"Isn't this your floor?"
Simon looked up from his tablet as the elevator doors slid open, then at the speaker, an older gentleman who'd already been on the elevator when he'd gotten on.
"Ah, yes thank you." Simon nodded, clutching his tablet to his chest and stepping out into the corridor on the thirty-fourth floor of the New York Marriott. He proceeded past the door to his suite, kept walking until he reached the picture windows at the end of the hall, stood there looking out over the lights of Manhattan. He leaned his forehead on the cold glass, trying to see over the ledge to the pavement far below.
"Third night in a row." A voice piped up beside him. He stayed as he was though he could see her reflection in the glass.
"The view helps me keep things in perspective." he muttered.
Beth giggled, "The view makes me nauseous." She put her forehead to the glass beside him and looked down, quickly backing away.
"Are you nervous?"
Simon thought long and hard. T-minus Forty-eight hours and counting. "I suppose I'd be a fool if I weren't a little uptight."
"There's so much to remember, so many rules to keep track of." She giggled again, bit her lip hard to stop herself.
Simon stood back from the glass, "They have their reasons." He glanced at the heavyset young woman whom he'd been seated next to in orientation for the past three days. "Rules are made to.."
"Be broken?" She finished with a smile.
"To protect life and property, maintain proper etiquette." Simon looked again out over the city.
"Riiight..." Beth hiked her purse up on her shoulder, "Well then, I guess it's off to bed for me. Night, Simon."
"Goodnight, Miss Chapel." He watched her reflection retreat down the hallway to her door. After a few more minutes, he returned to his own room. Once inside, he set his tablet on the table by the window, turned on the air conditioner and sat down on the bed. He turned on the TV and lay crossways staring up at the ceiling, listening to the local newscast, dinner refusing to settle in his stomach.
It was a true wonder that he'd even made it this far. He closed his eyes, picturing his screened in back porch where he would be right now, sitting in his chaise lounge watching the fireflies, listening to the gurgle of the stream in the woods across the yard, a good book in his lap. Simon sighed, the vision so clear he felt like crying.
The small house he'd bought in Tarrytown was a fixer upper. It had needed a lot of TLC. When he wasn't at his job at the accounting firm in town, he could be found splattered with paint or covered in sawdust, brush in hand, ecstatically happy. Then came the downsizing and he had been forced to face his biggest fears, looking for a job in the city.
New York terrified him, the hustle and bustle, the people, the speed at which life ran. The commute alone, nearly an hour on the MTA, made him break out into a cold sweat but he had a mortgage to pay. So he had started to look for a job for the first time in ten years. The first opening that caught his eye was a job in the accounting department at Stark Industries in the center of Manhattan. He had put his head down on his desk and laid there for a long time. He'd taken the accounting job in Tarrytown while he waited for other jobs to come along, jobs that would make use of the degrees hanging on his wall, the Masters in environmental science, the Bachelor's in physics. It seemed sensible, he'd done accounting on the side while in college, so he had applied for the accounting job at Stark Industries.
In retrospect, he knew he had fallen into a rut, embraced the familiar instead of following his heart, nevertheless, two weeks later he was stepping onto the platform at the train station in Tarrytown, headed to his first day at work.
That had been two years ago.
He sat up on the bed, starting to unbutton his shirt, smiling to himself at one of the prouder moments of his life.
He had managed to adapt to the city, commuting back and forth to his little oasis in the countryside. The money was good, his co-workers were tolerable. The tall brunette who would stare at him when she thought he couldn't see her was a bit disturbing but other than that, he managed. Until that day.
He hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, had his face stuffed in his tablet, and so had missed his floor on the way back from lunch. He'd walked off the elevator, looking up when he judged himself close to his office door and realized his mistake. He swiftly changed course and headed back toward the elevator. To his left was a large glass walled room. He slowed down to glance inside, saw a man with salt and pepper hair sitting at a table, his back to Simon. Another man with light brown hair stood talking to him. That man Simon recognized, everyone in the world of physics would know Doctor Banner's face though he'd aged since Simon had read some of his works in college. Simon had started to move along by then, taking one more look about the room and spying the long calculation written on the dry erase board behind them.
And he stopped.
It was wrong, he could see it from where he stood. He saw the man sitting at the table throw his hands in the air, look up at Doctor Banner, then slap the back of his hand into his palm. He was yelling, Simon could hear it through the glass. Banner leaned over the table and pointed at something then happened to raise his head looking at Simon who was now standing there, arms limp at his side, mouth hung open as he raced through the formula in his head.
So engrossed was he in his figures, he didn't see the man stand up from the table and walk to the door at the other end of the room.
"Can we help you?"
Simon nearly dropped the tablet to the floor, for staring at him was Mister Stark.
Mister Stark bent over, read Simon's badge, "Accounting. You're about ten floors too high, Mister..." he eyed the badge again, "...Foster. Are you new here?"
Simon had shaken his head as Mister Stark put his hand at his back and guided him away from the room, "Okay, well nice meeting you. You're doing a wonderful job.."
And Simon found his tongue, "You're wrong.."
Mister Stark paused, "So you're not doing a wonderful job? I'm a bit confused...do you want to confess your sins, my son?"
"N..no..." Simon had shrugged off his boss's hand and started for the door to the glass walled room. If he was going to be looking for another job in the morning he might as well go out with style.
"Your calculations, the form..."Stark had walked up to the door and waved his badge across the security pad. Simon strode over to the board, picking up the red marker and wiping out the errors with the sleeve of his shirt, "The formula wouldn't work like this..." Simon had backed away from the board, thought a bit, written his corrections and set the marker down ever so slowly in the dead silence that had taken over the room.
