Written for: lucdarling. April 23rd, 2019 Brock Rumlow/May Parker "Who says 'nincompoop?!'"

This was the worst assignment ever.

Or more to the point, the most boring.

This was why Rumlow never should've grown a stupid conscience and spilled all of HYDRA's secrets to Fury and set the rabid dog that was Steve Rogers upon the base where the Winter Soldier was being held. He should've kept his head down and did what he was told by Fury and by Pierce and been a good little double agent making an extra payday every month.

But no, he had to go and be honorable and a good man like some fucking after school special.

Now he was just another bottom of the barrel agent on the same level as a mall cop. Fury said if he worked hard and stayed on the straight and narrow, he might earn back his trust one day, but that was bullshit. Fury never trusted him. He never trusted anyone. Even his cat got weird looks like Fury thought the thing would eat him one day.

He strolled down the mean Queens streets on a mission to save the world. Actually no, he was just picking up some documents. Last week he got to stakeout a militia group in Istanbul to see if they were making bombs out of cherry pies (they weren't, but the pies were pretty good). Next week, he'd be cleaning the bathrooms on a ship in San Fernando Bay.

The abandoned building which had once housed a pizza shop was his final destination. A guy in sunglasses and a ski cap, who only needed a big flashing sign reading I AM A MUGGER to complete the look, raced down the street with a woman's purse. Rumlow had already stopped to check his phone, so he met the idiot with a punch, knocking him flat.

He was a bit off his game and the guy staggered back to his feet and kept running, sans purse.

A red-faced woman burst out of the crowd. She darted for her purse and clutched it to her chest as she waved her fist as the retreating thief. "Yeah, you'd better run. Next time you try to steal from me, you're gonna get it. You stupid… you big nincompoop!"

Rumlow, who had been ready to move on and not accept any thanks (because real heroes didn't need reward or overtime pay, said Fury), barked a laugh. "Did you say, nincompoop?"

"Yes," she snapped at him. "You got a problem with that?"

"Just never heard anyone say that before," he shrugged.

"I don't curse," she said, "I have a kid at home."

"So did my parents and I learned to say 'fuck' when I was four."

He realized as soon as the words were out that this wasn't something to brag about. A hint of sympathy flashed across her face, and he really hated that. He should probably just go.

"Thanks for stopping him," she said. "Did you stop him? I didn't see it."

"I asked him politely to drop the bag and move along."

She snorted. "I'm May Parker, by the way."

"Brock," he said. He hadn't been given a fake identity for this assignment and wouldn't have remembered it anyway.

"Nice to meet you, Brock," she said. "Is there any way I can repay you?"

"I'm good." He checked his phone again, but the screen was black. Tapping it did nothing. When was the last time he charged this thing? "Actually, if you could just tell me where 19th street is? I have a meeting to get to."

"Sure, no problem," she said cheerfully, way more than someone who almost got robbed should be. "I'm heading that way myself. It's just a few blocks down from here"

Against his better judgment, Rumlow allowed May to lead him along. He told himself it was just to pass the time and make the mission less boring. That she was easy on the eyes certainly helped.

"So are you in from Manhattan?" she asked.

"Nah, I'm not from New York. I'm here on business."

"Not shady business I hope."

"Just a few bags of coke and some weed. Nothing serious."

She laughed, which was a bit awkward as Rumlow had only been about forty percent kidding.

"Shouldn't joke about drugs," she shook her head. "My grandma used to tell me if she ever caught me with a cigarette she'd take my eye out."

"So you never smoked?"

"No, I just did it when she wasn't around."

Rumlow smiled, and he wanted to laugh, too, but like a police dog, he'd had that trained out of him years ago. It was kind of sad, now that he thought about it. "My grandma used to smoke. Used to say it was her bad habit and I should pick another one."

"Did you?"

'Yeah, I joined a Nazi cult.' "I've made a few mistakes."

She nodded, sensing he didn't want to talk about it anymore. 19th street was coming up and they could've easily halted all conversation and parted right there.

"My grandma used to call me Stellina," she said suddenly as they were crossing the street. Rumlow eyed her and she blushed slightly. "Sorry, I'm not good with awkward silences and we were talking about our grandmas, so that's what came to me."

"It's fine," he said, "she wasn't wrong. You do kind of remind me of a star."

May blushed harder and giggled like a little girl. That was how Rumlow left her as they approached his street and she had to turn the other way to get home. He wanted to smack himself. "Why the fuck did I say that?"

He looked behind him, but of course, May was gone. Lost in the throng of New Yorkers and probably gone forever. Finding one person in this city was like finding one needle in a dozen haystacks.

Yet Rumlow had a feeling this wasn't the last he'd see of May Parker.

He hoped he was right.