This was a long time to update this story, which I didn't want to happen but life happens. But I hope there is still some interest in this story. Hopefully, the next chapter is updated sooner.

Hope you enjoy it and tell me what you think :)

Chapter Two: Two Birds Situation

Screech.

Dr. Fallon Monroe winced and threw Agent Phil Coulson a dirty look as he dragged the heavy chair that made the obnoxious, scraping noise against the aluminum floor. He glanced at her and his lips almost curled up into a satisfactory smile when she saw her withered look.

It was moments like this made Monroe wonder of her life choices, especially her current ones. Even after six years of working for S.H.I.E.L.D., Monroe still couldn't understand how she ended up working for the organization.

Monroe hadn't been on the top of her class in college but she hadn't been in the lowest. She was in between, which didn't satisfy her. What she didn't have academically, she made up with the determination and ambition that the other students didn't have. She had worked hard all her life, having made sure to plan every detail of every second in her life, to achieve all get goals.

Never stray from the plan or else everything she had sacrificed—her friends, family, relationships, at times health—would be worth for nothing.

Some might call it an obsession for perfection that would never happen, but she preferred the term driven ambition. Not wasting a second after graduating, Monroe continued her education, nonstop working until she earned her Ph.D. Her thesis—PTSD is the key to destroying humanity—that her professors criticized, finding it delusional but at the most of her research, had caught the unwanted attention of a certain organization.

Originally, Monroe never wanted to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. The idea of being bound to an organization that kept everything under wraps and had strict regulations for its employees made her refuse their offer the first time. Unfortunately, that is when she had first met Coulson and he had made the point to continue showing up in her life.

He had been insistent and on the fourth time, he made an argument that compelled her when Monroe saw with who she would be working with. Ex-field agents with a variety range of issue that she could only dream up and they would show up at her threshold.

Severe PTSD, anger issues, bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety, bulimia. It seemed that all agents had one of the over the hundreds of classified mental disorders.

But as much as she loved that part of her job (helping them cope with their issues that imposed them), it annoyed how S.H.I.E.L.D. would interfere with some of her patients.

Last week, she got into a heated argument with Agent Coulson who was in charge of Agent Sarah Michael's, one of her patients that had gone through physical trauma after an explosion went off on a mission. They wanted to bring her back to the field sooner than expected and she had objected, saying that she was nowhere ready, as she was clearly affected by it.

Monroe would defend her patients until her dying breath. Despite the contrary belief, but she cared deeply about each and one of her patients. She had come to discover, to get a better overall view is better to keep them arm's length than to become close and personal with them apart. Which made her seem standoffish and

After all, it wasn't the first time she had made an appeal for one of the decisions made towards her patients. But it had been the first one that she had made that she had to speak to the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Which didn't sit well with her.

Which explained her current situation; sitting in front of the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., unsure what to expect. She hadn't spent enough time with him in her six years in S.H.I.E.L.D. to be able to psychoanalyze him. Which made her suspect that was one of the reasons.

He sat at his desk, tapping on his desk which showed he either was anxious or bored, but no made no movement to start their meeting. Taking one for the team, Monroe cleared her throat.

"Director Fury, should we start? I know you're a busy man and you should know that the same goes for me."

"Of course. I saw that you sent an appeal for denying former Agent Adler. Or Summers. I'm not sure what she goes by now."

"It's Summer's, not Adler. Not anymore," she said flatly, unable to hide how annoyed she felt. "You were, after all, the one who made her change her name. For safety, that's what you claimed."

"Did I?" Fury said. "Then tell me, did you send for an appeal for Agent Summers?"

"Yes, I did." She wiped away a small speck of dust from her skirt and gave him a pleasant smile. If Monroe was honest to herself, she wasn't fond of the man. She disagreed with various of his manipulative methods and had cried in outrage when he had demanded her to send her notes from her session from Hazel Summers. Initially, Fury had wanted to put cameras to record their sessions but she had fought with him until they found a compromise. He would see her detailed notes from their sessions.

