A/N: Hello all! PLEASE forgive me for taking so long to update, I promise the next chapter will be up sooner. By the way, happy late Christmas, New Year's and MLK day! I hope everyone's holidays have been great, and I hope this new year you'll take the opportunity to be a better you!

Now, please allow me to explain my screw up to you, readers. I am human, and an inspired one at that, so when inspiration strikes, I must shift my posting schedule. Which means that even though I spent four years creating and cultivating this story, unfortunately, I changed this a bit. So, technically, Kassidy's chapter was supposed to be chapter five, not four. And this chapter was supposed to be after James'. So...is anyone following? Again, sorry for the mix up! I will re-post Kassidy's after this one as not to confuse. Until then, please enjoy grown-up Cassandra Lang!

Disclaimer: Get off my back!

Chapter 4: One Day Off

1103 Belleview Apartments, Lower Manhattan, New York. Tuesday, September 9th, 2042. 4:45 a.m.

Quiet. Nothing but a peaceful stillness fills the walls of her lofty bedroom while she rests from yesterday's busy schedule. The woman lies still, comfortably burrowed down in her thick pink and gray blanket, wrapped up like a swaddled baby. But in a moment the still, quiet morning she enjoys is rudely interrupted by a loud alarm on her holo-phone sounding through her eardrums. The nerve killing noise jolts the woman awake, grasping at her chest to make sure her heart is still beating.

"What on earth?" she grumbles, snatching her phone from her bedside. The diamond shaped middle button blinks pink, then shifts, showing the alarm she had set for herself. Automatically, she assumes that means she needs to get dressed for work, but before she starts to get up, she glances back down at the holographic screen. As soon as her blue-gray eyes scan for the date, she huffs irritably. I finally have a day off, she thinks, and I forget to turn off my alarm. S.H.I.E.L.D. never lets me have a morning to myself.

Cassandra Lang flops back onto her warm bed, readjusting the covers as she settles to sleep a little longer. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resident psychologist, daughter of the Ant-Man, Scott Lang, and always at the Director's beck and call. Never does a day go by where something doesn't come up at work. Cassandra has gotten used to waking up several hours in advance simply for the sake of preparedness. Because when your work consists of evaluating the psyches of agents all day, and your boss relies on you to keep her organized, you learn to live a flexible lifestyle.

The thought of the Director dealing with her fill-in today passes through her mind as she begins to drift off, forcing a half-hearted snicker. "Daisy would never survive without me…" Cassandra mumbles, fighting her drooping eyelids. Soon enough she's fast asleep.

Several hours, position changes, and a trip to the bathroom later, Cassandra finally gets up to greet the world. Once on her feet, she groggily shuffles across the room to her bathroom in desperate need of a hot shower to wake her up. She sheds her pajamas and steps into the narrow, glass shower stall in the corner of the bathroom. With the press of a button, steaming water begins to pour over her stiff muscles, loosening the grip that sleep still holds on her body. Hot mist rises through the stall, clearing her lungs. The longer she stands under the water, the more alert and awake she starts to feel. She even feels awake enough to wash her hair and body, which is more than she thought she could manage this morning.

A few minutes later, Cassandra reenters her bedroom, now wrapped in a towel and in search of an outfit for her day off. She meanders over to her closet, waving her hand over a panel on the wall that orders the metal doors to slide open, folding into each other. A thoughtful "Hmm," escapes her lips as she peruses her strictly organized closet. Many blazer-skirt sets hang on a pole in the middle, accompanied by a variety of colorful blouses and tanks. And as she stands there glancing over her inventory, it seems as if her work clothes are the only clothes she owns. But hope brightens her morning when she finally spots a short stack of blue jeans and sweaters shoved away on a shelf in the far corner.

"Has it really been that long since I've worn normal clothes?" she wonders aloud, not realizing just how much she's worked the past few years. She rolls her eyes and snatches some jeans and an old, yellow knit sweater from the stack.

