The office was empty when Evelyn walked in. Will was nowhere to be seen and the offices were quiet. Those two observations were, in fact, related. The only sound was the omnipresent hum of the arc reactor churning away. She seemed to vaguely recall that Will and Jay had space in the R&D department but she had no idea where that was and didn't think it would be effective to go wandering aimlessly around the building like a little lost sheep.

She walked over to their desk space to try to see if there was a note left for her or anything like that. It was not her intention to be nosy but she ended up poking around the space a bit more than she intended. Jay's desk was fairly neat save for a few metal parts and tools that he left sitting out. There was a small jar of oblong shaped pills, she assumed for his hand. Most interestingly, there was a picture frame.

It was small, only a three by five polished black frame. The picture inside was of an infant boy in a navy blue onesie with a red and yellow truck embroidered on the front. He had a tuft of dark hair and a wide baby smile, devoid of teeth. Upon closer inspection, the picture inside had been torn so whoever was holding the baby was out of frame. The person was wearing a satiny white blouse with puffy sleeves and odd looking frills. It was very eighties. When Evelyn looked closer, she could only just make out the tips of sparrow-colored hair along the edge of the tear. This was probably his ex-wife holding their child. She set the frame down carefully, hoping that she hadn't disturbed anything.

No sooner did she put everything back where it belonged that she heard the seal on the door pop. She hurried back into the center of the room to look like she was just minding her own business and not, in any way, being invasive.

Jay walked in with purple bags under his unfocused eyes. He looked like it had been days since he slept. The silver in his hair was more prominent than she remembered. It took him a moment to register that she was there.

"Is it today already?"

Evelyn nodded but Jay didn't seem to notice because he was in the middle of a gigantic yawn which squeezed his eyes shut and forced tears out the corners. Evelyn held in her own impulse to yawn in response.

Finally he shook his head and spoke, "Will is sick today. Got himself a stomach bug so he's going to be worshipping the porcelain goddess," Evelyn had never heard that terminology before and found it amusing. Jay almost smiled at her, letting her laugh, and continued. "If you have your paperwork and stuff done, you can go home early. It's Fourth of July weekend anyway, so go enjoy the fireworks."

She didn't need to be told twice. Anita was coming into town.

Her flight landed at JFK airport shortly after noon. Since she was only going to be in town for a weekend concert, she packed light. The heaviest thing in her luggage was the enormous cello case. It was made of wood covered in stiff black leather. It was obviously quite old, worn thin in spots and a little torn on the edges. Duct tape held the worst patches together. But it was obviously loved, as evidenced by stickers from her favorite locations and adorning the sides and top. There was a small 'mutant awareness' ribbon dangling near the handle.

"It's good to see you, sweetheart," smiled Anita, taking Evelyn in a hug.

"Good to see you too," she replied, bending over to return her hug.

"How are things?" asked Anita as they walked to the parking lot. Phil had borrowed Clint's truck because Lola didn't have enough trunk space for a cello and her luggage.

"I guess alright," said Evelyn, "Been busy with an internship at Stark Industries. Working on the arc reactor."

"I saw an article about that in National Geographic," said Anita, "It's pretty cool that you get to work on it."

"Not so much 'work on it' as 'clean up after it' and 'file paperwork about it.' But I get paid, so that's a plus."

Phil and Anita shared a confused look as they got into the car but it was lost on Evelyn. She crawled into the backseat which was somewhat cramped, almost put into the car as an afterthought. There was no meaningful legroom so they made the drive back into town with her knees nearly pulled up to her chin. When she tried to squeeze herself some extra legroom, all she actually succeeded in doing was putting a few new dents in the back of Clint's car. Sheepishly, she stopped struggling and rested her hands meekly against her lap.

"So, this concert," said Phil, "what is it exactly?"

"Oh, it's something that the New York Philharmonic does every year. They pick musicians from symphonic orchestras in all fifty states and we all perform a selection of patriotic music for Fourth of July. It's just a fun thing and they pay for our air fare out here. I'm also not about to say 'no' to a chance to perform at Carnegie Hall."

"I wouldn't either," said Phil, wincing as the car shuddered as he shifted gears. Clint's car was not really the best. The transmission was chugging, the gear shift stuck, and the engine sounded like it was made up of hamsters running on little wheels. Every single part of it was in need of a tune-up. But it was the best that could be done with a young agent's salary. Stop-and-go holiday traffic was also not doing them any favors. But eventually they crawled their way to their destination and started unloading the things Anita needed for the concert.

"Help her," whispered Phil, giving Evelyn a slight push to the back.