"May I ask why?" Furry asked mockingly, making her narrow her eyes.

"I think you should rethink your decision, that's all."

"And again, why?"

"Because Hazel is in a much better state than she was before." If Monroe would put the Hazel she had met five years ago to the one she had right now, it would be hard to find the difference but for her was as clear as night and day.

"How much is before?" Furry asked warily.

"You said that she still has post-traumatic stress disorder," Agent Coulson cut in, making his presence known.

Monroe bit back a sigh of exasperation. As much as she disliked the director, she found his right-hand man even more exasperating. He always stood between her and her decisions regarding Hazel Summers. They never saw eye to eye and she only tolerated him because of Hazel fondness of the man. Hazel saw him in a light that she could never.

"First of all, Mr. Coulson, you are here to observe, not weigh in," she reminded him, coolly.

"I supervise her, making her my responsibility," he reminded her stiffly and, in her opinion, smugly added, "And I'm also in a higher position than you so I do get to weigh in."

Monroe glared at him and turned to Fury. "Director, can you tell him to stay out of this? This was, initially, between the two of us until he had to show up."

Fury sighed in aggravation, rubbing his face in frustration. "Quit wasting my time, both of you. Dr. Monroe, you only have an hour make your argument. Meaning, Coulson, let Monroe speak."

His right-hand man clenched his jaw, clearly annoyed but kept his mouth shut.

Monroe started again, "And second of all, no. I clearly said she had signs of PTSD which could evolve into PTSD. And before you start your 'Isn't that the same? She isn't in top shape. She hasn't been a field agent in almost six years' crap. Yes, Coulson, I know you too damn well."

She saw the expression he had made when she spoke. Monroe noticed the warning glare their director was giving her and she cleared her throat, deciding now wasn't time to be petty.

"And to answer your questions. Physically? She's as perfect as any other agent can be. Almost like six years haven't passed since her removal of the field."

"What about the other areas? Your specialty," Fury wanted to know.

"You mean her mentality?" Monroe gave him a tight smile. "Well, you can try to smooth out a wrinkled paper but in the end, there's still going to have its rough edges. But that doesn't mean it's not good enough. No one is perfect, Director. Even with one functioning eye and you still run S.H.I.E.L.D. smoothly."

Fury merely raised his eyebrow at, not commenting.

"That's a lovely metaphor but what showed you she is better?" Coulson interrupted again. Monroe sighed in aggravation. Why did they always question her? When had she ever been wrong? Why couldn't trust her?

"Sometimes it's the fine details that show how we've grown as persons." If Monroe could show how Hazel had been in the beginning of their sessions. Shaky hands, withdrawn from the conversation, and her haunted eyes. None of that was a shadow of the sarcastic, eye rolled woman who would sit in front of her every Tuesday morning. No one could see it because they didn't take the time to notice Hazel and how much she has changed.

"She was wearing a short sleeve shirt the last time I saw her," she said and immediately regret it. She should have said a better example. She could already hear Coulson snide voice.

"And Hazel Summers wearing short sleeves shows that she is now capable of going back out there?" Coulson asked skeptically.

"Of course not," she said briskly. "Don't be ridiculous Agent Coulson. If you have been reading my notes, you would know that Hazel has developed these particular habits that trigger certain memories which makes her, well, freak out. One of them is exposing her arms, that were all scratched and bloodied when she was found. Do you remember, Coulson?"

"Yes, I remember. I've seen the pictures many times," Coulson said quietly and for the first time, he showed his concern over Hazel. She almost decided to go easy on him. Almost.

"Hazel is ready enough to do certain assignments. I'm not asking her to put her in the middle of a war zone but get her out."

"Are we forgetting the first place we removed her from the field was not because she was incompatible but because she failed to—"

"Mr. Coulson," Monroe interrupted sharply, her small sympathy for him gone. "Is that your only argument? Her failure of five years ago? Are you that close-minded you keep repeating the same excuse every time we discuss Hazel Summers."

"Summers is an important asset," Coulson stressed. "We don't keep an eye on her for nothing. Assets must be contained."