Now dressed as casually as her closet can offer, Cassandra starts drying her long blonde hair with her bath towel. She walks back into the bathroom and pulls a blow-dryer from the wall beside her. The drier blows her hair around until the wet frizziness disappears and her hair falls back into its natural straight form. She smiles at her accomplishment and hangs the blow-dryer back on the wall, reaching into a basket under the sink for a comb. Cassandra runs the plastic comb through her blonde locks until they fall in a straight sheet down her back. She smiles at the finished product, tucking her bangs behind her ears, and begins to tidy up her bathroom counter. But as she hangs up towels and puts items away, a noise echoes through her apartment. She waits, her breath hitching in her throat as another sound follows the last.

"What…" she whispers as the click of her front door opening sounds. Her widening eyes dart towards her bedroom door and her heart begins to skip as a freak-out slowly creeps up her throat. Cassandra can feel her body start to tense up as her mind races, a slight panic consuming her thoughts.

Stop it! she thinks, smacking her forehead. You've trained for this, or have you completely forgotten about your escapades as a teen hero?

"That was 15 years ago. Besides, I'm a psychologist, not a field agent," she answers herself aloud, running towards the bathroom.

She starts rifling through cabinets and baskets, looking for anything to use for defense. But as she rummages around creating a mess in her perfectly organized system, she remembers the locked drawer on her vanity. And what's locked away inside, she thinks. Cassandra runs back into the bedroom and snatches the key from a glass dish on her bedside table. Once she makes it back to the bathroom, she shoves the key into the drawer of the vanity that sits beside the sink and unlocks it.

Next to a tube of lipstick, some eyeshadow that she doesn't use, and a pack of tissues lies a hand blaster—standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. laser pistol of the latest model. Cassandra has never once used it, but it doesn't hurt to have one around. She flips the charge switch on the side and slowly approaches her bedroom door, turning off light switches as she goes to make it seem as though no one's home. Now standing at the door, she gently cracks it open to see the tall figure of a man walking around in the kitchen across from her. She points the end of the pistol through the crack and steadies it, trying to get a look at her intruder. But the man keeps his back to her as he moves around, making it harder to keep a steady aim on him. Cassandra decides to take her shot as the man stills, but a familiar sound stops her. Whistling.

She pushes the door open a little more, her eyes trained on the perp, listening intently to the man's tune. An old song Cassandra knows by heart because of a certain man singing it non-stop. Is that...? It has to be, couldn't be anyone else.

"Kyle?" She begins to lower her pistol, and finally catches a glimpse of the intruder's face.

Senator Kyle Williams of New York, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s favorite supporter from the Senate and Cassandra's three-year fiancé. "Who else would it be?" he says as she fully opens the door.

Cassandra huffs irritably and throws her pistol behind her on the bed. She stomps out of her room and over to the kitchen to chastise her future husband. "Kyle freaking Williams," she starts, pointing a thin finger in his direction.

Kyle—tall and lean with short brown hair, dark green eyes and clothed in a gray suit for work—stands in the kitchen with a puzzled expression. "What did I do?"

"You nearly got yourself shot, that's what," she says. Kyle raises his eyebrows in surprise. "How did you get in here?"

"I used my key," he explains, holding up a copy key for her apartment. "The key you gave me, remember?"

Cassandra rolls her eyes. She definitely didn't remember. "Well, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I did. I texted you and told you I was bringing breakfast about twenty minutes ago. Didn't you get it?" Kyle asks, opening a brown paper bag that sits on the counter. She watches him pull out something covered in paper wrapping. Its shape resembles a croissant sandwich and Cassandra's mouth begins to water slightly.

"I think I was in the shower," she sheepishly admits.

Kyle rolls his eyes and hands her a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee. "You wanna start this over? Here, I'll go first. Good morning, Cass, how are you?"

Cassandra looks down at her coffee and smiles. "I'm okay. How are you?"

"Exhausted but in a good mood," he says, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. Kyle offers his bride-to-be a breakfast sandwich as she takes a seat at the dining table across the room. The metal table for six sits in front of towering windows that stretch from one end of the outer wall to the other, giving a panoramic view over lower Manhattan. One can even make out the shape of Lady Liberty in the distance.

Cassandra's eyes drift out the windows, staring out towards the statue. A memory from her teens pops into her head, one of her and her father fighting side-by-side at the foot of the statue. She was already in trouble for sneaking out with her Stature gear, but then got in over her head when a sea creature attacked Liberty Island. Luckily for her, it was "Daddy to the rescue." She was in so much trouble with Scott and S.H.I.E.L.D., but the memory still forces a smile to pull at her lips. She misses those days.

