AN: I'm so sorry about the wait. I am trash, I know that. But the holidays were super busy and i am trying to get my 250 pages of my portfolio finished before school starts next semester. But in honor of Agent Carter (WHICH WAS THE BOMB OKAY I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE IT) have an update. Feel free to pester me to death, that's how I write more! :) Love you all!

Chapter 6

Phase two consists of him standing in the middle of the room reading all the briefings that I've already read, plus the notes I've written out myself as I squat and measure him with a fabric tape measure.

"When's my computer comin', Morales?" I mumble around the pen in my mouth. I scribble down the length of his leg on the notepad at my feet before snaking the tape measure around his waist.

"Soon," Morales promises, rubbing the scar along his jaw, light against his tanned skin. "Does it need internet access?"

I stare at him like he's crazy. "Yes. I need to look up the best tailors. And popular dress styles." Plus I need to get Pandora going in here; it's too quiet.

"Okay," he says, and leaves.

"Hey, sweetheart, can you lift your right arm for me?" I say, standing up and scribbling his waist measurements on the pad. He does, completely absorbed in the file he's holding. "Thanks," I say, wrapping the tape measure around his arm. I need to check to see if his metal arm is actually thicker than his flesh arm, and if that's going to affect the measurements.

Morales knocks on the door and pokes his head back in. "Will an iPad be okay?"

"Sure thing, put it on the table, will you?" I say, sort of distracted. "Do you know if I've got a spending limit, Morales?"

"I can ask," he says.

"Do that." I scribble down his right arm's measurements and switch sides. "Can I have this arm now, Sweetheart?"

He obliges, lifting his metal appendage and shifting the file to his other hand.

"Hey, do you know if fabric gets caught in the interlocking pieces of your arm?" I tap the pieces. It's a very classy piece of machinery. He's got full range of motion with this thing.

"No," he says, "not unless I'm doing something that would force the fabric into the gaps."

"Well, if I get your measurements right, that shouldn't happen." I put the pen in between my teeth and run the tape from his shoulder to the floor. "You know your shoe size?" I mumble.

"No."

I scribble down that number and measure the length of his feet and their width. "Guess we'll do some googling," I say, not having much experience with men's shoes.

I grab the iPad and get on the Internet, resisting the urge to search myself to see if there's anything out there saying I'm missing. Keep it together, Devon.

"So this Moreau," he says suddenly, flipping through my notes, "he's interested in pursuit?"

I blink, surprised that he's actually asking me a question. "Yeah, he only goes after girls that already are involved with a guy. It's like, if he can get her away from him, it ups his man card or something. Which is stupid," I mumble to myself.

"So while you're flirting with him, what am I doing?"

"You're the jealous boyfriend," I say. "Don't make it easy for him to get me alone. He likes a challenge."

"But you're going to be encouraging him?" he checks, shooting me a look.

"I was planning on going hot and cold," I admit. "Playing it kind of by ear. At this palazzo, there's a big garden out back, so if he gets me away from you and I suggest we leave the party and go to the garden, HYDRA can pick him up easier without making a scene, and hopefully people won't notice he's gone for a while. Why?"

"I don't know…." he trails off.

"I'm gonna teach you how to dance, how to look, all that stuff," I promise. "It's acting. Can you smile?"

He stares at me.

"Do I need to read off a bunch of horrible puns?" I say, one side of my mouth lifting. "Because I can do that. The key to all facial expressions is having it come in the eyes." I smile blandly at him. "I'm smiling, see? But nothing is going on with my eyes." I smile so that my eyes crinkle and wink at him. "You see the difference, sweetheart?"

He nods and smiles, and it comes from the eyes. It's a little bit of a shy, bashful smile, but it's genuine.

"Good job!" I exclaim happily. Maybe this will be easier than I expected.

Day two is dancing. And I've googled all the tutorials I could think of to help me, because I've never taught anyone how to dance before. Today is just straight waltzing, because it seems pretty standard for a swanky party like this one. It's not Dancing with the Stars; he doesn't have to learn ten different styles. Heck, I know two and that's it.

"Okay, waltz rhythm," I say, after having cleared everything in my room out of the way. "It's three beats, one-two-three, one-two-three. You're gonna put your right arm around my back, right under my shoulder blade, okay? And your left hand goes out and holds my right hand." I put my left hand on his shoulder. "Good?"

"Mmhmm," he says. I think he's caught on that I'd prefer some sort of auditory affirmation. Morales opened the door behind me without making any noise while I was on the iPad the day before. When I finally saw him, I jumped about a foot.

"Okay. I'm going to step backwards, but you're going to step forwards. Your left foot moves with my right foot, and vice versa. Okay." I move my foot backwards, and his follows mine. Now I move my left food backwards and left, in an 'L' shape. Then our feet come together.

"Good job! Now move your right foot backwards, while I move mine forwards." We do the same thing, but in the other direction. "Now we're back where we started, see? We made a box. Think you can do it again without looking at your feet?"