Monroe frowned in disapproval, hating how they were downgrading Hazel into a property.

"Is there something you want to say, Dr. Monroe?" Fury asked, noticing her.

"Assets are properties and she's a human being. Her name is Hazel."

"Of course not. But she is one," Fury reminded her. "We don't keep on her for nothing."

"Hazel's more than an asset," Monroe said sourly. "She was a very good agent. And still, could be one."

"There's an if isn't there?" Coulson said, sharing a wry glance with Fury.

"If you stop treating her like she was the enemy," she snapped, feeling fed up that both of them were going against her again. It wasn't something she wasn't used to but at times her patience ran thin. Fury was supposed to be neutral and Coulson had to think what was best for Hazel.

"In a way she is. She refuses to abide—"

"Mr. Coulson, I have the choice to pick if she's capable of going back to the field, that's my job, and I've decided that she's more than capable of being a field agent. Always has been, she's just being held down like a dog on a leash by her patronizing owners who won't let her out of their sight."

"You don't have any respect for authority, do you?" asked Coulson sourly.

She smiled spitefully at him. "Not to you, Mr. Coulson."

He was going to retaliate but a look from their director, made him pressed his mouth into a thin line and scowled at her, Monroe pointedly ignored him and looked at Furry expectantly.

"Dr. Monroe—" he started but got cut off by her.

"Before you say no, you can listen to my argument and then you can make your final decision."

Fury stared at her, and after a few seconds, he nodded, allowing her to take charge.

"Yes Hazel doesn't like speaking at all what happened during her time she was captured but if she doesn't want to speak then let her. Pressuring her isn't going to make her open up, I've told you multiple times for the past five years. That's not how humans work." When she saw Coulson looked at her dubiously, she asked, "If I ask you why you have an uncanny obsession with Captain America, would you tell me?"

Coulson gave her a glare and said stiffly, "We're getting out of topic. This is about Summers and her progress."

"Exactly. The whole meeting has been about her and how she's progressed, making her fit. It should have gone this far to have the director involved. You and I could have additional it in my office but no. You just had to deny the whole thing," she said bitterly.

"Dr. Monroe, now that I am involved let's stick to Summers and not your fighting with Coulson do that another time," Fury said, a warning tone that made both of the adults being spoken to look at him grimly. "Isn't the whole point of therapy supposed to help her heal and if she hasn't opened up, it's not helping her?"

"If you're basing your opinions on her lack of information, then Director, you are making a poor judgment."

"Are you questioning my decision?" Fury inquired, his good eye narrowing dangerously.

"I did send for a repeal, didn't I?"

Furry didn't look pleased but didn't object when she continued her argument.

"Hazel has no problem with fighting. She's been training daily, goes to her mandatory physical—"

"She assaulted an Agent in the office, Director Fury. Broke their arm and nose," Coulson interjected.

"That was a year ago, it's been cleared. By you, may I add or you don't even read what you sign?" she snapped. "And I saw how she did with gun practice, getting a perfect score. She is capable of fighting and defending herself. And psychologically, she's in a stable place."

"As I have said previously in my documents, Hazel has OCD. The compulsive kind where she has to do things in a certain order or else it would set her off. Over the years she's been improving."

"How has OCD affected her being on the field?" asked Fury in a monotone.

Coulson stepped in. "After she recovered for almost seven months, she went back to her first mission, she had an incident that led her to be considered unfit to be a field agent."

"Didn't she have a psych evaluation?" Fury asked. "Every agent is required to have one after going through trauma."

"She did." I didn't take perform that evaluation, in case you wondering, Monroe added internally. Her fingers grazed over Hazel's file, everything memorized. "And barely passed but she passed. But then being on the field set off everything she had been hiding and brought her back ten steps backs. But that doesn't mean that can happen again. She's improved."

"Like you said, fine details," Furry said, nodding thoughtfully, his fingers drumming on his desk.

"Exactly. Hazel is ready," she said in a manner she would speak to a patient that was having a panic attack, to Coulson, who was looking at the two of them uneasily.

