The Triskelion

Washington D.C.

U.S.A.

11:00

(An excerpt from a conversation between Agent Patel and Director Fury)

Fury: Agent Patel...Poppy, we feel it may be best if you take some time to yourself after that last mission.

Patel: I don't understand why, sir.

Fury: Well, from what your mission report stated things got a little dicey there… your father's name was mentioned.

Patel: With all due respect, sir, we shouldn't have expected him to stop looking for me just because I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

Fury: Yes but I understand that you were forced to...neutralise someone that you had known previously.

Patel: Ravi chose his side. It was just unfortunate for him that it happened to be my father's.


Chapter Three - An Answer For An Answer

Shucking off her coat, Poppy draped it over the back of a chair as she uncoiled the scarf from around her neck leaving Captain Rogers to close the door behind them. Gesturing towards the brown paper bag tucked under Captain Rogers' arm Poppy instructed, "You can leave that on the coffee table."

Ducking into the kitchen without checking if he was following her instructions, she emerged with a glass in each hand and was pleasantly surprised. The four bottles of scotch were lined up on the table and Captain Rogers was perched somewhat awkwardly on the edge of the couch. Approaching him, Poppy curled up onto the couch next to him with one leg folded beneath her and the other bent at the knee. Leaning forward Poppy popped the cork on the first bottle with one hand, pouring two fingers of scotch into each glass and offering one to Captain Rogers.

Eyeing the glass warily, like it were a snake contemplating whether to bite him or not, he finally took it his warm fingers brushing against her chilled ones.

"Good call, Captain," Poppy commented before clinking her glass against his, "Cheers."

Without further ceremony, she tilted her head back and downed her drink in one swallow. Cautiously peering at the amber liquid, Captain Rogers soon followed. The alcohol was smooth on his tongue and seemed to leave a trail of heat as it travelled down to his stomach. Even so, the taste was strong enough for him to clear his throat afterwards.

"I did warn you I liked the good stuff," Poppy said wryly as she poured another two fingers into each glass. "Granted this is still probably a lot smoother than the rotgut they used to serve back in your day."

"Back in my day," Captain Rogers repeated quietly as he stared at the glass in his hand. "You must be aware that the serum means we can't actually get intoxicated, aren't you? The doctors explained that it had something to do with enhanced metabolism."

Propping her chin on top of her knee, Poppy gestured at the bottles lined up on the table with the glass in her hand. "Obviously, Captain Rogers, you never tried hard enough."

"Never really had a reason to," He answered truthfully, never having been one to think the answer to his problems would lie at the bottom of a bottle.

Dark brows drew together in annoyance, as Poppy was reminded of just how perfect Captain Steve Rogers was. Of course he had never drank his issues away. Such an option would have never even crossed his pious mind. Envy coiled low and cold in Poppy's gut and she tossed back the contents of her glass in an effort to chase it away, relishing the heat that blossomed in its place. He was right when he said that because of the serum they couldn't actually get intoxicated, the most Poppy had ever achieved was a light buzz and that was after a lot of drinks.

She had discovered though that sometimes the act itself was enough to trick the brain into thinking it wasn't as sober as it actually was.

"Well then, Captain," The smile on her lips as sharp as a knife, "Feel free to borrow one of mine."

Despite being curious about what had brought this sudden switch in attitude towards him - borderline friendly to almost outright antagonism - Captain Rogers was intelligent enough to realise that she was drinking for a reason. No one just decided at 4am to get drunk for the sake of it, and judging from the way she was throwing back her drinks it was obvious the plan was intoxication. Even if it was physically impossible, it appeared she could make it happen through sheer force of will alone.

He hadn't been lying when he said he'd never had a reason to try and get drunk after the serum, simply because he had never been the type of person to solve their problems with alcohol. The few times he had gotten drunk, he hadn't been a fan. Never able to afford the 'good stuff' as Poppy put it, the taste had initially been enough to put him off and the hangover had solidified it.

By the time Captain Rogers had finished his second glass, Poppy was on her fifth.

Watching her stare moodily into middle-distance Captain Rogers was startled when she let out a mirthless laugh, her fingers brushing the underside of his jaw as she peeled off the photostatic veil. His face screwed up at the feel of the thin mesh mask lifting off of his skin.

"That's better," Poppy said softly. "Now we can see that pretty face of yours."

Blinking in surprise at her words, Captain Rogers silently watched as she removed her own veil, tossing both nano-masks onto the coffee table. Running a hand through her hair she fluffed up the thick waves, lifting them from where they curled heavily against her neck, before dropping them back down with a sigh and rubbing the back of her neck instead.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Captain Rogers asked tentatively, already prepared for the snapped rejection. The woman next to him had already proved that she wasn't forthcoming with personal details outside what she had to share.