A touch to her shoulder brings her back to her apartment. "Whatcha thinking about?" Kyle asks. He drags out a chair and sits beside her.

"Nothing." Cassandra begins to unwrap her sandwich but stops when she sees it. The English muffin is perfectly browned, the egg in the middle is fluffy looking and the sausage doesn't look drowned in pepper—it's perfect. A little too perfect if you ask me, she thinks, suspicion nagging at her. "Kyle, not that I'm complaining because I love having you over, but why did you bring me breakfast?"

"What?" he asks with a mouthful of his own breakfast. "I can't bring my fiancé a sandwich without being questioned?"

"No. It's just usually when you bring food to my apartment—breakfast in particular—you always have some kind of bad news that goes with it," she says, still eyeing her food cautiously.

Kyle swallows hard and takes a swig of coffee before he looks Cassandra's way. Their eyes lock and she can tell she was right. She can see the guilt rising in his forest green eyes. "Well…I uh, I do have some bad news."

"What is it this time?" she wonders. She places her sandwich on the table and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"You know how we've been trying to find a time where we can go to the courthouse?" Cassandra answers with a nod. "Okay, well you know how next week I had that day off, and you were going to ask Director Johnson to give you the afternoon?"

"Your point?"

"My point is that there's a Senate conference in California next week—an environmental meeting put on by the Governor—and Senator Kelly has asked me to go in his place."

As soon as the words leave Kyle's mouth, Cassandra's heart hits the floor. The familiar feel of disappointment weighs on her chest. Tears brim her eyes and she turns her head away so he can't see her fighting them. This is the sixth time this year the two have been forced to postpone their union over unforeseen circumstances. But no matter how many times this has happened, it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"I tried to get myself out of it, but Kelly is insistent that he can't attend. And attendance is mandatory for at least one of a state's Senators," Kyle explains.

"And what is Senator Kelly so busy doing that he can't be bothered?" Cassandra shoots, her eyes still cast out the windows.

Kyle sighs heavily. "He's got his hands full with the new M.R.D. projects."

Cassandra turns her head to look her fiancé in the eyes, both aware of the can of worms Kyle just opened. "You mean he's busy meddling with S.H.I.E.L.D. affairs."

"Cass, you know Mutants aren't S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction," Kyle combats.

"All powered people are S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction, Kyle. Or have you forgotten about the bill you helped pass to make that possible?" Cassandra retaliates. The man opens his mouth to speak, but instead, shuts his eyes as she continues. "When are you going to stand up to that psycho? I realize that Kelly has been a Senator much longer than you, but the man is a biased, anti-mutant, hate-filled individual who has no right making decisions on behalf of an entire state. Why hasn't he been impeached yet?"

"Because he has strings to pull on every time I've gone to the House. He has people to make him look like the savior of humanity, and money to pay for them. I've been in the Senate for seven years. In those seven years, I've made it my job to remain as honest as possible, but men like Kelly are untouchable because of their dishonesty. They thrive on lying, cheating and stealing. They don't represent the people, they represent their own self-interest," Kyle stops, his eyes downcast. "How am I supposed to fight that?" he shrugs.

Cassandra's angered expression softens at the heartbroken man before her, wishing there was something that could be done or said to heal his wounds. Having nothing to offer but her own empathy, she wraps her hands around his. The gesture brings his forest green eyes to meet her blue-grays, and a small smile tugs at them both.

"I'm sorry, Kyle, it's not your fault," she starts. "I know it seems impossible to be a good man in today's politics, but you are. And no matter how many corrupt men try to tear you from your values, you'll always be Kyle Willaims—a kind and honest man."

Kyle's smile widens. "And you'll always be Cassandra Lang, doctor of encouragement." The two share a light-hearted laugh, their fingers still intertwined. "I'm sorry about the postponement…again. But I promise, before the year is out, you and I will be Mr. and Mrs. Williams."

"I sure hope so," Cassandra says, leaning in to kiss him. Their lips are about to touch, but their moment is interrupted by Kyle's smart watch dinging. They sigh in unison as he reads a reminder.