"If you say so," Coulson muttered.

"Director," she said, in the most gentle voice a person like her could muster. "Hazel will never go back to the Agent she was years ago. But she will prosper, maybe become a better one. We've seen Agents out there be in worse situations than her and look at them. Imagine Hazel."

There was a second of silence, the words of Monroe sinking in.

"Dr. Monroe," Fury finally spoke up. "Thank you for your appeal, I'll make sure for Coulson to look into the new decision. And if again, you're unsatisfied then we can do this again."

Monroe nodded, feeling a deep satisfaction. Fury cleared his throat to get her attention and stood up from his desk, going to stand between Monroe and Coulson.

"Now that we're done with that portion of the meeting, I didn't just call you here for Summers, I mean Hazel," he corrected himself when he saw her expression. "I want to know about your other patient."

"You'll have to be more specific. I have many patients," she said coolly but she knew who he was talking about. It was the one who he kept pestering her about every day.

"You're newest one."

"Steve Rogers," Coulson added unnecessarily. For the first time of the meeting, he wasn't looking at her in contempt but with eagerness. "Captain America."

"Right, Mr. Rogers," Monroe said flatly.

Fury sighed in annoyance. "Now that we've made it clear who we're talking about, what do you got on Rogers?"

Monroe pursed her lips and pulled out his file from her purse begrudgingly. She flipped it open and scanned quickly her newest notes from their last sessions. Which had been the previous day. He had been the same; courteous, quiet and ill-tempered.

As respectful as the infamous Steve Rogers was, he was still a man with a certain mindset where talking about their emotions was a sign of weakness and being forced to talk about them, especially to a woman, would make him uncomfortable. Which explained why he wasn't willing to open up.

"Mr. Rogers currently stands in a very delicate situation," she told them.

"What is that suppose to mean?" Coulson asked sharply. Monroe inwardly rolled her eyes. Coulson had tried his best to become involved with Captain America but hadn't succeeded. Monroe knew that was another reason why Coulson disliked her. She was working close with the great Captain while he stood on the sidelines.

"Mr. Coulson, have you met someone that was from the 1940's who was in a very horrible war and had been frozen for over sixty years? And then was unfrozen to be thrust into the world that has a technology you had never imagine with everyone you knew was either dead or very old and is going through different types of mental illness?"

Both Fury and Coulson stared at her, not sure what to say.

"He's adjusting quite well," she added.

"And what is well?" Fury asked, concerned how his newest—and most valuable—asset was doing. But it was for a beneficial gain than genuine concerned over the young soldier, which frustrated Monroe. No wonder Steve was going through such a hard time, no one seemed to care about him on a personal level.

"He's understanding the new technology very quickly and has been reading on our history books to catch up."

"But..."

"It's not enough. He's frustrated and lonely. He is showing signs of depression; doesn't like to spend time with people, loss of appetite, trouble sleeping and although he hides it well, gets irritable easily." She paused and against her professional judgment, added, "And I don't want to come to rash conclusions, but I'm about ninety percent sure he has PTSD. And I know that you don't want that for him if you want him part of that initiative."

Coulson glared at her, hearing the sourness in her tone.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Fury asked, ignoring her tone. "Or more specifically, you?"

Monroe smiled and felt a comfort that Fury was looking for her for help. And fortunately for him, she had a solution that would benefit him and her patients.

"Director Fury, what I have for you is a kill two birds with one stone situation."

"Doubt it," Coulson said in a low voice that was only meant for her. She made a point to ignore him, knowing she would be the one to have the last laugh in the end.

"What is it, Monroe?" Fury said, his eye holding interest.

"Before I indulge you, have either of you read the newest research done about people who suffer mental illness state can improve with the moral support of people?"

Coulson eye roll made Monroe have to bite the inside her cheek to stop herself from smiling as she continued.

Even after Nick Fury had made it clear the meeting would be an hour long, it had extended to three hours with the three of them arguing. Or more accurately Monroe and Coulson snapping at each other every second and Fury telling them to shut up.

