Hand to Hand, Hand to Mouth
Chapter Seven
The first time Nick kissed me, I was crying.
It was two o'clock in the morning and I had just blazed down to his quarters in a fit of blind rage. Not ready to go back into the field, I had been back on desk duty for a week, analyzing threat assessments for Tactical. It was during the period of time when the nightmare were at their worst, frequent and heinously intense. The SHIELD shrink I was seeing three times a week was trying to slap Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder on me – a total death sentence for my career. I was strung out and sleepless, still in a lot of pain and sick over the attention I was getting for Malaysia. I had thrown myself back into the job, working from early in the morning until late at night. What I'm saying here, is that I wasn't exactly at the top of my game.
Not caring if Nick fired me or demoted me or killed me or whatever, I stood outside his door and hit the buzzer over and over. When, sleepy, befuddled and angry, he finally answered the door, I shoved my fist up into his face. Clutched in my hand was a print-out of the most recently added name on Interpol's Red Notice list – the only other member of my team to make it out of Malaysia alive, Vatinius the necromancer.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I screamed, right there in the corridor.
Nick took the paper from me and looked it over. His blind eye was still and staring even while the other one tracked the text he read.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered.
"They can't do this to him," I yelled, not caring who could hear me. "You can't let them do this."
Apparently Nick did care, since he took my arm and pulled me into his room, closing the door behind us.
"Sit down, cool off," he said, indicating the desk chair.
"No," I said defiantly, poking Nick in the chest viciously. "I will not sit down. I will not cool off." I paced the room, ranting. "Are you really going to let Vatinius take the fall for the goddamn X-Men's fuck up? For SHIELD's fuck up? Hasn't he been through enough? He doesn't deserve this." My voice cracked. "Oh God, he doesn't deserve this."
My legs were shaking, I noticed. I didn't think I could hold my own weight up anymore. Sitting down heavily in the previously proffered chair, I covered my face with my hands. I thought how totally pathetic I was to go to the head of SHIELD in the middle of the night and freak out and then cry. I had avoided breaking down in front of anyone for a long, long time. Nick Fury wasn't really who I wanted to end that streak in front of. And yet, there I was, sitting in his quarters, crying. It didn't matter how much time he had spent in Medical while I was recovering. It didn't matter what Sasha said. I was totally weak, I thought, and he was going to kick my ass off of the Helicarrier. Imagine my surprise when Nick gently pulled my hands away from my face. Crouched in front of me, he held my hand in one of his while smoothing my hair back from my tear-stained face.
"He don't deserve this, Jubilation," Nick agreed softly. "Neither of you deserved this. And he's not gonna go down for Malaysia. I won't let that happen."
I wanted to believe him. Searching his face, I saw only sincerity, coupled with genuine regret. He looked uncharacteristically earnest. And then, abruptly, I was sure that everything Sasha had teased me about was true. That when she, sitting at my bedside in the med-lab where Nick had been just a few minutes before, had conspiratorially said, "You know, Juju, I have the strongest suspicion that the Colonel's in love with you", she had been totally, spot-on correct. Because Nick was looking at me so solemnly. And then he was pulling me toward him and his lips were on mine and he was kissing me. Nick Fury was kissing me and it didn't seem weird or creepy at all. It felt right. Like, in the grand scheme of things, Nick Fury was who I was supposed to be kissing.
And he tasted like cherries.
When I finally pulled away from him, I couldn't help smiling. Nick didn't smile back at me. He sparkled, though. He tasted like cherries and he sparkled.
It's funny, the things you remember.
The morning before I went to Beijing with Logan, I sat on the bed in Nick's quarters with my legs tucked underneath me and thought about that first night. I thought about that kiss and all of the kisses that came after it. I thought about how Nick had been true to his word. Vatinius, though he would never be free from the guilt and the terror that Malaysia had inflicted, had finally gone back to Italy, free from his obligations to SHIELD and from international warrants for his arrest. Nick hadn't let me down. Nick never let me down. Not really.