The cello and case was weightless to Evelyn. She could easily hold it with one hand even though, out of respect for Anita, she kept two hands on it. Except when she was pushing the dents back in on the back of the cab. She didn't want to send the car back to her friend with extra dents.

"Thank you, sweetie," smiled Anita as she loaded the case onto a hand truck,"We're going to have a dress rehearsal. Where should I meet you after?"

"We'll come by and pick you up for dinner," said Phil, "What time will you be ready?"

"This will probably only take an hour or two."

It worked out nicely because he and Evelyn could go and get changed for the concert. Evelyn changed into a pretty sapphire blue dress. Phil smiled. His little girl was a bit of a tomboy. She wore dresses and skirts but preferred pants if at all possible. This had to be a special occasion if she was wearing a dress. Although this dress in particular was getting a little bit frayed and threadbare along the edges. This and a few other pieces probably needed to go into the Salvation Army bin. Phil made a mental note to ask Maria or Bobbi to take her shopping and refresh her wardrobe.

Or perhaps he would ask Anita to assist him in taking his daughter shopping because she looked a special variety of beautiful when they met back up at the concert hall. She wore a pretty long, black dress with a slight overlay of lace. It was simple but pretty, accented with a teal jacket and neat little ballet flats.

"I have something for you," said Phil and he pulled out a small rectangular box from his inner jacket pocket, by his heart.

Inside the box was a pretty necklace made of luminescent pearls interspaced with tiny white crystals. It was not a long strand of pearls but it rested lovingly on her collarbones. Her smile was reflected in the dressing room mirror and he knew he was doing something right.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to give you something nice," he said with a smile.

"It's very generous of you. Thank you," she smiled. She was beautiful and Phil loathed having to take his hands away once the clasp was done up on her neck. Fortunately, she pulled him into a hug. She was cool to the touch but in a way which was refreshing in the hot summer, like jumping into a swimming pool. He hated to let go.

"So, anywhere you want to go for food?" he asked.

"I'm not picky," Anita replied with a shrug, "But we sort of need to eat fast. I gotta get back to the green room within an hour."

That sentence ended up with them deciding to head down the street to Evelyn's favorite noodle place here in New York. She loved the chewy udon bowl and the spicy ramen. There was a long bar where you could sit and watch as the chefs spin the noodles by hand. Their fingers wove in and out of the dough with expert ease, pulling them back and forth until they were perfect. The dough sizzled as it hit the pan and a plethora of wonderful aromas and tastes were added.

"Are you sure you want to eat here?" asked Phil, "I'm sure you get Asian food all the time."

Anita shrugged, "Somewhat. Grandma would make traditional food. But my mother is American so we ate hamburgers and macaroni and cheese and meatloaf like any other family."

"Where is your family from?" asked Evelyn. She finally realized that she didn't really know all that much about Anita's family other than her and her brother.

"My father's family was North Korean," she explained, "They escaped just before the country completely shut down and managed to sneak all the way to Canada. They worked hard, doing what jobs they could. Dad eventually went to the police academy and joined the RCMP and met my mom, who was an American going to school in Calgary. They married and moved to the states. They had me, had Martin, and the rest is history."

"Do you still have family in North Korea?"

"Some," said Anita, her voice somber and a little quiet, "Some aunties and uncles didn't leave when they could and they're still there. We think. We haven't had any contract with that part of the family since... the fifties, I think. So, there is a whole branch of the family tree that I have never met."

"Have you ever been to Korea?" asked Evelyn, leaning her chin against her hand as she listened.

"Once. I was ten and we went to Seoul. I have a lot of fond memories of that. But I haven't been back since. I'd love to visit again, if possible."

"Why haven't you?" asked Phil curiously.

Anita shrugged, "Time. Money. Lots of things."

The conversation was cut short when their order came up. Evelyn had caramelized udon noodles. They were chewy and slightly sweet, mixed with broccoli, green onions, carrots, and cabbage. Anita ordered the spicy ramen in a hot, red broth with a cracked egg on top. Phil had a chicken yakisoba with sweet snap peas, broccoli, and shredded cabbage. Anita used chopsticks with practiced ease.

There was something very cute about her mouth, Phil decided. She spent some time on her makeup, forming her lips into a cute little bow. Her efforts did not go unnoticed. In fact, he spent a lot of time looking at her lips. He turned back to his yakisoba before he spoke his mind and possibly said something silly.

Time seemed to pass far too quickly and they were soon lining up to enter the theater. Anita bid them goodbye and hurried back to the green room to warm up.

