CHAPTER ONE

Summary: When Hermione sees him for the first time, she can't help but think he looks familiar. When she sees him the second time, she can't help but notice there is something decidedly strange about him. And when she sees him for the third time, she can't help but insert herself into his life. No matter how dull or dangerous that may prove to be.

Disclaimer: I do not own canon events and characters, they belong to J.K Rowling and Marvel. I am not making a profit from writing and posting this fanfic. And as usual, I have taken some liberties regarding changes made to canon, plot points, the timeline etc. Also, please ignore the category sorting, it was much easier to list this under Avengers than it was anything else.

AN

I wasn't going to post this until it was finished, but I realised that between family obligations, having a boyfriend and working 60+ hour weeks and 2 jobs has meant that I haven't had much time for my writing, and to be honest, I haven't written or edited anything since my last update back in March. In fact, this is the first time I have even picked up my laptop in months. So whilst I have been away for a while, and updates are likely to be sporadic for the foreseeable future, I have not abandoned any of my works and I do still intend to and will one day finish them all. For the time being, this is all I have to give you and although it means yet another WIP fic, I know that some of you have been eagerly waiting for it.

I hope you enjoy what I have so far.

And for those that have PM'd me regarding Wattpad, I honestly have no idea what has happened to my account. I was only on there the other day uploading a previously edited chapter to 'Soul Bonded' and there were no issues. I didn't realise there was a problem until I was told so and today I tried to log in, only for my account to not be recognised and so I have no idea what to do next, especially when I paid for the premium account and have spent literally days uploading all of my works onto the platform, so obviously, I am not happy.

Page count: 7

The first time she'd seen him, he'd looked somewhat familiar but she couldn't place why. He'd been quietly sat at the corner-back booth of the diner she frequented, his back to the wall, his body held stiffly and his head lowered.

The second time she'd seen him, she couldn't help but notice there was something strange about him, something off. Perhaps it had been his dark, dirty hair that hung limply about his face and hung in-between his chin and shoulders. Perhaps it was the black leather jacket, dark tactical trousers and combat boots he wore. Perhaps it was that he was wearing leather gloves, not only indoors but when the temperature outside was quite pleasant and there was no need for such a measure.

Perhaps it was the way he'd positioned himself in the diner; tucked away in the back, out of sight of not only the other patrons but also unseen to any who may pass by the windowed structure that made up the entirety of the front of the building, allowing any and all to see inside. Perhaps it was the way he'd deliberately slumped his shoulders, tucked his chin against his sternum to keep his head lowered and his hands were both fisted around a mug of black coffee, his grip so tight, Hermione could see the tensing of his fingers and shoulders. He didn't want to be seen. And despite that, despite his gaze being lowered, he seemed to be aware of every movement and sound within the diner. He seemed to be ready for an attack.

There was something about him. Something strange. Something intriguing. She'd inquired after him, speaking to Holly, the teenage daughter of the owner of the diner. She was due to start college the following year and was putting as many hours in at the diner as she could so she might save up for the move. The brunette hadn't been able to give her much information on the man, only that she'd seen him a handful of times over the last couple of weeks; at first, skulking around outside before he finally entered the diner. He'd only purchased a black coffee and that day was his fourth visit. He never ordered food and only appeared to pay in cash – coins, to be exact. Coins that had looked as though they'd once lived on the ground.

Was he homeless? Hermione had wondered, her brow furrowing into a slight frown. Before she took her leave that day, she'd eyed the man as she reached into her pocket and deposited enough cash on the counter to not only cover her bill and Holly's tip, but to buy the man a hot meal. Holly had smiled knowingly; it wasn't the first time Hermione bought a homeless person a meal, the bleeding heart that she was. In fact, she was known for it.

When Hermione's stomach rumbled and she decided to take a break from her work, she took a trip to the diner, stepping inside to see it marginally full given the rush hour of the dinner crowd. She'd taken a seat at the counter, giving Holly a smile in greeting and letting her know there was no rush as the teen darted past her with plates of food precariously balanced in her hold and she called that she'd be with her to take her order in a moment.

It was a few minutes later when she finally made it back to the counter, pulling out a notepad and pen from the pocket of the apron tied around her pastel blue uniform.

"What are we craving today?" She asked, her pen poised and ready to jot down Hermione's order.

"For you to take a moment and breathe," Hermione replied amusedly.

Holly sighed, brushed a loose strand of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear and she leaned forward, her forearms bracing on the counter as she took a huge breath.

"Better?"

"Better," she confirmed with a nod, her face slightly pink from the exertion of the last twenty minutes of being rushed off her feet. Hermione knew it'd happen again, a group of six teen boys had just walked through the door and were looking for a free table, finding one to the left against the wall.

"You're too young to be stressed," Hermione teased. "Where are Maggie and Scott this evening?"

Holly huffed in annoyance. "Beats me," she shrugged. "Maggie called in 'sick' and Scott hasn't turned up for his shift. He's an hour late."

"Again?" Hermione's eyebrows shifted upwards.

"Yeah, he's a damn asshole," she scowled and Hermione fought back her snigger.

"Where's your dad?"