It didn't take me very long to finish getting ready. I'm pretty easy when I'm working. Makeup is pointless in a military setting; I always skipped it. I kept my stick-straight hair cut in an A-line. Growing it out had turned out to be a total hassle in the field. Keeping it bobbed short at the nape of my neck and then angled down toward my chin looked cute and still fit comfortably under my mask. With the uniform leeching my natural sense of style and tanker-style buckled boots removing the time-consuming necessity of lacing, I could get ready to go in an unnaturally short amount of time for a teenage girl.
Before I could leave the room, though, I had to make a call. Sitting at Nick's desk, I dialed out of the Helicarrier system and then dialed Sasha's mobile. If she found me incommunicado this weekend without some explanation, she would totally freak out. Stifling? Maybe. But it was nice having someone watching my back. I guess that's what friends are for, right?
Sasha didn't pick up the phone. Not surprising since it was a totally sadistic hour to call someone at on a Saturday morning. I left a message saying that I had been called into work and wouldn't be around. She'd find out all about it on Monday morning, anyway. Between the against-medical-advice disapproval of Doctor Makris and the certainty of Sasha's Human Resources organization snit, I already wasn't looking forward to coming back. I missed my footloose days of randomly taking off for parts unknown. Summers was a pussycat compared to the totally anal bureaucracy of SHIELD. Oy, with the paperwork, I tell you.
I stopped by the mess to grab something quick and sugary for breakfast and had oatmeal forced on me instead. Nosy doctors and the gullible kitchen staff who listen to them totally suck. I ate the oatmeal while holding my breath and making a face.
Next stop: Geekland! My stealth suit had been having some weirdo problems that I hoped Isha had been able to fix. When I saw who was already there, though, I almost turned around and left again. While doing the back-and-forth dance of indecision in the doorway, Isha spotted me from inside and I was stuck.
"What's up, Jubes?" he asked, sounding understandably confused.
Valentina de la Fontaine - Rogue-haired, former hotshot field agent turned administrative honcho – turned around slowly and fixed me with an arctic stare that would have made a polar bear shiver.
"Agent Lee," she greeted me icily.
"Hey," I replied, trying to go with a totally cool, I don't even know that you hate me, that's how much I don't care about you thing. "How's it going, Contessa?"
She turned around again without answering me. Typical. Val totally, completely, one-hundred-percent loathed me. Not that I could really blame her. How would you feel if you were pushing forty and the dude you'd been involved with off and on for half of your life, suddenly hooked up full-time with some barely legal skank. Not that I'm skanky, you know. Because I'm not. I'm just looking at it from her point-of-view. I understood. Really, I did. But that didn't mean that I was good at dealing with her. Her bullshit pissed me off, which didn't make the situation any easier. I pretty much just avoided her whenever possible.
"I'm still waiting for Gaff," Val snapped at Isha.
"Yeah, sorry about that," he replied indifferently. "He's still in the lab. I'm sure he'll be out soon."
I swear, I could hear her teeth grinding.
"I don't have time for this," she said. "Tell him to come find me when he's done."
Val stalked out at a totally amazing speed, while studiously avoiding looking at me. Reason number ten infinity billion why workplace romance is stupid and bad and should never ever happen. Sometimes I think I might be functionally retarded.
"What was that about?" Isha asked me.
I shrugged. "Oh, you know. Office drama. Someone took her stapler. Whatever."
"You here for the suit?" he said, accepting my explanation without question.
I indicated that I was, in fact, there for the suit and not so much the freezer burn. Isha was bouncing up and down on his toes and grinning at me. I so knew this was going to happen.
"Come with me," he said.
Isha led me into one of the labs.
"Taa-daa!" he exclaimed, indicating an isolation chamber.
There was nothing in it.
"I don't know what chemicals you've been sniffing, Ish, but there is totally nothing in there," I said.
He held up one finger, indicating that I should be patient. I crossed my arms over my chest. Isha did a little, nothing-up-my-sleeves magician pantomime and then slid his hands into the chamber's attached safety gloves. Grasping at the empty air in the tank, he shook his hand. Something inside the tank shimmered in a wave. It was way cool.
"Whoa! What is that?" I asked.
"That is the prototype fabric for the new stealth suit," Isha beamed at me. "It chameleons an agent's surroundings. You can hide in plain sight with this stuff as long as don't move."
"Wow," I said, legitimately impressed.
