Everybody's watching you now

Everybody waits for you now

What happens next?

Grace had been staring at Agent Coulson for a couple of minutes, but he was way too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice it. She gave in and sat back, asking herself how it happened. An hour ago, she was telling him that the frozen soldier was alive. Now, they were all in a small jet, heading to New York. Grace had never packed that fast. Somehow, Coulson convinced her that her presence was essential in case anything happened on the way - their doctor wasn't of much use since he had left her in Greenland; the aircraft could only handle one passed out person at a time, and the doctor was not a priority. Grace unbuckled her seat belt and stood up.

"Where are you going, Lieutenant?"

"To check on him."

She walked towards the rear, where the soldier was strapped on a gurney - it was the only way they could think of transporting him. While she was throwing everything she had in a couple of bags, they had removed his uniform completely, and geared him up with a regular soldier's attire. Grace picked up the stethoscope from around her neck, but instead of putting it to her ears, she propped it onto a pile of metal cases beside her. For the first time, she was alone with him; he wasn't half covered in ice or wrapped in a weird canvas outfit. He was just a man, a soldier, like many others she has seen, but unlike any of them, he looked peaceful. His lips, although full, still carried a purple tone from the freezing; his skin was pale, but intact, no bruises or edemas whatsoever. How is that possible?, Grace kept asking herself. If there was an answer to that question, it wasn't in that plane.

She reached out to feel his temperature and laid her hand on his forehead; he was still cold. In a fluid, unconscious movement, her hand slid down and traced his eyebrow; Grace wondered, for the first time, what his eyes looked like when they were open.

"How is he?"

The question startled Grace, and she had no answer for it.

"I... I was just checking his temperature, it still hasn't gone up."

She reached for the stethoscope and quickly checked his heart, its beat low and steady.

"Still showing bradycardia, heartbeats around 40. He's doing fine... I think."

"You think? That's not good enough."

"Agent, I won't pretend I know what I'm doing, or what to expect here. All I know is that I was rushed onto this plane to make sure that this man doesn't die on our way back, and I don't even know how to prevent that from happening."

"I understand you're upset. You will be rewarded for your cooperation."

"Upset? I don't think it describes what I'm feeling right now. I'm lucky that I actually live in New York, otherwise I'd be homeless the moment I stepped out of this plane. You took me off my base. Now what? Do you know what happens next, Agent Coulson?"

"Yes. You sign another form."

"Yet another NDA?", she asked, rolling her eyes, going back to her seat.

"No. An employment contract with SHIELD."

"A what?"

"An employment contract. Captain Rogers is going to require full time observation. You will be observing him during the night shift. The others will be covered by our agents."

Grace's mouth was gaping open.

"But... why? Why me?"

He wanted to say that it was because he saw the way she looked at, and cared for the captain. Because his gut instinct was to trust her. But working for SHIELD, trust isn't something instinctive - it had to be earned. There was only one reason he could tell her then.

"Because it takes a soldier to understand a soldier", he said, sitting down. "And I knew you lived in New York, otherwise I wouldn't have asked you to pack."

"What if... what if I didn't want to come?"

"You came, didn't you?"

Grace looked at the cloudy horizon, feeling a little less tense about what was happening, and wondering if that contract might give her the answers she was looking for. It could also let her know what his eyes really looked like. The pilot's voice came in muffled through the speakers.

"20 minutes to base, sir."

Coulson caught her glancing in the direction where the captain was, her eyebrows furrowed. He fought back a smile and realized it was the second time he had to do that in her presence; that was a good sign.

"Relax, lieutenant. He's safe now."

She didn't. Grace kept her eyes on the captain the entire time, until the moment when the door opened; she stood up and walked back to his side, without even thinking about it. But Coulson had other plans for her, and beckoned her to follow him on his way out of the plane. After a second of hesitation, she glanced one more time at the captain, and remembered they had brought her there to care for him; with that thought, she gave in and stepped outside, one hand blocking the bright sunlight, just to realize they were on top of a considerably tall building in the middle of the city. Outside, a small group waited for them.

"Director."

They stopped in front of a massive, bald man, all worn in black, and sporting an eye patch which probably concealed a horrible memory in the form of a scar. Grace looked up at him, squinting, and waited until they were properly introduced.

"This is Lieutenant Moore, sir. Moore, meet Nick Fury, our director."

"Director Fury, nice to meet you", she said, extending her arm for a handshake that never happened. Instead, Nick stared at Coulson long enough for Grace to understand that she shouldn't be there. That was hardly her problem, though. She turned around in time to see that two men were carrying the gurney all the way into the building and asked, her words faster than her thoughts:

"Where are they taking him?"