"Out of town for the week, and Darren's out the back doing 'inventory'."

"And he's left you out here all alone?" Hermione pursed her lips unhappily.

"Well, he's not gonna get off his lazy ass and do some actual work, is he?" She glowered down at the counter. "Anyway, enough about my problems, what are we having today? The usual or something different?"

"You know, I'll think I'll just have a cheeseburger and fries," Hermione responded.

"And a strawberry shake," the teen nodded knowingly as she wrote down the order.

"You know me so well," Hermione laughed lightly as the teen ripped the page from the notepad and handed it to the kitchen through the open hatch. "Now, give me the notepad and pen."

"What?" The brunette blinked.

"Notepad and pen," she repeated, holding her hand out expectantly, waiting for the items to be set in her grasp. "It'll take some time to get my order through, so, you take a five minute breather and I'll deal with those boys," she tipped her head towards the rowdy teens that had arrived earlier. "If I'm not mistaken, those are the idiots that were giving you a bit of bother last week."

"It's fine," she waved her off.

"No, it's not," Hermione said firmly. "I don't care how old they are, that does not excuse their behaviour and they need to show more respect."

"They're paying customers," Holly replied weakly.

"That does not give them the right to touch you without your permission. We'll see if the little monsters try that with me. Now, take a break and have a milkshake on me," she leaned over and swiped the items from her grasp and then stood from her seat at the counter.

"I don't pay."

"Then have one anyway," Hermione shrugged before she smoothed out her red dress, the hem falling slightly below mid-thigh and she readjusted her cropped leather jacket before she made her way across the diner, manoeuvred around the tables and customers and reached the table with the six teen boys.

They glanced at her in surprise, noting that she wasn't wearing a uniform and neither was she Holly. They all appeared uncomfortable as they shifted in their seats, cleared their throats or looked down at the table. Hermione smiled to herself. No, they weren't going to try and feel her up, were they? She was older; she intimidated them.

After taking their orders, she passed them along to Holly who passed them along to the kitchens, the teen giving her a grateful glance when she helped to tidy the now empty tables or grab refill beverages for those that asked. Once done, she returned to the counter and as she took her seat, her food was placed before her.

When she finished eating and Holly took away her empty plate, Hermione stole a glance to the back-corner booth. She'd seen him the instant she'd stepped into the diner; she'd been specifically looking for him. He hadn't moved, he hadn't lifted his head and he hadn't released his grip on his mug of coffee. She hadn't even seen him lift it to his mouth.

"How long's he been here?" She asked Holly when she returned to the counter after taking the orders of a middle-aged couple.

"He arrived not long before you," she responded. "Same as usual, only ordered black coffee, nothing else. Paid cash."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No, only that he wanted a black coffee. That's it. Barely even got a thank you."

Her brow furrowed. "And did he eat the food?"

"No," she shook her head, offering a guilty smile. It was three days ago. "Didn't even look at it."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Oh, he's a stubborn one. Well, I like a challenge," she said to herself. "Holly, I'll have the same again, please, but substitute the milkshake for a coffee and add a tomato soup and grilled cheese."

"You got it."

Hermione didn't take her eyes off him for the entirety of the time it took the food to be cooked and delivered to the table. When Holly returned to the counter, she gave another guilty smile before her attention was pulled by another customer. Hermione narrowed her eyes, willing the man to peer up at her, to lift his head, to drink from his coffee, to sneeze, to do anything. But he didn't.

When ten minutes passed, she rolled her eyes to herself, hopped off the stool, left behind enough money to cover her bill and Holly's tip (being sure to double it for what the poor teen had to go through that shift) and she confidently strode to the back-corner booth. Without a word, she slipped onto the seat opposite the strange man, crossed one leg over the other beneath the table, set her elbows on the table and then sat her chin atop her folded hands.

He didn't acknowledge her presence. In fact, the only movement she saw from him was the tensing of his shoulders and the tightening of his fingers around his mug. Peering inside, she saw that it was still full. Stone cold coffee he hadn't touched in almost an hour.

She tipped her head contemplatively. His hung head and limp hair curtained his face, hiding it from view. He'd done it on purpose. He didn't want to be found or recognised.

"So, are you going to eat that?" She asked conversationally.

His shoulders tensed, and she saw him flinch but he did tip his head the tiniest bit. It was her accent, she assumed. Most were taken by surprise when they heard her speak for the first time if they had no knowledge of her home country beforehand. Well, she'd gotten his attention at least.

"It's getting cold, and have you ever eaten cold fries? They aren't very appetising; it's like eating a sheet of cardboard." There was no response from him. "You know, it's impolite to not respond when someone is talking to you. And it's just as impolite to not eat the food a kind stranger has bought for you."

He finally looked at her.

His head lifted so slowly Hermione would almost say it happened in slow motion. She catalogued his facial features carefully; pale skin, a strong, defined jaw with a cleft to the chin and thin pink lips, the bottom a little plumper than the top. Facial hair that was too long to be called stubble but too short to be considered a beard. High, sharp cheekbones, a straight, small nose and dark bruises beneath the eyes.

His eyes!