"And it'll have all of the same capabilities as the suit you use now. Bulletproof. Biochemistry lock-in. Temperature regulation. Audio recording. Built in glide suit. And I'll even be able to make your rigs out of it, so you can carry concealed weaponry."
"Bitchin' technology, dude," I said and did the slow clap for him.
"Who's your daddy?" Isha asked with a wink and a smirk.
"You are totally my new daddy." I grinned at him. "So, when are the new suits going into production?"
Isha suddenly seemed much less impressed with himself.
"Um, yeah. I don't know. There are still a few kinks that need to be worked out."
"A few kinks?" I
raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Well," Isha hedged.
"What kind of kinks?"
"The fabric, as it is now, sort of bonds to the skin. A little bit.
And it's impossible to get off. And it burns. A little bit. Actually, it burns a lot." He paused shamefully. "It's been a bad month for the bunnies."
I gaped at him, horrified. "Dude. That's weak."
"I know. I pushed for inmate testing but what are you gonna do?"
I shook my head, slowly. "Can I just get my stuff, please?"
Isha retrieved the case that held my stealth suit and all of its various accessories.
"I fixed the audio problems you were having," he said. "Just a glitch in the circuitry. No biggie. It should be fine now." Isha paused. "The news suits are going to be great once I figure the little glitches out, I swear."
"Yeah? Tell that to the bunnies," I said and glared at him on my way out the door.
With all of my gear, I went deck-side to meet Nick and Logan. I was early and there was no sign of them, yet. On deck, though, was one of SHIELD's modified Quinjets. In front of it was Tack Joyce, one of my two usual pilots. Crouched over a deck kit, he waved me over. Trotting down from the jet was my other pilot, Tack's twin brother, Jesse.
"What are you two doing?" I asked, approaching them. "I'm flying myself today."
"Deck duty," Jesse said.
"We're on it," Tack added.
Tack and Jesse were frequently relegated to deck duty. They had major insubordination issues. Had they not also been total hotshots, the Joyce brothers would have been rung out ages ago.
"She all set?" I asked, looking the jet over.
"Just about," Jesse replied.
"A couple of minor adjustments," Tack continued.
Tack stood. He clasped his hands together and shut his eyes. Jesse mimicked him. Totally identical, from their relatively short stature and wirey build to their strawberry blonde hair and round, ruddy faces, they looked almost angelic. Until they started talking, of course.
"Oh Lord," Tack began.
"I cannot believe you guys," I immediately interrupted. I knew exactly where this was going.
"Oh Lord," Tack repeated. "Please watch over this bird and help her come home safely."
"Lord," Jesse continued. "Please keep an especially close eye on the sanity of her pilot."
"I hate you both," I said glaring at them.
"Lord," Tack picked it up. "Please do not let Agent Lee do anything that will result in the destruction of this aircraft. She's a good ol' bird and she doesn't deserve to be blown up or shot down."
"Alright," I said. "I get it. Be nice to the equipment."
"Shhhh," Jesse shushed me.
Tack continued. "Or crushed or run into with a tank or ditched in the ocean or crashed in the Himalayas or stripped for parts by rebel insurgents. This we pray, in Jesus' name, Amen."
"Amen," Jesse parroted.
They both looked at me. Tack raised an eyebrow at me suggestively. I sighed.
"Amen," I muttered.
"We appreciate your enthusiasm," Jesse said and winked at me.
"I'm just glad we were around to draw your pre-flight," Tack said.
He reached out and ruffled my hair. I slapped his hand away.
"Yeah, I'll have to thank the Major for this delight," I said dryly. "What did you two do this time to get the deck again?"
They grinned twin smiles of satisfaction.
"Fly-by," Tack said.
"Definitely fly-by," Jesse rainman-ed.
"Oh my God," I said. "I cannot believe they haven't sacked you two yet."
"I can't believe it either," I heard from behind me.
I grinned over my shoulder at Nick. Tack and Jesse scrambled to attention.
"How are you enjoying deck duty?" Nick asked them.
"Delightful, as always, sir," Tack supplied.
"And disciplinary," Jesse interjected.
"Disciplinary, yes," Tack agreed. "As always, disciplinary."
Nick scowled and dismissed them. They saluted him sloppily and went back to work. Just two good ol' boys, never meaning no harm. I couldn't help laughing at them.