The room was silent, Poppy seemingly mulling over his words carefully, that or she was ignoring him.

"An answer for an answer," Poppy addressed her glass softly.

"Pardon me?" Captain Rogers raised his brows, unsure of whether she was speaking to him or herself.

Meeting his eyes she said, "We share what's keeping us up at night, back and forward. We continue until we run out of problems to share or one of us passes out. Fair warning though," Poppy smirked, "low alcohol tolerance isn't one of my problems."

Captain Rogers found himself agreeing to her terms, allowing her to top up his glass. "Catch up, Captain," She encouraged, tapping a fingernail against the glass, smile widening as he raised the glass to his lips swallowed down the scotch with a slight grimace.

"Problem number one: that something as simple as a recorded baseball game tipped you off to it not actually being 1945," Poppy told him, annoyance laced through every word, "Causing me to have to chase you throughout the streets of New York - something I was actively trying to avoid."

Of course pious Captain Rogers actually looked contrite at her thinly veiled reprimand, something that served only to annoy her further. Just so damn perfect, even though Poppy knew from experience that nobody was perfect. No one was infallible. But envy was beginning to drown out reasoning at this point.

Tossing back the remainder on her glass, Poppy irritatedly poured another for both Captain Rogers and herself. "Alright Captain, your turn - batter up," she said pointedly.

"Well, there's the fact that everyone I ever knew is gone," Captain Rogers bit back uncharacteristically, a hint of fire in those blue eyes of his. A mixture of the scotch sitting in his stomach and a growing impatience with her deliberate antagonism.

"There he is!" Poppy's soft voice was full of triumph as she leaned forward until her knee was almost touching his chest in her effort to look into his eyes. "Now that the damn manners are out of the way, there's the real Captain Rogers." Head tilted to the side, Poppy's dark eyes seemed to soften, "They're not all gone, you know."

"What do you mean?" His gaze was intense as he processed her words.

"Peggy Carter - she's not gone. Well, not completely."

"What do you mean?" Now Captain Rogers was leaning forward also, perfect straight pointed nose an inch from her own, urgency filling his voice.

Brows jumping up in surprise Poppy teased, "Well Captain, how very commanding. I mean just because she's alive doesn't mean she'll remember you."

"Are you always so cryptic?" Captain Rogers demanded, "Or just when you're drinking?"

"That depends," Poppy answered flippantly as she leaned back. "Were you unable to connect the dots back in the 40's, or is this a side-effect of your defrosting?" Noticing his clenched jaw Poppy relented, "Peggy Carter, one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., is 91 years old and unfortunately suffering from mid-stage dementia. Good news is, she'll most likely remember you. Bad news is she'll think you're still back in 1944 since you look exactly the same - she however will not."

"Peggy's still alive?" Captain Rogers breathed, looking for all the world like a drowning man who had taken his first breath of air.

"If you can call it that," Poppy shrugged, a sympathetic look crossing her face, "A mind is a terrible thing to lose."

Poppy's sympathy was sincere, though in reality it was closer to pity. She had seen the file on Peggy Carter, seen the amazing things the woman had accomplished throughout her life, and the thought of that brilliant mind deteriorating prickled at the woman's often hidden compassion. It was mind-boggling that science had progressed to the point where they could essentially bring the dead back to life, but they were unable to cure atrophy of the brain.

They sat in silence while Captain Rogers processed what he'd been told. Peggy was alive. She was alive! Maybe he wasn't as alone in this new time as he'd thought he was. Except… while it had been only a few weeks for him, it had been a lifetime for her. There was every possibility she wasn't even the same woman he had known. Would she even want to seen him? Would she even remember him?

He didn't know what possibility hurt more - that she had lived her life without him, or that she may not remember their time together at all.

"I can get you her file," Poppy offered into the silence, the kaleidoscope of emotions flitting across his face tugging at that often hidden compassion of hers. "If you'd like."

Shocked by the sincerity in her voice, Captain Rogers blinked at her profile, "I...I would appreciate that very much."

"Consider it done," Poppy replied simply, continuing to stare at her glass rather than the grateful expression on his face. Those blue eyes would be the death of her. How was it that a man who had to have seen some horrific things during his time with the Howling Commandos had managed to keep that gleam of innocence? That spark of hope that had been snuffed out of her at the age of 7 by her own father.

It was a phenomenon that both intrigued and infuriated her.

"So," Captain Rogers broached the silence, rather bravely with the question that followed, "Why didn't you want to be seen in New York?"

"Where did you get that idea?" Poppy asked sharply, not quite turning her head to face him but instead glancing out of the corner of her eye.

