruce seemed to be puzzled. Misty lowered her voice even more and said: "And yes, I was incredibly high this morning. I feel okay now."
He laughed softly, nodded, and took her hand. She placed her free left hand over his right, covered it, and gave a gentle shake. Not many people were as warm and honest to Banner as Misty was, especially for an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.—the hand-hug, kind and friendly, conveyed it all.
"Doctor," Steve interrupted. "Word is you can find the cube."
Bruce wiggled his hand out of Misty's grip and looked between the three people in front of him. "Is that the only word on me?" he asked, gently pressing comedy, but coming off incredibly solemn.
"Only word I care about."
"Must be strange for you, all of this."
"Well, this is actually kind of familiar."
Suddenly, engines roared to life and turbines whipped the air forcefully. Misty's curls, pulled back neatly with a hair tie, flew about behind her. She fisted a wad of Bruce's shirt to keep him upright as the Helicarrier started to rumble and everyone's footing was very suddenly lost. Bruce looked at her and smiled softly, Misty returned the gesture and mouthed, "You're welcome, Doctor."
"Gentlemen, you may wanna step inside in a minute," Natasha said. "It's gonna get a little hard to breathe."
"Is this a submarine?" Steve asked.
"Really? They want me in a submerged pressurized metal container?" Bruce and Steve walked closer to the edge and watched the lift fans work to move the Helicarrier out of the water. Bruce beamed. "Oh, no. This is much worse."
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