Carnage Hall was a gorgeous performance space. History was embedded in the walls. Memories of previous performances lingered in the halls and echoed around the ceilings. This was the home of the greats. All the most talented artists and dancers left their mark on this stage. The ghosts of performances past lingered in the wings and whispered down the halls.

Their seats were decent. It was a little far away but their line of sight to the stage was clear. They were getting them for free so they couldn't be too picky. Although Phil was starting to understand the usefulness of opera glasses. Evelyn seemed to take the spare time to read the program they had been given.

"A celebration of Aaron Copland featuring orchestra members from all fifty states and audio-visual by students from New York University," read Evelyn, "Wow, I didn't realize that Anita was an elite musician or whatever you call that."

"I didn't know either," admitted Phil as the house lights dimmed and the conductor took the stand, "I only knew she was second seat in the Portland Symphony."

"Maybe soon to be first seat?" Asked Evelyn

Phil shrugged. He didn't know how symphony orchestras worked. Instead, he focused on the music at hand. The first performance was 'Fanfare for the Common Man." Anita was not a part of the group performing. It was made up almost entirely of brass instruments and percussion. Evelyn noticed her father scanning the faces of the performers with a little bit of impatience. The piece started slowly, quietly. The instruments put on their softest voices and gradually crescendoed into a strong, triumphant finale. The audio-visual element featured shots of the sun rising over the recognizable landmarks of national parks and monuments. A red-tinted dawn gave way to beautiful blue skies, shining white buildings, and purple-tinted mountain peaks.

Anita took the stage for the second piece, along with a few violins and violas. Evelyn examined the other instruments too and there were a few that she didn't recognize. One of them looked like a clarinet formed into the shape of a saxophone. Another looked bent, twisted, and looped around into a hulking musical monstrosity. Another looked like an oboe had been stretched and molded into something slinky and willowy. She didn't know what any of these were called. She would have to ask Anita about it later.

This piece was called 'Lincoln Portrait' and featured a speaker who was someone that Evelyn though she probably should have known based on the applause but she really had no idea who it was. He read off excerpts from Abraham Lincoln's speeches and debates with musical accompaniment. She recognized some of the themes but couldn't tell you their names.

The next song was Copland's "Piano Variations" and featured Leilani Lee, principal pianist of the Honolulu Symphony Orchestra, as the soloist. She had the most beautiful name that Evelyn had ever heard in her life. Anyone named "Leilani Lee" was the sort of person who seemed almost destined to be a star. The sounds she was able to coax from the instrument were as magical as her name. But one question wriggled in the back of Evelyn's mind.

"How do you get a piano from Hawaii to here?"

"Don't know," whispered Phil back, "Magic dolphins?"

Evelyn and he shared an amused look.

The concert continued with excerpts from 'El Salón México,' 'Appalachian Spring' and 'Rodeo.' It ended on 'American Songs' and a chorus appeared out of the wings to sing 'Simple Gifts' while the symphony swelled and bloomed around the words of the song. It felt like spring graced their presence and they were lost in the softness of the notes.

Anita gave them passes to get in the back door of the stage after the concert. It was a unique experience since neither of them had been backstage and seen the inner workings of a concert. It was a lot less glamorous than either of them expected. Backstage was largely plain wooden floors and simple walls. Ropes controlled the curtains to be raised or lowered. Stagehands in black T-shirts and blue jeans milled around, moving boxes around and pushing the larger instruments back into waiting U-Haul trucks.

Music wafted through the air was they walked along to try to find Anita. A Latin trumpet warbled and soared to a shrill, piercing pitch. A jazz trombone snorted and farted all over the lower register. Some other sort of woodwind coiled and meandered around the corners of the room. Percussion clicked and snapped to interrupt the interlocking melodies. It took the pair of them a second to pick out the particular instrument they were listening for, but the resonant voice of the cello guided them to Anita.

The body of the cello was reddish-brown wood with strands of golden yellow and pitch black weaving in and out of the grain. As it turned in the light, the multitudes of undertone and overtones came to the foreground and introduced themselves one by one. It was a subtle nuance which was lost when you saw the instrument from a distance. The cello settled between Anita's legs while the neck rested upon her shoulder, like an embrace. The brazilwood bow was cradled between her fingers, halfway between a pinch and a caress.

Anita was bent over her instrument. Fingers flew up and down the neck, quick enough to put some rock guitarist to shame. Her bow sawed back and forth, shredding the horsehair so it fluttered like a pendant in a hurricane. The strings protested at the aggressive handling so they whined and groaned as Anita pulled the notes from the instrument. It was strange that the cello could be sweet and gentle on the one hand and then suddenly transform into a snarling beast. A good deal of that was due to Anita's mastery of the instrument and the craftsmanship behind the actual cello.