But in the end, they had come up with a compromise that pleased Monroe immensely. Mostly because Coulson came with the shorthand but also because it benefited two of her patients.

"Have a wonderful day, Mr. Coulson," Monroe smiled at him when they were outside of Fury's office.

"I guess I'll see you soon, Dr. Monroe" he bit out, emphasizing on her title to make a point that he remembered her given title, unlike her. She ignored him and nodded, remembering another meeting that was scheduled in the next two days.

"I guess we will."

Giving him another triumph smile, she turned around and headed to her office, already going over the patients that she would see for the rest of the day. She hoped everything worked out in the end.

Hazel glared at the screen and closed the window, rubbing her eyes. She could feel her exhaustion taking over again. Like the previous night, she had gotten barely a few hours of sleep and had woken up earlier than usual. She took the opportunity to make herself a proper breakfast and to try out a new hairstyle she had seen on the television.

"Hazel..." Julia's voice broke her concentration.

"Hmm?" she hummed in acknowledgment, not looking at her screen. She frowned when she saw an error in a report.

"Are you still going to get a drink with me tonight?"

"Yeah, I'm still going. I always say yes to alcohol."

"Of course you would."

She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them and looked up at her computer screen, Julia was right in front of her desk.

"Dammit, Julia. I said I would go. Get away from me."

Julia smirked. "I'm just making sure. You seem distracted and I thought it would be nice of me to remind you."

Hazel rolled her eyes and stretched her body, wincing at how stiff her bones were. She glanced at the clock and saw that she was done for the day. Sighing in content, she pushed stood up.

"I'm leaving," she announced and started picking up her things. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Julia nodded and went back to her desk, still having an hour left. "You heading to the gym?"

"Always." She shot her a small grin and slipped away from their corner, more than ready to breathe different air, even if it was sweat. She could almost feel herself growing lighter every step she took further from her office desk.

An hour later and Hazel didn't feel the same lightness as before. Instead, she felt like she was being dragged down by bricks.

"Shit," Hazel hissed when she felt a cramp on her stomach and tried to ignore it. She must be getting sick or be on her period soon. She never got cramps. "Shit, fuck. Fuck S.H.I.E.L.D. and their fucking regulations. Oh, fuck."

Not only did Hazel have to go to weekly mandatory therapy, she was also ordered to work out of the gym. It was another organic way to express herself, or so that's what Dr. Monroe explained patiently when she saw the look of disgust on Hazel.

She didn't complain when she found out. After all, it was her own damn fault for being temperamental.

She could have avoided having PE like a high schooler, but being cooped up in an office desk when she had been used to be moving around, it had made her lose her thin patience and lash out violently to one of her coworkers. Leading her to be sent to therapy twice a week instead of one and to be currently cramping on a machine.

Hazel shouldn't be complaining, S.H.I.E.L.D. had a nice gym. Air conditioning and the machines were clean daily, so she was safe from getting any diseases. And the gym was never crowded, which helped her concentrate. But that didn't mean she liked it. She tried to make the best of it, going when there weren't any agents stinking up the place with their sweat and whatever lotions the put on their body.

She hated running on the treadmills. Running in the same place in confined places made her get bored easily. But she didn't complain, she actually liked to run. She wanted to run outside, with the sun shining on her and not having to be surrounded by machines. She tried to run in the central park but got distracted with the buildings and the obnoxious noises the cars and bus made.

She had only been there for twenty minutes, fifteen spent stretching and the other jogging slowly on a treadmill when her routine was interrupted.

"Damn, Summer. Thought you worked out?" a deep voice said from behind, amused. Hazel rolled her eyes and continued running, not acknowledge them until she saw their shadow next to her. "How's it going?"

"Hello, Smith," she said coolly and tried to ignore him but his presence was distracting her, something he was well aware.

"Right back at you, Summers." He grinned at her and hopped onto the treadmill next to her. She sighed and pushed a strand of her damp hair from her forehead. Apparently, he took politeness as an invitation to stay.