Mister Stark walked up to the board, followed by Banner.
"Jarvis? Would you run this through like it's written now for me?"
Simon had stumbled backward as a hologram of a large glowing ring set in a square base had appeared before his face and a disembodied voice filled the room, "The portal is stabilized. Energy output levels are nominal. There is a slight variance in the resonance, a different base will need to be constructed.."
"Thank you Jarvis."
Simon meanwhile had started for the door with his tablet firmly clutched against his chest like a schoolgirl's books.
"Foster? Where are you going?"
There it was. Simon had turned about to face Mister Stark, "My..b..best guess is home, sir."
He had to smile as Stark looked at his watch, "It's nowhere near quitting time. If I read your badge right and, Jesus my eyes aren't that bad yet, you're in accounting? How the hell did that happen?"
Simon had shrugged, "It was the only job opening I found, sir."
He never left the lab until well past seven that evening, coming away with a new position in the team and an offer he would have been a fool to refuse no matter how frightening the terms were.
He'd asked his Aunt Dion to take care of his mail and watch the house. With the advance from Stark, he only had yearly taxes to worry about. He felt strangely disappointed, felt he hadn't really worked to pay off the mortgage.
He folded his shirt neatly and set it on the chair by the desk then entered the bathroom and frowned. Housecleaning had moved his toothpaste tube and brush holder, his shaving razor and his hairbrush off to the side. He lined them back up to the right of the sink in the order he was going to use them, caught himself, cursed silently. He had been doing well as of late. He'd been able to lock the door to his house and not check on it twice before he reached his car. Washing up only took half an hour now. He wasn't counting building windows, floor tiles and the like. His doctor had been proud of him at their last visit but damnit, he was under a lot of stress and stress made him nervous. Being nervous made him paranoid and so went the circle.
He made himself brush his hair first, then his teeth even though ruining the sequence made him tremble until he set the items back in the right order.
Once back in the room, he changed into his pajamas and put his dirty clothes on the chair. He would take them down to the cleaners the next morning. He slid beneath the sheets, muted the TV. Turning on his side, Simon looked at the clock on the nightstand and sighed, "T-minus forty-seven." as he pulled the covers tight to him and closed his eyes.
Assignment: 64379-01
Location: Asgard
Agent: Colin M. Denehy
Date: 6/28/29
Two days out. Two days to go time. I believe I've done the best I can to prepare the Asgardians for culture shock, at least the Asgardians I know. A few days ago, a huge gathering was called in a vast field outside the city walls. The week before, couriers had been sent about the kingdom and the realms to announce the event so all who wished to hear the details of what was to come would be welcome to do so.
Never have I seen the like of it before, nor, I suspect, will I ever again in my lifetime. Alfheim was well represented by King Freyr and a large number of Alfari citizens. They are a singularly beautiful race, enchanting, well spoken. The Vanir from Vanaheim, many of the race are powerful seers and possess profound wisdom. I found them a bit full of themselves but I suppose it's to be expected when one thinks one knows everything. The citizens of Muspelheim were well and away the most fascinating because they are known as fire giants.
Red skinned, had I not seen them I would have assumed as such, lithe in form they could be described as beautiful with their coal black eyes and raised markings if one could get past their sheer height. A normal man, myself included, only comes to their waist. There are those among them who are able to shape shift as well to appear human. I had the pleasure to be introduced to one named Velos. He is the son of the ruler of Muspelheim, Surtr. As a giant, he could crush my head with one hand. As a human, he comes to my shoulder. He has an unassuming way about him, eager to please. He was fascinated with me, asking endless questions until his wife, an Alfari woman named Marwen, chided him for being so curious. I took him aside, told him he would have plenty of time for questions later. He and his wife will be staying at the manor as part of the welcoming delegation two days from now.
A severe looking race, forgive me but it's true, the dark elves from Svartalheim were sparsely represented. They wore heavy clothing, shielding their skin, which comes in varying shades of black, coal, tar, night sky, from the sunlight. Their hair ranges from gray to white it being their general color, and they talk little with the other citizens of the realm. Still I had to admire them for their grudging presence from what Loki has told me. One realm was not represented, the ice giants from Jotunheim. A courier was sent to deliver the announcement under a truce flag. According to the King, it was the only thing that saved the courier's life according to the scathing letter he handed over when he returned.
I recorded King Thor's entire speech, including it in my current report. I also recorded the reaction of the masses. I hate to say it was less than enthusiastic, not entirely negative. I would have liked to see more cheers instead of jeers but there it is.
On a more personal note, Fen is healing well, rather quicker than you or I. He was made to write a letter of apology to the boy, Alger and deliver it to his family, doing so with much bitterness, half toward his punishment and half toward having to apologize for the fight. He perceives it to be Alger's fault for starting the whole affair. I agreed with him though I said he shouldn't have risen to the occasion and he grudgingly admitted I was right.
Brenna has been seeking me out regularly much to my joy and terror. We have our chats about Earth...Midgard...call it what you will. We talk music, she talks books (I never was much of a reader), places we want to go, things we like to do. I think Loki is aware of her increased attention but as of yet, he's not said anything to me, I can't say the same about her. Still he doesn't treat me any different so maybe he thinks it's harmless. It's been said that the Alfari race enchant people with their beauty. I can safely say Brenna represents her heritage well. The assignment guidelines forbid intimate interaction. They can't mean simple friendships, can they?
Okay, I've done my chore for the evening and my head has about dropped into my lap for the third time. I'll be signing off now. Big days ahead. Got to be prepared for anything.
Colin..