Phil and Evelyn applauded and Anita smiled over at them. She waved them over and set the cello in its case so she could hug them.

"Do you two want a quick private concert?" she suggested.

Evelyn nodded happily. She had never seen a cello in person and only ever heard it in recordings and when the school orchestra did their performances.

Music swelled from the strings, a deep voice but soft and gentle. It sounded like a father singing a lullaby to his baby. Intensely familiar, but not attached to a particular memory. Notes rose and fell, sailing high and then swooping downward, only to loop back up once again. The cello growled and cried, trilled and warbled. A thousand expressions and words materialized from the music, coaxed skillfully from the instrument by the hands of an artist. When silence finally fell, Evelyn paused for a moment before applauding, letting the sounds ring in her head for a moment before expressing her appreciation for the music.

"That was beautiful," whispered Phil in awe. You're beautiful. That's what he wanted to say.

"Thank you," she said, resting the bow across her lap, "That was the Prelude to Bach's Cello Suite. It's kind of the song cello players use to say 'hello' to each other."

She placed the shiny, beautiful instrument in a nest of blue crushed velvet and closed the lid. Her fingers accidentally struck the lowest string so it hummed before the lid cut it off. Evelyn picked up the case for her and Anita gathered up the loose sheets of music.

"Would you like to come over for dessert?" Asked Phil, ignoring how his heart beat faster at the idea of spending more time with her.

"I made chocolate cake," said Evelyn proudly, ignoring the fact that the cake came from a box of cake mix. She was still very excited that she made a proper cake with chocolate frosting and didn't set off the fire alarm in the process. Part of her wanted to use the tubes of gel frosting to make a Captain America shield on the top but she questioned her own artistic talent so she opted instead to smother it in red, white, and blue nonpareils.

Of course Anita accepted and they went to the parking lot to find Lola. It didn't take long. Lola was a very distinctive car and Anita's eyes shot right to it.

"Wow," she smiled, running a hand over Lola's sleek lines, "You have a beautiful car!"

Her touch was delicate and loving, the touch of someone who had a level of appreciation for what she held. There was also something really attractive about a beautiful woman standing next to a beautiful car which Phil couldn't ignore.

"You know, you must be special, because Dad doesn't share Lola with just anyone."

Phil shot his daughter a look but Anita was smiling. A faint rosy blush tickled the apples of her cheeks. When she sat in the car, she wanted to ask about all the specs and spoke at length about her vintage Porsche. The pair were comfortable being unrepentant car nerds together. The entire ride home, Anita just had question after question about the specs on Lola and the little gadgets he had implemented. It wasn't until they got home that Evelyn finally had a chance to get a word in edgewise and grill Anita with her questions about music.

"The question has been burning me up. How do you bring in a grand piano from Hawaii?" she asked as she cut the cake.

"Some of the people who had to travel a long way with unwieldy instruments borrowed ones from their counterparts here in New York. I know the marimbas and tympani were borrowed, as well as the piano."

"Marimbas?"

"The percussion instruments," explained Anita, "like xylophones but bigger."

Anita turned out to be incredibly knowledgeable of instruments and was able to explain the instruments that Evelyn didn't recognize as a bass clarinet, a contrabassoon, and an English horn, none of which she had ever heard of before. If Anita didn't say the names so confidently, Evelyn would swear up and down that she was making them up.

The cake turned out to be pretty good, the limitations of boxed cake mix notwithstanding. Evelyn used chocolate pudding mix in it so the inside was soft, moist, and even a little gooey. The frosting was the oversweet sort which came from a can but it was nice enough, and very festive with the sprinkles.

It seemed like it became late way too early and he had to take Anita back to her hotel. Phil put it off as much as he could. They walked along the sidewalk among the crowds of excited holidaymakers. A few people were letting off fireworks early but most of the night was lit only by the pale light of the cool crescent moon and the flickering neon lights. Anita absorbed New York like a sponge, her eyes flicking from building to building to drink in the features. By the time they reached the hotel, she was aglow.

"I had a lovely evening, Phil. Thank you."

He cradled her hand in his, smiling broadly. They stood under the streetlamp in front of her hotel. Anita was bathed in the golden glow of the light. She was painted with the pearlescent glow of moonlight and watercolor features. The silver strands in her hair seemed to shimmer and glow with starlight. Her eyes were full of the glow of moonbeams and Phil found himself drawn into them. Their hands were entwined. Even though it was time for them to part, he gravitated toward her like the tide. There was no way to stop the pull she had on him. He would have more luck trying to hold back the ocean.