"Well," Captain Rogers listed, "There was how annoyed you were about having to chase me through the streets. Then the fact that tonight you made us both wear those nano-mask-things to leave the building but that first day you didn't bother. And I think you didn't bother because you were angry and whatever happened between you and Fury that you completely forgot. Also, even though this is a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse you still avoid all of the windows." The smug look he gave her was reminiscent of a child thinking they'd proven a point to an adult, "So, what are you avoiding?"

"My father gave me the super soldier serum," Poppy stated matter-of-factly. At Captain Rogers' stunned expression she smiled widely and nodded, "Oh yes Captain, not only that but there were extensive genetic modifications he made also - none my choice, it wasn't like I could stop him. I was to be his crowning achievement. Proof that he could recreate the uncreatable. He wasn't the first to try of course, and it didn't work out so well for the last person to attempt it either."

"You make it sound like he designed you to be perfect," Captain Rogers stated without thinking.

"Perhaps," Poppy shrugged. "But I'm not. I'm still human and I make mistakes like everyone else. Only difference is when I do, the consequences are severe… people expect a lot from someone like me. And my father… well he expected too much."

Those words hung in the air, Captain Rogers both curious and fearful of the story behind them. Thankfully she made the choice for him when she began to speak again.

"That was until 6 years ago when I finally had enough and used his connections to contact S.H.I.E.L.D. - offered my abilities in return for amnesty. Director Fury saw my worth and brought me into the organisation. 6 months in the Academy and I graduated with the highest marks since Natasha Romanoff, a year later I was working with her." Pausing, Poppy finally made eye-contact with Captain Rogers, "Over the last 6 years there have been 3 separate attempts by my fathers men to recapture me, the last one ending with me terminating a man I had considered a friend. New York was my father's domain, so yes I am uncomfortable with being back here. But I thought the familiar surroundings might have been a comfort for you."

Soft light was beginning to filter its way through the curtains, filling the room with a warm glow that that made Poppy look almost vulnerable. The pair of them had been talking until sunrise it appeared, and Poppy was made all the more aware of how exhausted she truly was. Captain Rogers was mulling her words over, unsure of how to respond to a confession such as that. Being used as a test subject by your own father, being hunted down as though you were a possession and not a person, the man could barely even fathom such a thing.

Knocking back the rest of her drink, a half-empty bottle of scotch remaining on the coffee table, Poppy rose fluidly to her feet ignoring the pins-and-needles that had set into her right leg. "Captain Rogers, I'm sure you can occupy yourself for the rest of today?" Poppy stated with a wry smile. "I have some reports I need to write up."

"Sure," Captain Rogers frowned at her as she took their glasses and the empty bottles to the kitchen, the sounds of glass being dropped into the bin reaching his ears. When she moved back through the room towards the bedrooms he called out to her, "Wait!"

Looking back over her shoulder expectantly, Poppy had one hand curled around the door-frame, "Yes?"

"You don't have to keep calling me Captain Rogers," He admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Steve is fine."

"Thanks for the talk," Poppy smiled at him as she continued on her way, possibly the first sincere smile he had seen on her face since meeting her, "Captain Rogers."

Closing the door behind her, Poppy dropped down onto the edge of her bed with a groan. Resting her elbows against her knees she fisted her hands in her hair and squeezed her eyes shut. That had been a mistake. Everything she had told Captain Rogers had been a mistake. If Fury found out she had taken a late night excursion to get alcohol, and then sat up with Captain Rogers drinking said alcohol, she didn't even want to imagine the debriefing involved.

How could she had been so stupid?

Ever since Captain Rogers had entered the scene she had been more and more impulsive, not thinking things through. For some improbable reason it was as though he negated any control she had, making her do things she would normally be able to suppress. Poppy had always been blunt and prone to sarcasm, but she'd never gone out of her way to antagonise a person until she met Captain Steve Rogers.

And she couldn't understand why!

Falling back against the bedspread she covered her face with a pillow to muffle her shout of frustration. Why had she told him about her father? Why had she allowed him to wind her up enough that she told him that for the sole reason of shocking him - to see the realisation in his eyes that not everyone was as perfect as he was. He made her feel...less. Suddenly she wasn't as special because here was someone else with all the same attributes as her - maybe not as intelligent but physically they were on par. This was a man who had been dubbed as "The World's First Superhero", the man who gave a hefty contribution towards ending World War Two.

And he did it so goddamn effortlessly.

The sound of her phone ringing interrupted her thoughts and she blindly searched the covers until her hand curled around it. Glancing at the name across the screen she swiped her thumb across it before holding it up to her ear, her other arm flung across her face.