"Go away."

"Hey, I'm here to exercise, just like everybody else in this gym. This body doesn't just happen like magic, so I can't go away. So what's up, Summers?"

Hazel didn't like listening to music when she ran. The only noise she needed was her breathing. And hearing Smiths' voice was throwing her off her routine. She knew that if she ignored him he would still persist until she caved but if she talked to him, he still wouldn't leave.

"Someone's in a bad mood, but it's fine. I can do all the talking, I have a nicer voice than yours." She shot him an aggravated look but he laughed. "I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

"And I'm trying to ignore you."

"Come on. Don't be like that."

She made a face. Why did guys always have to say that? Yes, she did have to be like that because she didn't want him around her.

"Come on, Summers. Don't be bitter. I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

Hazel grunted, being her only response, and pushed her damp hair from her sweaty forehead.

"Summers..."

"Smith," she snapped, fed up with him. "I'm just trying to exercise so I can meet my quota, so shut up and let me do that."

"Right, after like, what, four years, you still have to complete a freaking quota? Sucks, seriously." Thankfully after that, he fell quiet, which appeased her mind and decided to speed up her pace, his presence giving her energy to hurry up and leave the suffocating place.

"Heard you got a hot date," he said after minutes of silence. That got her attention, making her slow down her pace until she went to a complete stop. She glanced at him in disbelief and that made him grin. "Got your attention didn't I?"

"I don't have a date," she snapped. "Not a date."

"Whatever," he shrugged. "You're not going to end up dating him, so got nothing to worry about."

Hazel shook her head, trying to hide her grimace. Smith was unbearable, especially when he tried to shamelessly flirt with her.

"Anyways, forgetting about the not date, I actually just came here to brag. I got this awesome assignment. It's top secret... for now, but it's important."

"Then what the hell are you telling me?" she gritted. She would be lying if she didn't feel a twinge of jealousy. And she hated that he knew, that being the only reason why he continued talking about his assignments.

"Because you're still going to find out. You always get my reports and look through them."

"Yes, after they're no longer considered confidential to just you. Which means it's useless, just like you."

"First, of all you're rude. I can file a complaint about that insult. And second, at least I get to do a mission. What do you get to do? Get coffee and make sure I do my papers," he said snidely.

If she wasn't already for violence in the work environment, she would have slammed his head to the moving floor and make sure his face got burned. Instead, she clenched her fists and picked up her pace. Smith doing the opposite, turned off the machine and angle his body towards her, his intention of exercising flying out the window.

"I am helping create a new initiative."

"Fantastic," she said sarcastically.

"Agent Hill picked me from the bunch," he gloated. She glanced at him unimpressed. He sighed and said, "Look, I'm not just here to brag. I'm also here to compromise. Think you might like it."

"About what?" she scoffed, laughing at the absurdity of it.

"It's no secret that you are desperate to get out of the desk and go back to the field," he said and in a lower voice, added, "I mean, didn't you get denied again?"

She scowled and stopped her treadmill. She huffed and turned to him, placing her hands on her hips. "What the hell do you want?"

"I mean, I'm the best agent there is here. If you wanted to, I could give a good word to Hill, to at least give you a chance to prove yourself. To actually have a chance to do something useful, other than sit in the desk and waste your eyesight. Yeah, I know you wear glasses."

"And what's into you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well... I haven't had, you know, the sex for a while and you and I get along really well and maybe we can also have a few drinks—"

"Oh fuck off." He really was stupid. She doubted he had an important part of the initiation. Probably just to be there in case there was a backup. And everyone knew, that no one used the backup.

Smith shrugged, not fazed at her outburst and hopped off the treadmill. "Well, you continue killing that ass and I'll be over there by the weights, in case you want to go over there when you're done here and check my pecs flex."

The entire time he walked away, she glared at the back of his stupid black haired head.

"Not going to sleep with him," Hazel reminded herself, no matter how much she wanted to do something that didn't include correcting typos. She glanced at her phone and saw that she had an hour left before she was supposed to meet Julia in the bar. Slowing down, she took a few seconds to regain her legs and walked to the showers.