As with all beautiful moments, it was over far too soon. It was a firework in the inky black sky, pretty while it lasted but gone in an instant. Anita smiled and loosened her grip on his hand. They separated and she turned to go into the hotel. He missed his chance.

But maybe not.

"Anita," he called, stepping forward.

"Yes," she turned, a little bit breathless.

He paused. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted it so badly.

"Uh, do you want to meet up again, tomorrow, before you leave?"

She smiled, "Of course. I would love to."

"I know a, uh, a diner that the agents like to go to. They say it is good pie."

What had him nervous as a kid on exam day? Anita was a beautiful woman, and obviously interested. She wouldn't have accepted another meeting if she wasn't, would she? The ride home seemed to take longer than ever and it gave him an abundance of time to mull over the encounter and try to figure out exactly what he should do.

If only it was that easy.

By the time he got home, Evelyn had changed from the concert dress into a pair of sweatpants and a gray tank top. She made a nest among the sofa pillows and a throw blanket. The History Channel was airing a miniseries about Captain America and World War Two which she had been excited to watch.

"Oh," said Evelyn as he walked in, "I wasn't expecting you back so soon!"

Phil gave his daughter a look and contemplated saying something but then decided not to. She wasn't being disrespectful, just honest. Frankly, he was surprised he was back so quickly as well.

"Yeah, uh, Anita wanted to get a good night's rest tonight because we are probably going to be up late tomorrow with fireworks and stuff."

"Uh-huh."

His eyes narrowed as his frown deepened. Now she was being sassy. Or he would have thought so if she didn't seem engrossed by the dramatic reenactment on the screen of Captain America sneaking into the Hydra base to rescue the captured 107th Regiment. It was a good documentary, but not quite as good as the HBO "Howling Commandos" series which was produced by Steven Spielberg. Evelyn gave her father the boxed set for his birthday a few years back. The actor who played Cap was stern and noble, the picture of righteousness and honor. The actor who played Bucky was the kind of tragically dreamy sort who wouldn't be out of place as the love interest in some Nicholas Sparks film. The boxed set had an extra six hours of documentary footage and a collection of the old black-and-white USO films. Evelyn admitted to him once that the Captain America in those film reels was far more handsome than the modern actor.

But this series was not bad and a good way to spend the evening before Fourth of July. Phil sat on the couch next to her as they watched the scene play out. Evelyn was staring at the screen, engrossed by the action. They sat like that until the next commercial break.

"You doing anything tomorrow?"

"Clint wants me to go with him and Natasha to a barbeque that one of the agents are hosting but Rumlow will be there so I don't think I want to go."

"Well, that's not fair. It's been a while. He could have grown up a bit since last you saw him."

"Sure. Or he could be worse than ever."

Phil almost rolled his eyes. "He's not going to be the only one there. You don't have to spend any time with him."

"I know. But I still don't want to hang out in his proximity. He makes me feel physically ill."

"Well, you should still go, if for no reason than to spend time with Clint and Natasha."

"Why? Do you want some alone time with Anita?"

"Now hold on a minute, young lady," he said, reaching over to snatch the remote from her hands and put the TV on mute. Evelyn glared up at him.

"What?"

"That's not appropriate. Just because you are an adult and not living under my roof most of the year doesn't give you the right to pull that crap."

"What crap?"

"That's the third time you've implied that Anita and I are having sex. We're not. And it isn't polite to assume. She's a nice lady."

"I just said 'alone time.' You're only one who thinks I meant sex."

Phil stared at his daughter, "I'm not that naive, Evey. I know what you meant."

"Even if that's true, would it be such a bad thing? I'd be thrilled if you and her were serious."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know you like her. And, honestly, she's a pretty amazing person. If you were going to be serious with someone, it would be cool if it was someone like her."

Phil blinked at his daughter for a second before jumping to the obvious conclusion. "Do you want a mom? Is that what this is about?"

"Maybe," said Evelyn, folding her hands together and directing her gaze down at them. "I mean, it's never been a big deal. I've been happy growing up with you. But, I just… I still wonder, you know, where I came from. I wonder who my parents are. I still think about it. I'm still curious. But I made peace with the fact long ago that I might never know for sure. And that's fine. I'm okay with it. I'm happy with my life, generally."

"But," said Phil gently, turning to look at her in the eyes, "You didn't answer my question. Do you want a mom?"

Evelyn was silent for a long minute, staring at the carpet and avoiding his gaze. Phil put his arm around her and she pressed herself into the front of his shirt.