"I have to get to work, lots of boring paperwork and such," he says, standing from his chair. "Enjoy your day off." He kisses her head and finds the jacket he draped over the couch, headed out of her apartment.

Her blue-gray eyes follow him as he closes the door behind him. "I'll try," she whispers.

New York Public Library, 5th avenue and 42nd St. 10:36 a.m.

Cassandra's day off journey leads her all the way to up Midtown. The Public Library in Bryant Park to be precise. Cassandra has never been much of a reader but learned to like it during her college days. Now, reading is a pleasurable pastime—that is, of course, when she has extra time to read for fun.

With a few Psychology tip books for work, an adventure novel and a stack of comic books, the blonde takes her time looking around before she checks out. The fun part about this library isn't just picking out books, or doing research at the computers scattered about, or even ogling over the beautiful works of art covering the ceilings. The fun part, for her, is watching the people. But then again, that's always the fun part for her. She loves watching the kids and young adults come in, some in school uniforms and completely ignore the architecture around them. Most head straight for the shelves. Adults on the other hand speed in, darting their heads about and staring when their eyes meet their surroundings. Those, of course, are usually tourists. Most of the people sitting down and reading have already been here a million times, and while they respect the beauty of the library itself, they have things to do. Cassandra both admires and dislikes that.

Her ever-drifting thoughts pull her towards the checkout desk where an older man in a green and blue argyle sweater-vest greets her. "Can I help you?"

"I'd like to check these out." Cassandra drops her arm full on the counter and the man smiles, his wrinkles deepening.

"Well, I see someone has a variety of tastes," the man comments as he deconstructs her stack.

Picking up the comics one by one, he scans them for electronic checkout, partially perusing over them in the process. The psychology books cause his eyebrows to raise and Cassandra struggles to keep from laughing. The man must be at least 65 years old, but he has a refreshing childish sparkle in his dark brown eyes. When he finally nears the last book, the woman drags out her library card from her drawstring backpack and hands it over to him. He takes the card and squints at the lettering as he waves it over a scanner.

"Everything checked out and ready…" he pauses, his eyes wandering towards the holo-screen computer before him to call her by name. "Ms. Lang?"

"That's me," she smiles. Cassandra picks up the books and slides them into her backpack.

The man hands her card back to her, and she shoves it back in her wallet. "Now, the books have a two-week lend, the comics a week. Have a nice day."

"Thanks," she says. Cassandra turns on her heels and walks a few feet away from the desk before a familiar face comes walking her way. A young woman with dark hair that reaches down her back, smoky-colored eyes and skin so pale, you'd think she was a porcelain doll. The girl in question meets Cassandra's eyes and immediately grins widely.

"Hi, Doctor Lang! Funny seeing you here," says the girl.

"Hello, Agent—" she stops herself. The girl isn't an agent anymore. "Hi Lori, how are you?"

Lori Campbell, one of Cassandra's greatest success stories, also the first S.H.I.E.L.D. agent she convinced to leave the organization. "I'm doing great, Doctor Lang," she says.

"Lori, you can just call me Cassandra. How are things with the boyfriend?"

"Fiancé," Lori corrects.

Cassandra raises her brows and grins. "Well, I guess that answers that question."

"Yes, we're actually headed to Oregon to see his parents in a few days. It'll be my first time meeting them. I'm just returning some books before I forget and let them become overdue," she explains, chuckling. Cassandra remembers when Lori would barely smile at work as a communications agent.

"Oh well, that's a step in the right direction."

Lori looks off with a dreamy expression. "There have been a lot of those lately. Doc—Cassandra, I still can't thank you enough for all you did for Ben and me. Without your advice and guidance, I would still be miserable sitting at a desk all day."

Cassandra laughs and thinks back to when she and Lori met months ago. As soon as the Doctor met Lori, she knew she wasn't meant for S.H.I.E.L.D. life. She didn't seem happy and against Director Johnson's better judgment, allowed Cassandra to talk her into choosing a personal life over being an agent. And apparently, it was a good decision.

"Lori, seeing you have a happy life is thanks enough. I hope you enjoy your trip and try not to be intimidated by the future in-laws," Cassandra says, patting Lori on the shoulder.