Hazel loved bars.

They were like her second home, maybe more of a home than her actual apartment. She was proud to say that she was a high-functioning alcoholic... most of the time. About eight out of ten. On her good days. Which was four out of ten.

But Hazel still loved bars, nothing would change that. Whether she could or couldn't handle her drinks. When she moved to New York, it was actually the first thing she had gone to look for when she was walking the streets. They weren't like the ones from where she use to live but they made up from looks with the good alcohol.

Her favorite one was a small bar, near where she worked, that never cut people off, no matter how smashed they were. It was called Lucky's because everybody ended up getting lucky one way or another.

Unfortunately, that night for her, Hazel wasn't getting lucky.

Things started going downhill since she left the gym. After going to the shower, she could feel a pounding headache forming because of the lack of hydration. And when she took a shower and went to look for extra clothes she had planned on wearing when she went out with Julia, she had discovered she had forgotten to bring them.

That made her groan in frustration and maybe kick her locker but had tried to convince herself that it didn't matter. She was going to take them off in two or three hours, why waste clean clothes?

She still tried to smooth out the wrinkles for her shirt and skirt and when she went to meet up with Julia, who was irritated by her tardiness. They had promised met up in front of a coffee shop that they go at times after work and then go to the bar to meet the others.

"You're late," Julia snapped when she saw Hazel walking towards her.

"Right, I'm sorry. I got caught up in the gym and then—"

"I don't care. What the hell are you wearing?" Julia demanded, putting her hands on her hips, her brows furrowed into an angry look.

"Clothes," Hazel said meekly, knowing what she was going to get.

"Those are your work clothes! What the hell Hazel? I know you're not really into this but I thought you would have tried a little. For me at least. Or for the alcohol."

Hazel winced at her shrill tone. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I forgot my clothes in my apartment and I didn't realize about ten minutes ago. I know I look kinda like crap but hey, at least I'm wearing a skirt. I really am sorry. I'm not trying to make you look bad. Seriously."

Julia pursed her lips, eyeing her. Reluctantly, she sighed and admitted, "You don't look bad which works in your favor. I could always say that you are a workaholic, which I suppose you are."

"See? Everything is fine." Hazel smiled at her and linked her arm with Julia's and started steering her towards the bar. "Besides, I don't think he's really going to care what I'm wearing as long as we get a buzz."

Things in the bar didn't improve.

Hazel couldn't pinpoint what it was, whether the obnoxious music that they were playing or the humid feeling that made her clothes stick to her skin or her boring date that made her wish she was somewhere else.

Kyle Lucas, her not date was attractive enough—brown eyes, tall, and well-built figure—but that was about it. He had the desperate-to-get-laid vibe which annoyed her and his attempts of conversation were futile.

He talked about his boring job and all the sight seeing that Tara had taken him to. Hazel had tried to keep in the beginning but quickly lost interest when he went into slightly descriptive detail at a fight that he saw in the subway. She saw those almost every morning, not finding them as amusing as she did five years ago.

Hazel felt Julia nudge her for the tenth time and for another tenth time, she ignored her, going for another round. It looked like she was going to be sleeping alone that night, and from she had been offered, it wasn't a huge disappointment.

"So..." Kyle said, trying to start another conversation between them. "Want more tequila?"

"Sure. Tequila makes me drowsy and I want to sleep tonight," she said, wanting to get drunker than she already was, and extended her shot glass. Kyle froze and begrudgingly poured her another shot.

Hazel could feel Julia's glare and again ignored her, just continued staring at Kyle and gave him a small smile, hoping to come off a nice. She took another sip from her glass and felt something vibrated in her purse. She sighed, ignored it for a second but the vibration kept bothering her. She should have ignored it, but in her invertebrate state that clouded her judgment, she decided it was a good idea to answer. Not to mention, she was desperate to get out of the dull conversation with Kyle

Shifting in her seat, she fumbled with her purse and pulled out the phone. She squinted trying to see who was calling but it proved to be a hard task. It wasn't an unknown number but in her intoxicated mind, it made no sense. Her finger hovered over the green button to accept the call but before she could, she felt someone a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the unexpected contact and glanced at her.