"I don't want you to hate me," she admitted.

"I don't hate you at all. Why would I do that?"

She took a deep breath before speaking. "I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate you or I don't love you because I really, really do. You're my papa. I love you with all my heart! But… but…"

He paused. Her eyes were filled with tears that she was trying hard not to show him. But Phil clearly saw the dewdrops on her eyelashes. She suddenly started crying and she collapsed into his arms.

Phil didn't know what to say to comfort her. It was hard to put his own feelings in order, much less figure out her emotions. Perhaps he wasn't the best parent but he didn't know what else he could have done for her.

"I don't know," she whined, grabbing at the front of his shirt, "I don't know why I'm upset. I don't know what I want."

"Evey, honey," he patted her on the back softly, "I'm not mad. I'm not mad at you at all. I'm sorry for… I'm sorry I brought it up."

Evelyn started crying harder. Phil combed his hands through her hair, trying to find a way to calm her. She felt very warm against his chest and part of him was deathly afraid she was leaking too much energy. It could cause another table lamp to melt.

"I knew that you were going to wonder about your real mom and dad," he said soothingly, "I'm just surprised it took this long for you to get upset about it."

"I've always wondered, Papa."

Phil held her tightly until her sobs subsided. "I've looked, sweetie, believe me. I've been looking."

"I know."

"Is there something else I can do? Something to help? Maybe something to make things easier for you?"

"I dunno."

Phil untangled himself long enough to reach across the coffee table for the box of tissues. She gladly took a handful to blow her nose and dab at her leaking eyes.

"I'm here to help you however you need," assured Phil.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry," she muttered, wiping her tears away, "I'm PMS-ing a bit."

"Don't worry," smiled Phil, "Do you need ice cream or something?"

"I'm fine," she sighed, "We already had cake."

"I know you. And I know there are some issues which cannot be solved by cake. There are some issues which require ice-cream intervention."

But Phil went to the kitchen to pull out the container of rocky road ice cream anyway. It wasn't too often that she got into a funk due to what he politely referred to as aunt flo's visit, but he always kept a quart container on hand just in case. She sat in silence, sniffling a bit as he scooped her an extra-large portion. She just stared at it for a second, watching as the cookie chunks sank into a puddle of melting cream.

"What's up?"

Sniffle.

"I know," he said with a smile, "We need something to break the ice."

"Wow, Dad!" She rolled her eyes as he put a spoon into the bowl. She finally started eating and it seemed like her mood levelled out a bit.

"Look, Evelyn," he said, serious now, "I understand if… you feel like you've missed out on something by not having a mother around. I know I've done my best to help but there are some things that I just don't understand because I'm male and I don't understand some female things. Auntie flo, for instance."

"Well, that's what I have Maria for. And Bobbi. And Sharon."

"I know, but I understand it's not the same as having a mom."

Evelyn paused, "You know, I really wouldn't mind if Anita was my mom."

"Okay, why is that?" asked Phil leaning over the counter.

"Well, she's super easy to talk to," explained Evelyn between bites of ice cream, "And she gives good advice and stuff. I dunno, if she lived closer, I think I'd want to spend more time with her."

Me too, thought Phil. But aloud he cleared his throat and said, "I could see why you would like that."

"I also think she's real good for you."

"For me?" said Phil, with pretend innocence. We're his efforts truly that transparent.

"Papa, I've never seen you with a woman other than the lady agents and Anita. And even then it's entirely professional," she explained, "I… worry that you aren't happy. When I'm at college, I'm concerned that you're alone."

"I keep busy."

She sighed and went back to her ice cream, "I know."

They sat there in silence for a moment, eating ice cream and mulling over what the other person was trying to say. Phil didn't want to admit it, but some part of him missed the days when he could take a girl dancing and didn't have to worry about being home to cook dinner or tuck his daughter in at night or help her with her homework as best he could.

He wasn't a young man anymore and staying out all night was not something he could do anymore. He called it "immature" or "selfish" to want those thing. It provided a comfortable buffer distance. But now, a lot of the responsibility was off his shoulders. Evelyn was an adult. He could start to approach the idea of going out with a lady... slowly, tentatively. Part of him felt so selfish for entertaining the idea. No matter how hard he tried to scrub it away, that label was not fading easily.

"Papa," she said softly, "I know Anita makes you happy. And… I want to see you happy."

"Ignoring yourself?"

"Not really. I like her too. You have my approval, for what that's worth."

"It's worth a lot," Phil interjected.

"Well, then, go for it. What are you waiting for?"