"Hey Popsicle!"

Clint Barton was as incessantly chipper as ever, despite it being 7am though granted he had probably gotten more sleep than she had lately.

Smiling at the nickname, even though she had claimed numerous times that she hated it, Poppy grumbled, "Hey Hawk, what's new?"

"Eh, nothing much, the Tesseract's still blue and glowy and not exactly wanting to cooperate with the good doctor," Clint replied flippantly, she could imagine his shoulders shrugging and the wry half-smile twisting his lips. "How's Iceman going? Assimilating to modern life - have you introduced him to Twinkies yet?"

"About 3 hours ago I introduced him to scotch?" There was a rueful tone to Poppy's voice, she almost felt like a kid getting caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Or what she imagined that to feel like, as there hadn't been any cookies around during her childhood. Plenty of jars though, but she certainly wouldn't have put any part of her body in those.

"Go big or go home, huh kid?" Warm chuckles came through the earpiece, "But I thought you guys couldn't actually - uh - get buzzed?"

"One day I'll succeed in getting white girl wasted," Poppy declared, "But you're right, this was not one of those times."

"Wanna tell Uncle Clint what brought this particular challenge into being?" Came the inevitable question. "And why you decided to bring the world's youngest geriatric along with you?"

"Just the usual," Poppy replied flippantly, "Couldn't sleep."

"New York's wiggin' you out huh?"

Somehow the older agent always seemed to get to the heart of what was bothering her without even needing to ask what was going on. Within a year of working together he had learned all her tells and cues and could see through whatever front she decided to put forward on that particular day. The uncanny ability to be able to read a person almost instantly was part of what made Clint Barton such an asset to S.H.I.E.L.D. - a skill he had been steadily working on with Poppy since they had initially bonded.

"That could be a fair assumption," Poppy relented, before deciding to shift the topic off of her mental state and onto safer ground. "There's also the fact that I'm stuck here tutoring Captain Perfect instead of being properly utilised."

"You know I hate it when you refer to yourself more as a tool than a person, right?" Clint questioned rhetorically. "Who better to teach Iceman the ropes than S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top squint - especially when you're the most qualified for bodyguard detail too. Remember Popsicle, I've seen you kill a man with just your thighs - a sight I still wish I could unsee but there you go."

"It's not like I'm teaching the guy theoretical physics," Poppy scoffed, realising that the 'safer ground' mightn't be all that much safer. "All he needed was to be shown how to use a television and his learning could have been entirely self-sufficient. I've been led to believe that figuring things out for yourself builds character."

"Yeah...but it doesn't always build the right kind of character," Clint gently disagreed with her. "Just because someone can figure it out on their own, doesn't mean they should have to."

"You sound like a fortune cookie," Poppy deadpanned, not liking the slight sting of shame that prickled around her edges at what sounded suspiciously like disappointment coming through in Clint's voice.

"Do you like him?"

Blanching at his bluntness, Poppy quipped, "What's not to like? He's polite, thoughtful, doesn't stare at my ass - probably used to go to church every Sunday. Tends to overcook the eggs, but he can make a half-decent cup of coffee."

"And there it is!" Clint crowed triumphant. "Feeling a little too domestic there, Popsicle? Maybe you should ask the guy to spar? Fighting's a good way to get to know a person. Also, just to consider, this is the guy who fought in World War Two with a commando squad - he's probably not as squeaky clean as you think. Those guys got in a lot of wickets, all of them hella sticky."

"Maybe," Poppy conceded, too tired to bother arguing with Clint knowing the older man could talk circles around her if he had half the mind.

"Just saying you should look at this from a different angle," He offered, "Anyway I gotta go, who knows the Tesseract might actually cooperate today and if that happens they'll need me to stand there looking impressed and slightly awestruck."

"Later Hawk."

"Get some sleep, Popsicle."


AN:

I'm so happy that people are still liking this fic! Honestly, knowing that you all appreciate Poppy as much as I do makes my heart fit to burst haha
Saying that, please don't hate her too much this chapter - she has a lot of issues and this is the first step to dealing with them! I hope you all liked the ending with Clint and Poppy. To me Fury is most definitely her father figure, and the amount of value Poppy's placed on his opinion probably isn't healthy but the more you learn about her past the more you'll understand why. But Clint and Natasha are the fun aunt and uncle who Poppy would trust with any secret, and she craves their validation as much as she does Fury's.

We've caught a bit more of a glimpse into her past too. I understand that Poppy was very antagonistic towards Steve this chapter, but it was necessary! I promise.

Please let you know if you're liking what I'm throwing down! I crave your opinions.

Happy reading,

- susiesamurai xoxo