"Man," I said to Nick. "They are possibly the worst soldiers ever."
"Yes, they are," Nick agreed grimly.
"Good pilots though."
"Great pilots," he agreed again even more grimly.
Nick looked totally weary. He must have had a banner briefing with Logan. Speaking of which...
"Where's the Cape?" I asked.
"Fucked if I know," Nick replied.
I blinked. "You lost him?"
Nick glowered at me before rubbing one hand wearily over his face. Oh boy. I almost couldn't bring myself to ask him about it. Almost.
"How'd the meeting go?" I asked.
Putting a fresh cigar in his mouth, he didn't answer me.
"That well, huh?" I supplied.
"I don't like this," he replied around the cigar.
"I know you don't, chief. I'm not exactly stoked about it myself," I said.
You can't imagine the suckosity of the over-protective-boyfriend-slash-military-man-with-his-authority-threatened combination. I was used to the former. It was the main reason I reported to Major Gage and avoided Nick at work as much as I could. I was way less used to the latter. Usually, Nick, the man, could be assuaged with my patented kitten smile and my tongue down his throat. Men are pretty easy that way. I wasn't at all sure how to deal with Nick, the leader. Mostly, I just brushed it off, telling myself that his work problems were none of my business. Deep down inside, I knew that was a total cop-out. By the nature of our shared employer, my business was his business. It's just that the man I slept with and the Colonel I worked with often seemed like totally different people. It was tough to reconcile. So, I played Cleopatra and avoided it altogether.
"He asked Jessica Drew about you," Nick said in the middle of lighting up.
I shrugged. "Probably wanted to know if I can hold my own."
Nick grunted. Before I could say anything else, the man himself walked out onto the deck.
He was in costume - one that I hadn't seen before. It was gold with black stripey accents. There were extra-long, pointy ear-thingies on the cowl and tight little fringed booties.
He looked totally retarded.
"Was he wearing that in the meeting?" I asked, spellbound.
The Colonel shifted next to me. I looked up at him. Though his face was expressionless, he diligently avoided looking at me. Nick cleared his throat. I mimicked him. He puffed on his cigar. I poked him in the ribs.
"You wanna lose that finger, lady?" he growled at me, still staring straight ahead.
I grinned. "You totally want to laugh."
Nick was silent.
"Oh, you want to laugh soooo badly," I goaded him.
He chomped his cigar, hard.
"You know what he looks like?"
He took the cigar out of his mouth and examined it.
"A fuzzy, little bumble-bee," I whispered. For emphasis, I shook my head slowly, sadly. Nick's mouth twitched. I loved trying to make him laugh. A teensy smile was as far as he usually went. Once, I did get a brief but thorough belly laugh out of him upon the discovery that Nick Fury has ticklish knees. Following the knee tickling he somehow managed to, while lying in bed, throw me in a rice bale reversal which, of course, led to totally dirty things. I think it's probably impossible for naked Judo to result in anything else.
"I bet Emma had something to do with it," I continued. "She's always had a vicious sense of humor."
"Couldn't get me into one of them under penalty of death," he said.
I looked from Nick back to Logan. Looking at his stripey costume, I felt suddenly, inexplicably sad.
"You kinda have to feel sorry for Capes, you know?" I turned my head up again.
"Guess you do," he puffed out a cloud of smoke and finally looked down at me.
I could see in his face all of the things he wanted to give me but couldn't. Every unspoken declaration. Every dinner out. Every lazy Sunday afternoon. Every normal, mundane, safe day. And, just like that, I didn't feel so sad anymore. I suddenly felt much better about everything – the mission, where I was going, who I was going with. I would go and it would be business as usual. I would come back and Nick would still be here. Everything was going to be fine. I could have kissed him for giving me that confidence, that reassurance, but Logan had finally noticed us. He was crossing the hangar in that same old rolling gait.
"Fury," he acknowledged.
Nick nodded curtly. Logan looked down at me. Underneath the cowl, I couldn't read his face at all.
"Jubilation," he said. His voice softened almost imperceptibly.
"Wolverine," I replied formally.
"Well, ain't that sweet," Nick said. "We all know each other. Now why don't you get this show on the road."