The conversation lingered in his head for some time afterward. The next day, Evelyn took his advice and went to the barbeque although she did so with a bit of a scowl and a promise that if Rumlow so much as looked at her funny, she couldn't promise that she wouldn't punch him in the teeth. Phil requested that she just left if he annoyed her rather than resorting to violence. No promises were made either way. "Be nice" were his parting words to her as she got into Clint's truck and drove off. He hurried to meet Anita.

"So, I was promised pie," she said with a smile as she clambered into the front seat.

The diner in question, the Lamplighter, was just a little bit off the beaten path. It was an old retro throwback joint with checkerboard floors and red vinyl booths. An old jukebox in the corner belted out Elvis, Nat King Cole, and the Everly Brothers. The waitresses wore pale blue dresses and red shoes. Pies and cakes sat under cloche glasses like they were the crown jewels. The analogy wasn't too much of a stretch, if his co-workers were to be believed.

He and Anita took a booth under the neon, looking at the passersby on the street. Brooklyn was busy with tourists and locals alike as they hurried to their Fourth of July festivities. The sun had not yet set but the local kids had already lit sparklers and were sitting on their front stoops, giggling at the shower of sparks. Some mischievous tweens were tossing smoke bombs onto the sidewalk and running through the colorful smoke.

"My name's Monica, I'll be your server today," introduced the waitress, pulling them from their people-watching.

"I'd like a slice of your apple pie and a cup of coffee," said Phil.

"How do you take your coffee?" Asked the waitress.

"Black as a moonless night," said Phil with a smile. Anita shook her head.

"Hot tea for me, please."

"We have green, black, and peppermint."

"Black sounds nice, thank you," said Anita, "And a slice of cherry pie."

"Alrighty," said Monica as she picked up the menus, "And would either of you like to have ice cream with your pie? It's only a dollar more."

Phil said yes but Anita declined. Monica was quick on her toes and it took almost no time for their pies and drinks to be on the table in no time at all. They were served on pretty pale blue plates which matched the walls.

"Are you liking New York?"

"Yes, all things considered," said Anita, "I like to travel and see other places."

"Me too."

"It's a bit strange for me, actually. If you asked me thirty years ago, I would have told you that I wasn't ever going to leave Seattle," admitted Anita as she bobbed the tea bag in and out of the steaming water, "I fell in love with the Pacific Ocean, the rain, the way the moss hugged the trees, and the way the sun always appeared pure white, like a pearl, through the morning clouds. It's like being on another planet sometimes. There's nowhere in the world quite like it. Of course, then I moved to Portland and I fell in love with that city as well. So, I suppose I could find something to love about nearly any city."

"I guess I sort of know the feeling. Growing up, I loved St. Louis. Although, anymore, I have trouble going back in the summer because the weather is nightmarish. It will be a hundred degrees outside with humidity at nearly a hundred percent. You will sweat your tail off."

"How does anyone even live there?"

"I don't know how I lived there!"

They paused the conversation for a moment to indulge in their respective pies. Phil always had a soft spot for apple. His grandmother made one heck of an apple pie and she always ate it with a slice of cheddar cheese. It was a bit bizarre, he never quite got into it personally. But it was a fond memory of summers gone by. To him, apple pie was made to be served with a nice scoop of ice cream.

"You can't get more All-American than cherry pie," said Anita, interrupting his thoughts.

"Apple," noted Phil, gesturing to his own plate, "I think the saying goes 'as American as apple pie.'"

"But George Washington and the cherry tree," rebuffed Anita.

Phil tilted his head in acquiescence, "Maybe pie in general is just sort of an American thing."

"Well, the British might have a thing or two to say on the subject of mincemeat."

"Okay, sure, but when's the last time you had mincemeat?"

"Touche," admitted Anita as she sipped her tea.

Time slipped by quickly and easily, almost too much so. Phil grabbed the check before Anita had a chance to intercept. She smirked and playfully tried to snatch at it out of his hands.

"Phil!"

"You are my guest," he said, tucking his card in the pocket and holding it out of her reach, "I couldn't call myself very gentlemanly if I don't take care of this."

Anita gave him a look but smiled. "Fine. But next time you come out to Portland, I'm treating you."

"Deal," smiled Phil as he handed the tab to Monica.

Anita sipped her tea, smiling and shaking her head at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," she held in a tiny laugh, "I'm just amused by you."

"Uh-oh," Phil couldn't help but smile, "What I have done?"

"Oh, nothing… I mean," she set the mug back down on the saucer, "You're a nice man. I happen to like nice men. There aren't that many men like you around."

"Well, thank you. I guess."

"You're welcome."

