The worst part of the mission wasn't the possibility of being murdered by a super-soldier with a robotic arm. It was waiting tables. Hill set up the job so I could establish a false identity at least one week before Rogers was scheduled to come to my house, and possibly bring along a trailing shadow.
Romanoff decided that my house wasn't friendly enough and sent a group of movers over first thing in the morning. I left the house as people were coming in and out with flower planters and cleaning supplies. They were already getting started on the lawn. The only time I ever mowed it was when a kid down the street offered, or the neighbors put notes on my door.
Romanoff made it clear that I was supposed to appear easy to approach. Or, as translated by me, a fairy princess. I wasn't the least bit surprised that my house didn't make the cut. I only used it as a place to store my things, sleep, and shower. Which apparently wasn't friendly or "threat-free" enough for Romanoff's standards. So by the time my first shift ended, my house would be more acceptable.
When I was in high school, I had one real job. Usually, I made extra money by helping my grandparents or going to work in my dad's garage. But when I was in junior year, and my parents weren't able to afford my prom dress, I got a job to pay for it myself. I waited tables at a pancake restaurant and hated every second.
I could feel all of that raw hatred returning when I stepped into the diner. It was supposed to be a 50's themed diner, with celebrity portraits and studies of old cars on the walls. The diner's biggest sellers were their old-fashioned malts in a variety of flavors. I hadn't heard of the place before Hill sent me the information, but I already knew I was going to dislike all the greasy food. And I was sure I was going to want to destroy the malt machine before leaving for the day.
The dining area was small, with several booths along the wall under the windows, and a bar. A girl was already standing behind the counter making a milkshake when I walked in. She was the only person in the dining area except for a man nursing a mug of coffee and a mom with a sleepy kid waiting for his early morning milkshake.
I headed back and introduced myself. The girl said her name was Marion, but she didn't have a nametag, and I forgot it quickly. She was a tall girl with short dark hair and chunky wedge sneakers. Her sweater seemed just a tad too tight for a full range of motion, and she was already bouncing from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with her choice of footwear.
When Marion was done showing me around, she finished up the shake and took it to the excited boy in the booth. She smiled brightly. Like it wasn't early in the morning. And then returned and nodded for me to follow her into the kitchen.
I was going to be in training for only two days, and then under probation for the rest of the week. I knew how to do the job, and I didn't have much trouble getting started. I just felt miserable. I never wanted to go back to waiting tables and hated Hydra even more than I already did. My only consolation was that the double income would cover my bills. I had to remind myself of that several times during the day, just to plaster that fake smile on my face.
By the time my shift ended, everything below the waist hurt. My thighs ached, my calves, my feet, and even my knees. I used to wake up every morning at four AM just to run miles, and I decided I'd rather go back to doing that every day than having to wait on another table. My head was pounding. I wanted to go home and never come back. I hurried out of there the first chance I got.
The house already looked different when I pulled the car into the driveway. The lawn was cut to even my father's meticulous standards. There were little boxes full of blooming flowers outside of the living room window. And also a potted shrub by the door. They'd even left a welcome mat with a cheerful greeting and friendly polka dots. I stepped inside, and the scent of cleaning supplies and air fresheners washed over me, making the house feel strangely unfamiliar.
It had been cleaned from top to bottom. There were no longer cobwebs on the ceiling fans or bugs in the light fixtures. There were decorative quilts and pillows on the couch. When I went to the kitchen, I noticed a weathered patio set in the backyard. Like anyone would believe that I was the kind of person to throw backyard barbecues.
I didn't like it.
The upstairs was in much the same condition. I didn't know what reason Barnes would have for examining my bathroom, but sure enough, there was a new shower curtain with a matching set of soap dishes and rugs. My bed was made for the first time since middle school, and my closet had been cleaned of anything linking me to the military or SHIELD. Romanoff promised to put all my things in a storage unit, but I really hoped nothing happened to it.
It didn't feel like home anymore. I thought I wouldn't be bothered by it since I never spent much time there anyway. But it was still mine. Even if nothing matched and there were no pictures on the walls. At least it reflected who I was. This house didn't feel like me at all.
I sat down on the bed and took off my shoes. Despite the new, sheer curtains, the room was relatively dark. I hoped they hadn't called someone to get rid of the raccoon in the attic. I knew he was probably destroying my home and likely to put my health at risk, but I felt bad for the little guy. I didn't want him to be out on his own. The sound of his scurrying and chattering in the middle of the night was comforting. I liked the way he made the tree shake when he shot out of the house like a rocket. Which was how he got his name in the first place.
My mom always used to say that Clara was destined to be rich and never have children. Or if she did, she'd hire them a nanny. She said I was meant to be a mother. I didn't have a lot of experiences with kids. I never had any cousins, and I did love my mother. I thought other moms were great too. But motherhood wasn't where I saw myself. My own mom was a housewife who never had a real job outside of helping her husband with his business and raising two daughters. That kind of life never appealed to me.
Clara worked hard for the life she had. Even though she had everything she could ever want or need because Tony Stark had fallen head over heels for her, his business still depended on her. Stark Industries depended on her. And that was what I really wanted. To be useful or valuable beyond providing meals and doing laundry.
I joined the military to prove I could handle something bigger than what small-town Ohio had to offer. To prove to my father that my kindness and gentleness had nothing to do with a lack of strength. I worked as hard as Clara did. I gave the military all I had and took up hobbies to get me noticed by Special Forces. I thought I was destined to do something with my life. I could help people, be a doctor, make a difference, make my family proud. Then maybe someday I'd consider children and a spouse with a house. Maybe even a dog or two.
But I couldn't do it. I got my squad killed, didn't save a group of children. I couldn't even pull a trigger and avenge them when I had the chance. Now I was waiting tables at a grimy diner so that Captain America could use my house to find his friend. So that a potentially dangerous Hydra experiment didn't find me too threatening.
I sighed in defeat and leaned on the mattress. Of course they chose me. I was so non-threatening that Colonel Talbot took one look at me and knew there was no possible way Hydra could have found me useful. I was the least threatening SHIELD agent in the entire district. I wasn't destined for great things. I wasn't good enough for a dog, let alone children. I felt like a failure. And there was nothing more irritating than the feeling of being stuck.