Lori smiles. "I won't."

And with that, the two go their separate ways. Cassandra finds her way out of the huge library and decides to take a leisurely stroll through Bryant Park. She has a little time before she has somewhere to be. Plus, the leaves of the trees surrounding the park have already begun their shift to autumn gold and red, and she can't miss that. So, she glides along the walkways beside the green, eyeing the tons of people scattered about. Young people taking pictures together, old couples strolling hand in hand, and old men playing chess on the stone tables provided.

The woman finds a bench in the shade, sitting in the pleasant weather of the fall season. She remembers going to parks when she was little, before she was sick. It was sort of a hobby of hers and personal mission to play at any park she found. Cassandra is sure she and Scott visited every park in the city, Battery Park being her favorite. She couldn't visit often, considering she and her father lived up in Harlem, but Scott managed to take her at least once a week. She misses those days. She misses spending time with him.

Her thoughts take a turn for the depressing, so she decides to leave. She finds her way to the street and hails a taxi, asking the driver to take her to Harlem. Be there soon, dad, she thinks.

Harlem Memorial Hospital, Harlem. 1:17 p.m.

Cassandra's taxi stops under the entrance awning and she steps out, paying the driver for the trip. Her blue-gray eyes scan the hospital entrance before she walks in, noticing every little chip in the beige painted concrete outer walls. The clear automatic doors slide open, a burst of cool air bombarding the woman as she walks through and into the main lobby. Across from her and to her right stretch long hallways, while a set of two elevators are to her left. Cassandra turns to the elevators, walking gently across the polished wood-colored tile floors. She pushes a button to summon a ride up, patiently awaiting an elevator to open for her. Several people from the second elevator get off beside her and she hops on.

The elevator takes her to the fourth floor of the one-building hospital. As soon as she steps off onto the floor, a familiar sterile scent hits her, and a memory takes her back to her childhood illness. She ignores the memories and walks through the Intensive Care Unit, turning down several hallways towards the long-term wing of the floor. The blonde approaches the nurse's station and writes her name on a list of other visitors. A young man in green scrubs walks up to the counter, smiling but then frowning at the sight of Cassandra.

"Hello, Doctor Lang," he greets.

"Hey there, Jerry," she says. "How's dad?"

The young man scratches his scraggly brown goatee, shaking his head as he walks behind the counter. "No different than he was last week, I'm afraid."

Cassandra sighs. Like I haven't heard that a million times before, she thinks. "I brought him a new book, an adventure novel," she says, walking further down the hall.

"Sounds like something he'd enjoy," Jerry replies, glancing over the visitor's clipboard.

"I thought so too." Cassandra finds her way to room 407, the room that's been her father's home for the past three years. A room that's been her second home since he was moved here from intensive care down the hall.

The heavy door creaks open, Scott's still body coming into view. The comatose man lies motionless, save for the rise and fall of his chest. An IV is taped to his arm and an oxygen tube wraps around his hollow face. His bedside table is adorned with pictures and books that Cassandra reads to him with every visit. She just finished reading him one about a man who was accused of crimes his son committed and took the ultimate punishment for him. From a psychologist's standpoint, Cassandra thought the character didn't make great parenting points, but it was still a good read.

The woman settles into the reading chair positioned by his bed, adjusting the quilted blanket covering his legs as she walks by. She drops her backpack on the floor next to the chair and pulls out the novel she chose for this week.

"I brought you a new book." Cassandra holds up the novel as if her father is looking at the cover. "I thought I'd change up the genre since the last book we read was so serious."

She takes their previous book from the top of the stack on the bedside table, and shoves it in her bag to take back to the library. "I think you'll like this one a lot, it's an adventure novel about a future in which all people live in the water because all land on earth has disappeared under rising seas. It also has pirates, so that's cool." The monotonous beeping of Scott's heart monitor is his only response as she cracks open the book.

"Well, let's get started then."

Her eyes scan the first page, pleasantly surprised that the story isn't told in first person perspective. The beginning seems promising as she reads aloud to her father. As the introduction to the story's world begins to transition to the main storyline, Cassandra adds special voices for each character she comes across, giving the story a little life. Scott did the same for her when she was young, and it always made it fun. But then again, she was anywhere from four to seven years old and everything Scott did entertained her.