Silence fell across the table as they finished their drinks. Somewhere, a firecracker shrieked and popped. Phil winced a bit. The noise reminded him a bit too much of being in the line of fire and his soldier instincts kicked into gear. Instinctively, his hand slipped toward his hip to grab at a gun that wasn't there.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he smiled, reassuring, "Firework just startled me."

Anita nodded and finished up her tea. "Dad was the same way after he left the service."

"Yeah?"

She nodded, "Took him awhile to stop jumping every time a car backfired or a police cruiser turned on the sirens."

Phil nodded. It wasn't unusual among all the agents to have some residual effects of their service, to varying degrees of severity. He took a long drink of coffee as he considered it. He hadn't personally had to deal with it but some people were paralyzed by their memories. He pushed it from his mind. It wasn't the sort of thing that he wanted to be thinking of while on a date.

"That's a damn fine cup of coffee," commented Phil as he sipped his own drink, changing the subject as quickly as possible, "I'm glad my co-workers directed me here. Nice place."

"Definitely. The cherry pie is worth the stop."

Phil grabbed a mint from the bowl before leaving. Anita followed suit. They started the short walk back to her hotel. A pensive look crossed Anita's face. She had the same faraway look that Clint sometimes got when he was focusing in on a target.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," smiled Anita, turning back to him, "I was just thinking. Listening."

"To…?"

She turned to look out at the street, "The city. I know it sounds weird but I like getting a feel for the sounds of the city."

"Is it a musician thing?"

"Sort of. Cities have heartbeats," explained Anita, "Some are slow and calm, some are angry and pounding, some are joyful and bouncy."

"So, what is Portland like?"

"Raindrops," she said with a smile, "and mist and waves caught up on the wind."

"And New York?"

She closed her eyes for a second, drinking in the area around her. She could see beyond just the lights in her eyes. She could see the colors between sight and sense. She could see something intangible, possibly something far greater than the human language could express.

"It feels alive," she opened her eyes, "It feels like dozens of feet scurrying in all directions, like… syncopated notes in a symphony. It seems chaotic, but they all fall somewhere along the beat."

They paused on the street corner for a minute, just listening to traffic and the bustle of people. Taxi horns cut through the rumble as they wove in and out of traffic. Human voices, in a million different dialects rose and fell like the tide, none standing out more than the other.

"I think I'm starting to understand Gershwin better," noted Anita as the light changed and they entered the crosswalk.

Phil hadn't thought of it that way but she had a point.

"Are you going to come to the gospel Christmas concert?" she changed the subject.

"Of course," he smiled, "I have already gotten the time off and the plane ticket in my pocket."

"Good. I can't wait."

The first fireworks of the night were starting to pop overhead, sprinkling them with golden sparks. They watched as the inky sky flashed with rainbow light. He was still holding Anita's hand and she didn't seem to want to let go anytime soon.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Phil wanted to say something smooth, like how the fireworks weren't nearly as pretty as her. But the words were getting a bit gummed up in his head and he was pretty sure whatever he was going to say wouldn't come out as well as he hoped.

"Yeah," he said lamely.

His inability to say what he wanted to was starting to annoy even him. His eyes glanced over at her face, illuminated by the red and gold of the sky. She was an artist, with a warm soul, and an open heart. He admired her, appreciated her, adored her so much it made his chest hurt.

Suddenly, he felt pulled on invisible strings. His body decided to move without fully consulting his brain. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, lingering perhaps a second or two longer than he should have. She smelled like roses, just a light dot of perfume on the softness of her neck. Her skin had that wonderful velvety texture that only developed with age. She gasped as his lips touched her cheek, her breath rushing against his face like a breeze off the sea. Hesitating, just a moment, he leaned back to try to gauge her reaction. He didn't have a chance to tell how she looked because Anita grabbed him by his tie and pulled him back down so he was eye level with her.

"Phillip Coulson," she ordered with a wide smile on her face, "You will come back down here right now and kiss me properly."

Fireworks illuminated the night sky above the busy city streets. New Yorkers stood on roofs and balconies to watch the glitter and sparkle rain down over the river and balls of light glow over the sea. Phil and Anita created fireworks of their own, fireworks only they could see. It was a beautiful moment, which, like the night's festivities, was over too soon.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" he asked, running a hand gently across her face and through her hair. "Can you stay?"

"I would. But I have an early flight home. Gotta get back to work."

He smiled a little bit, "Stay."

She tilted her head, returning his smile, "I'll miss my flight."

"I can call in a favor and get you a flight. Stay a little longer."

She smiled a little bit and took his hand, "Okay."