"Haze? What's wrong?" In her usual motherly nature, Tara looked at her in concern. If Hazel would ever have children, she would have Tare be their pediatric. Even Hazel wished she would attend her instead of her regular physician. "You don't feel well?"

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry your smart little head, Tara. I'm sorry but I have to take this," she excused herself and stood up from their table. "It's, ugh, unfortunately important."

"Don't leave," Julia warned, she wagged her finger at her menacingly. Hazel scoffed, finding it somehow amusing that the way Julia was glaring at her reminded Hazel of her mother. It was almost more sad than amusing, but Hazel had a twisted sense of humor. "I mean it, Hazel."

"It's just a call from work. I'll be back," she promised and started walking to a more secluded area.

"Hazel."

She waved her off and turned their back to them, stumbling slightly, showing how drunk she was. She swore that she was only slightly buzzed.

"I thought you said she was fun," Kyle muttered to his cousin, from behind her.

"Oh, I am but you're not," Hazel said, covering the phone and looking over her shoulder, giving him a smile. He looked grumpy and took a long drink from his bottle. Hazel then answered the phone, her voice coming out slightly slurred.

"I apologize for calling at this time of hour but this is an important matter."

Hazel drunk mind slowly processed what the voice said. It sounded eerily familiar but she wasn't sure.

"What?" she said stupidly.

"Ms. Summers I need you to report to my office at seven o'clock."

Hazel pulled the phone from her ear and glanced at it in bewilderment. When she pulled the phone back to her ear, she could hear the person on the other end calling her again.

"Ms. Summers, are you there?"

"I'm sorry, who's this?" she slurred and tried to bite back a burp.

"This is Agent Coulson, Agent Summers," the voice said patiently.

Hazel had gotten in a state of panic that she had completely missed the fact that Coulson had addressed her as an Agent—something that hadn't happened in a really long time. She immediately pushed herself off the wall and felt like she had been forced to take a cold shower.

"Shit, fuck, shit," she hissed and then stopped cursing when she realized that Coulson was still on the other end of the line. "Sorry, sorry. I was a—never mind, sorry. I'll stop cussing."

"Is this a bad time? If you're—"

"No, no," she yelped and cleared her throat. "I'm fine. What is that you need... um, uh, sir?"

Coulson hummed in disbelief and proceeded to speak in his usual professional manner. "I need you to report to my office tomorrow in the morning."

"Uh—why?" she asked, tugging on her hair nervously, feeling a pit grow at the bottom of her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was the mystery of the conversation or her tolerance for that day was very low. "Is there something that I did wrong?"

He paused for a long time that made Hazel check that she didn't accidentally hang up in her intoxicated state. She was relief that she could still see the end call button.

"Agent Coulson?" she asked hesitantly.

"You're not in trouble. Just to report to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters at seven sharp."

"Yeah, of course. Sure. I'll be there at seven," she said and cringed at how intoxicated she must sound. Agent Coulson either didn't notice or seemed to not care, as long as she got the message.

"We'll speak about it tomorrow," he responded sharply. "I expect you to be in your top shape tomorrow. Have a good evening."

Without waiting for her reply, he hung up. She blinked slowly, and pulled the phone from her ear, looking at its uncertainty, still in a confused haze. Hazel tried to put her phone in her pocket when she realized she didn't have any because she was wearing a skirt. That was a clear sign that she was more than buzzed.

"Oh crap," Hazel groaned, feeling her body sway a little and clumsily went to the wall next to her, to rested her head. Again she tried to bite back a burp and failed. She covered her mouth and ran to the closest thing that she could throw up in.

From the background, she could hear someone calling her name, not sounding happy to see her hugging a trash can and flashing half the bar her blue underwear.

Today was definitely not her day.