Nick looked at me sourly. I tried to smile reassuringly at him. Yeah, not so much. He walked away brusquely, abandoning me with Logan and with no clue what to say. Deciding that evasion was always the best policy, I busied myself gathering up my gear. Finally, I looked around for the Colonel. He was talking intensely with a member of his office staff, while moving back toward the interior. I caught his eye. Nick bobbed his head at me in one brisk nod. It was goodbye, good luck and come home in one piece, all in one gesture. I nodded back at him. From across the deck, we understood one another perfectly.
Turning to board the jet, I nearly ran into Logan, standing behind me like a brick wall. He was staring expressionlessly at the empty space where Nick had been. I couldn't fathom what he was thinking.
"Ready, dude?" I asked, brushing past him.
It seemed to take him a moment to register that I had spoken. Finally, he turned and followed me silently onto the jet, where Tack and Jesse were finishing their pre-flight inspection. I took the pilot's seat; Jesse made a whimpering sound.
Buckling myself in, I noticed Logan hovering behind me. I looked up at him. He had pulled the cowl back and was standing over me bare-faced. Looking at him, my throat constricted. Underneath the stupid costume, he was the same old Logan: messy, spiky hair; awful sideburns; craggy face; icy blue eyes. Just the same as he had always been.
"No offence, darlin'," he said. "But I've flown with you before, and that ain't really an experience I'd like to repeat."
Way to ruin a precious moment, jerk. Behind me, Jesse audibly gasped. With a mega-ton of effort, I kept my face smooth and unlined, evidencing nothing but calm passivity.
"You want to fly?" I asked him.
"If you don't mind," he answered.
I was Jack's sense of utter freakin' disbelief.
"Be my guest," I said and stood up again.
Tack and Jesse looked at each other and then back at me with twin expressions of shock.
"Really?" Jesse asked.
"Just like that?" Tack followed up.
I'm sure they had expected a huge argument from me. A gigantic explosion of temper. Instead, I had been as smooth as blown glass, totally seamless and unflinching. Definitely not my usual modus operandi. Still, if they wanted bitchy Jubes, I could totally oblige.
"Shove off, boys," I ordered.
They grinned and mockingly saluted me. The look I gave them clearly said that there would be some kind of heinous retribution in their future. They beat a hasty retreat.
Reseating myself in the cockpit's second chair, I ran through the preflight routine with the steady ease of practiced habit. Take-off never got old for me; I totally loved flying. With Logan piloting, I'd be able to get some work done and hit the ground running once we had arrived in Huairou. Still, I totally resented his jacking my fly time. And, for that, he would pay. When we were finally airborne and steady, I unbuckled my harness and crossed my legs underneath me. Leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, I smiled my biggest, friendliest, bubblegummiest smile at him.
"So," I said. "How have you been?"
I totally caught him off-guard.
"Fine," he finally said. "Busy."
"Yeah, me too," I agreed. "Busy, busy, busy like a busy little bumblebee."
He looked sharply at me. I smiled again.
"So," I said. "I hear you asked Agent Drew for all of the dirt on me."
And again, I caught him off-guard. I was so the big winner.
"Never figured Drew for a snitch," he finally grumbled.
"She wasn't really the best person to ask, you know," I said, ignoring his comment.
"And who would that have been?"
"Me, duh," I said and smiled a little more widely.
He looked at me again and, for just a moment, I knew exactly what he saw. There before him were flashing, colored lights and sweet, pink gum and hell-on-wheels. It was just a moment, though. A brief flash of the past. Of the way I used to be. And then it was gone, slipping away into the ocean of time that had passed since he last knew me.
"Drew's a good agent," I continued. "I never believed the stories about her, anyway. More and more, though, she's been doing Avengers work. You know that, though, I'm sure."
I paused for his agreement.
"Sure," he obliged.
"So, you see, I don't think she really knows what goes on here a lot of the time. She doesn't really know what I do."
I was baiting him. He must have known that I was baiting him. Still, he took it.
"And what is it that you do, darlin'?"
I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.
"That, Mister Howlett, is classified."
And I left him there, alone in the cockpit, with the assurance that I knew everything about him, while he knew almost nothing about me.