"Lieutenant, can you give us a minute here? I need to have a word with Agent Coulson", Fury said, still not looking at her.

"Sure. I'll be right over...", she trailed off, not knowing exactly where she would be. She walked towards the edge of the rooftop and looked over the city, but after a couple of seconds she recognized the windows of the building across the street. It didn't take much longer for her to spot her own building, just three blocks away. She had passed by SHIELD headquarters at least once a day for a couple of years, and of course, never suspected anything. Shaking her head at how unbelievable that was, she turned around and saw by their gestures that the two men were still arguing; they could discuss about it all day, as long as she could keep the job that was offered to her. Finally, Agent Coulson made a call, and after hanging up, walked over to her.

"Let me guess: if you told your boss that I was coming, he wouldn't have let you bring me here in the first place, let alone offer me a job."

"Something along those lines."

"And?"

"And there's a cab with your bags in the trunk waiting for you outside the building. You have one day to get your life back on track. We expect you to be here tomorrow at 8 pm."

Grace smiled a large, grateful smile.

"You're a pretty persuasive man, Phil Coulson, I'll give you that. I'll see you tomorrow night. Director!" She saluted him from a distance, and vanished down the stairs.

"You better be a hundred percent right about this, Coulson."

"I am, boss. And I think Captain Rogers will agree with me. You know... when he wakes up."

Nick shot him a confused look – as confused as he allowed himself to be.

"You know that he might never..."

"I know that. But we're talking about a man who was buried in ice for over 70 years and survived. We can't be sure of anything at this point."

Fury had to agree, but agreeing meant that the captain could wake up at any moment. This demanded preparation, and apparently Coulson had it all figured out. It wasn't a surprise – he had been waiting for this moment for years.

"We need to prepare a room for him, with pieces of furniture from the 40s... to ease him in. You don't want him to wake up and be thrown into this century, it might be too much for him to handle."

He was wearing his sunglasses, but Nick knew exactly what his eyes were looking like behind them. They were hopeful, and he caved in.

"All right. You need to prepare the agents who will take care of him."

Coulson just nodded and turned around to leave.

"You keep an eye on that nurse, Coulson."

"Will do, boss."

"You people work fast", Grace thought, as the agent who had brought her there closed the door. She was now in a mock-up room, designed with the sole purpose of making its respectable occupant feel at home. The light, beige curtains blew as if real wind was coming in through the windows, which showed a landscape from the 40s, reproduced in large panels strategically placed on the outside, on which fake buildings had lit up windows. The captain was lying on a simple, military bed with a white metal headboard; to his left, a nightstand with a lamp, a water jug and a newspaper. Grace got closer to check it out its date – May 19th, 1944, its headline was something about the end of the Mount Cassino battle. Besides being fast, they were really, really thorough.

She put the newspaper back where it was and knuckled her fingers, tired of signing tons of documents that sentenced her to the harshest penalties in case she as much as said the name of the organization she was working for now. It's not like she could say it anyway – SHIELD stood for an awful long name which she didn't bother memorizing. It was easier to remember the fake one: New York City Health Department. Naturally, her eyes were drawn to him once again.

He was still resting in his cargo pants and a white t-shirt with a logo that said "SSR", which Grace didn't recognize. Nothing else had changed: he was as intact and pale as he was the first time she saw him. She reached out for his wrist, to check his pulse; he was a bit warmer than the day before, his heartbeats still faint, but his lips were recovering their color.

Coulson got there in time to see her reaching for the captain's forehead.

"Good evening, Lieutenant."

Grace moved her hand back in a swift move.

"Good evening, Agent."

He looked around, proud of what he had accomplished: everything looked as familiar as he wanted it to be. There was one thing left to change, though. He put a rather large file on the dresser and handed Grace a duffel bag.

"Your uniform."

She placed it on a chair and opened it, pulling a gorgeous vintage nurse uniform from the 40s and barely concealing her amazement.

"It's an army nurse uniform from 1943, which we had custom made for you and the other agents."

"Wow", she said under her breath, holding up a white dress. "You know, if I lived in that decade, this is what I would be wearing. The war... it's where I would be."

"I'm sure you would. That's why you're here."

He regarded her with kindness, which was something she didn't expect from an agent, and it made it easier for her to trust him. Agent Coulson, with his thin hair, black suit, hands in his pockets, almost out of place, definitely out of words. Grace nodded towards the dresser.

"What's in the file?"

"Well, it's... everything you need to know about Captain Rogers. I suggest you take this first night to read it. You might find some answers to your questions."

"All right, sir. I'll do that."

"Good night, Lieutenant."

"Phil!"

He stopped, his hand on the door knob.

"Thanks."

"No problem", he replied to her, just to whisper as the door closed, "Grace."