He frowns, looks up from his feet, subtly adjusting his grip on my hands, and moves fluidly. I follow the cues I'm getting from the hand on my back –cues I didn't teach him. He turns us in the close confines of my room and manages to spin me out and back in. He makes a tiny noise like "huh."

"Wow," I say, my eyebrows rising up towards my hairline. "Well, even if you don't remember dancing, you obviously know how. You're a whole lot better than my dance partner in college," I tell him.

"How did I do that?" He looks down at me, and his eyes are sea green and confused.

"Muscle memory," I say with a smile. "Let's try it with music, huh?" I type in waltz songs on YouTube and "Kiss from a Rose" pops up, so I hit play. "You hear the beat?"

"Yeah," he says, and takes my hands. I feel like I'm floating throughout the whole song; he's incredibly light on his feet. He must have learned how to dance. Why can't you remember?

He spins me out and back in again, and I smile up at him, humming along with the song. Forget worrying about him; I'm the one that's probably going to trip.

We dance in silence for the rest of the song, and when it comes to an end, he just stands there, like he's trying to remember something far away. "Can we do that again?"

"Sure thing, Sweetheart," I say, and go find a waltz playlist.

I think the Sweetheart thing is gonna stick.

Day three is body language. I bookmark a bunch of pages I found on the internet that explain things a lot better than I can and just let him read and digest.

When he finally looks up, he blinks. I've changed out of the sweats into a sundress that's got spaghetti straps and comes up above my knees. "You read all that stuff about body language, right?" I ask, pursing my lips that actually have lip-gloss on. I've started experimenting on the best makeup look, and my hair's done, too.

"Yeah."

"Okay," I motion for him to stand, "We're going on a test run." I open the door and walk out into the hallway. "Morales, we're just gonna take a walk around the base. If you need to follow, you can." He nods. "So Sweetheart," I say, turning to him, "watch me, okay? But when we pass people, watch them, too. We'll talk about it when we get back."

I start off down the hallway. Honestly, I feel like I'm on a power trip. This kind of isn't very fair; these guys haven't seen women in a while, and I look pretty freaking good.

Oh well, I think. Rock what you got.

The effect would be better with heels, but sadly, they haven't come in yet. But I walk confidently down the hallway, shoulders back, head up, staring straight up and swaying my hips a bit. I've got my Charlize Theron murder face on, and hell yeah it's working. Guys physically turn around to watch me walk down the hallway. One poor scientist boy did a double take in shock and dropped his pen.

Perfect, I think, and walk right up to him and smile. "Sorry, hon," I say, and reach for the pen. Thank you Legally Blonde for the bend-and-snap technique.

He babbles something incoherent as a reply when I hand it back to him. I keep walking. I'm okay with the shell-shocked looks, but many are more predatory. They look like they're salivating.

Dream on, losers, I think, lifting my chin a little higher. Walk like a queen, Devon.

This is a kind of power.

"Hey, Dad," I say, waving. He's just stepping out of his office.

"Hello, Devon," he says. His eyebrows draw together. "What's up?"

"I'm teaching him about body language," I say, hooking a thumb over my shoulder where I assume Sweetheart and Morales still are. I plant a hand on my hip and tip my head up with a smile. "It's going well."

"I'll say," Guthrie says, coming down the hallway. Ah there it is, the creeper smirk trademark.

My lip curls. I turn –but not all the way. I keep my hips and feet pointed towards Dad. I give him a cursory glance, and brush my hair off my shoulder, pointedly turning back to Dad. The whole thing screams, 'not worth my time.' "Like I said," I say with a smile, "it's going very well. See you later."

I walk right by Guthrie and don't even look at him.

When we get back I plop down on my bed and exhale. "That was intense," I mumble to myself. Putting on a front is tiring. I pat the bed, and Sweetheart sits down beside me. He's got scruff going on. It's kind of cute. I haven't decided whether he'll look better clean-shaven or not, so I've told him not to worry about it for a while.

"Okay, tell me what you saw," I say, kicking off my flip-flops.

"Everybody stared."

"Yeah, they did, but why?" I meet his eyes.

"You were confident," he says after a second. "You kind of… demanded their attention."

"People will believe anything if you believe it," I say, leaning back against the wall. "I put up the front that I was this stunning, gorgeous woman –and carried myself like that. And they bought it. And if I do that at the parties, people are gonna notice. So what we're gonna do is practice different personas for you, okay? And a lot of it has to do with body language. We could do the strong silent type, or you could be the suave charmer kind of guy, whatever you're best at and feel most comfortable with."

"How do I do that?" he asks me.

"I learn best by watching," I admit. "I pretended I was a queen, because I've seen lots of good actresses play queens, and they had that kind of allure. So let's watch movie clips."

We start with Gone with the Wind, because Rhett Butler, and go from there.

Charlize Theron Murder Face found here: youtube dot com /watch?v=d2cUtdv99ig