Godric! They were captivating. A deep blue that was penetrating and surrounded by long dark lashes. But oddly, there was a coldness to them. He looked bored, despondent. Dead.

No, Hermione thought with a frown. That didn't seem right. She had the feeling his eyes shouldn't be that cold and calculating. It didn't suit him. Even with the bruises under the eyes lending tale to sleep depravity, the sunken skin of his cheeks showing signs of malnutrition and the limp, dirty hair showing he hadn't bathed in a while, it was painfully clear this man was handsome. Devastatingly so.

Adrian Pucey, who? Briefly flittered through her mind, being reminded of the sinfully handsome wizard every witch in Hogwarts had once had a crush on, herself included.

Darting a glance back to the untouched food and coffee, she looked at him once more, her gaze locking with his as she thought over his odd behaviour.

"Oh, I see," a rush of air left her in understanding. Her shoulders slumped and her hands came away from her chin, resting on the surface of the table. "I understand now," she softened her voice, being sure to alter her demeanour to appear as nonthreatening as possible. "Sorry, Sweetie," she smiled gingerly, seeing him flinch ever so slightly as the term of endearment slipped past her lips.

Silently and slowly, she reached for the plate of food and the coffee mug and pulled them to the centre of the table, directly between them. His eyes watched her guardedly as she plucked a lukewarm fry from the plate and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly. When she was done, she reached for the knife and fork wrapped in the napkin, drew the knife out and cut the burger in half before cutting a smaller section free. After slowly and deliberately eating it, she reached for the coffee and sipped from the mug, grimacing at the horrendously bitter taste as she swallowed it.

"See, there is nothing wrong with the food? It is safe to eat," she promised. "Don't be worried about the coffee; I'm not a big fan of the taste, I much prefer tea," she smiled. "I'll leave you alone now. But please, do eat the food. There is no reason for you to have to suffer and food is needed to function."

Slipping from the booth, she felt his stare burn like ice on her back as she returned to the counter where Holly stood, refilling the sugar and salt canisters.

"Is he eating?" Hermione asked.

"Not yet, he seems to be thinking about it," responded the teen, darting a subtle glance in his direction.

"That's better than nothing," Hermione said with a nod before her attention was drawn by the arrival of the twenty-three-year-old raven-haired soon-to-be ex-employee of Moira's Diner. "And where do you think you have been?" Hermione demanded, setting her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips.

The young man froze in his approach to the counter. He wasn't dressed in his uniform either. In fact, he looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed. Smelled like it, too. And a liquor store.

"Well? You are two hours late."

"My alarm didn't go off," he offered lamely.

"Your alarm didn't go off?" She repeated disbelievingly, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. "It is six o'clock in the evening. If you plan to go on a bender, I highly suggest you do not do so the day before you're due at work, and if you do, that you sober yourself up first. You smell like a brewery. You have no idea the stress Holly has been under, having to do everything by herself. You should feel ashamed of yourself," she chastised.

He flushed red in embarrassment, his eyes quickly darting about the diner to see the customers watching and whispering.

"I didn't think it'd be an issue. Where's Laura? Maggie? Justin?"

"Maggie called in sick, Laura's had today booked off for two weeks and Justin's girlfriend went into labour last night," answered Holly, barely looking up from her task of refilling the condiment bottles.

"Oh," he cleared his throat.

"Get to work," she instructed. "I've already told my dad that you were late for your shift and I couldn't get a hold of you," she told him, seeing him shift on his feet. "That's four times this month. You're cleaning the kitchens tonight. By yourself. You're on lock up duty."

"But that'll take forever," he complained.

"Perhaps you should've thought about that before," Hermione responded. "If I were you, I'd be lucky that I still had a job."

"Sorry, Holly," he muttered, lowering his gaze.

"Just get to work," she sighed, turning her back to him and reaching for the food that had just been placed on the hatch, setting it on the counter before Hermione.

Smiling in thanks, Hermione turned to look over her shoulder, seeing the man watching her blankly and she purposely tore the edge off the grilled cheese, dipped it into the tomato soup and put it in her mouth, being sure he saw her. Nodding her head in an indication that it was safe to eat, she turned away from him.

"Scott, take this over to the gentleman in the back corner, would you?"

Not sparing him a second glance, Hermione took her leave from the diner, slipping her hands in her pockets after she stepped through the door and onto the street, the evening sun beaming down on her. After taking a minute to soak up the heat, she walked away, stealing a peek through the window and into the diner, squinting until she could see the man in the back finally releasing his hold on his coffee mug, reaching for a fry and bringing it up to his face, purposely sniffing it.

When she saw him cautiously put it in his mouth and chew slowly, she smiled to herself.

Stubborn but not impossible.

She'd seen it immediately in his eyes but it had taken a moment to piece it together with his demeanour and suspiciousness. He'd been worried to eat the food, not being certain if it was safe to eat until she'd shown him it was. He was deliberately trying to hide, to be unseen. He was silent, tense; aware of everyone and thing around him. He was ready for an attack, to defend himself.

The cold, calculating stare. The despondence and death.

She'd seen it all before.

She'd felt it all before.

He was a soldier.