Cassandra's words come steady and focused, occasionally glancing up at her dad. She's not sure what she hopes to gain by this, but she was told by several doctors and a telepathic specialist that talking to comatose patients and interacting with them as if they're awake helps. They say the patient's consciousness is still well, it's simply a betrayal of the body. Cassandra hopes that's true.

"And there it was, their father's trade ship," she reads. "Doreen and her brother couldn't believe the old vessel had managed to survive the storms of the Americas. But they figured that if it made it through then, it would make it through now."

Cassandra stops reading for a moment, allowing her eyes to drift up to her father. He lies still, unmoving and pale. His sandy brown hair has started to gray at the temples and his face has sunken, even with the nutrition the hospital pumps in him every day. Cassandra feels a weight on her chest, and she reaches her hand out to grasp his, even though he can't hold it back. The woman remembers a time when the two had been in a similar situation many years ago, only the opposite. Cassandra had been stationary in the hospital for a long time, and continued with her check-ups long after she'd been cured. She had hoped she would never have to go through any of this again—she'd spent enough of her life in a hospital. But now, with her father lying there helplessly and Cassandra sitting idly by unable to offer help, she understands why Scott was always so distraught when she was young. She only wished there was a cure, a treatment, something for him like there was for her.

Cassandra continues reading but finds it increasingly difficult to do so, the heaviness inside her continuing to grow. Today is just one of those days, I suppose, she thinks. She manages to push on to the end of chapter two before she can't read anymore.

"I think that's enough for this week, Dad." Cassandra sticks a metal bookmark to hold their place, then sets the closed book on the bedside table. She stands and grabs her backpack as she steps closer to Scott's bed, taking his hand tightly in hers. His chest blissfully moves up and down, catching Cassandra's eyes and a weighted sigh pushes itself out.

"Bye, dad. I'll see you in a few days," she says, placing a kiss on his forehead.

1103 Belleview Apartments, Lower Manhattan. 8:57 p.m.

After being home for several hours cleaning tirelessly, Cassandra finally collapses on the couch. She props her tired feet up on the glass coffee table in front of her, just resting there to think about everything.

Seeing her father's still face, his slumbering body just unknowingly lying there—it's enough to give her chills thinking about it. She's still not sure why she goes and reads to him, it's not like he's going to wake up while she's there. It makes her feel silly, and with what little free time she has it seems like a strain to try to visit every week. But Scott was there in the hospital with her every day when she was sick. He was always by her side, no matter what. And she owed at least that to him. No matter how heartbreaking it is seeing him—a man once so full of life and love—so empty.

Sitting in the silence she allows her emotions—the ones she tries so hard to keep under control—get the better of her. Thoughts of her dad never waking up swell and drown her mind, her sorrows escaping through hot tears. Her breathing turns shaky as she pulls her knees to her chest, sinking further into the corner of the couch. She rests her head on her knees and closes her eyes, blocking out the world for a moment of pain, a moment to allow herself to hurt. Hurt for her dad, for herself, for the life he's missed out on and the bits of her life he's missed so far.

A knock on her front door forces her tears to stop. She hurriedly gets off the couch and straightens herself up. She wipes her face, tucking any loose blonde strands behind her ears. Cassandra breathes out and peeks through the peephole on the door. The woman is both relieved and disappointed to see Kyle standing in the hall, his blazer draped over his shoulder.

She unlocks the door and lets him in. "Hey," he pauses, looking at her reddened eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she quickly states, turning away from him. She feels his hand touch her back.

"Doesn't seem like nothing," he says. But Cassandra shifts her body farther from him, causing his hand to drop.

"I'm fine." She turns away with a cracking voice.

"Cass," Kyle's voice beckons. The man rests his hands on her shoulders, stepping closer to her. "Please don't shut me out," he whispers in her ear.

Cassandra can feel her composure breaking down again. She doesn't like crying in front of him, or anyone really. But it seems as though it might be unavoidable tonight. She turns her head to look him in the eyes, and the moment her blue-gray eyes meet his concerned forest greens, she breaks. Her arms wrap around his neck, likewise his wrap around her torso.

"I'm so afraid, Kyle," Cassandra mutters.

"Afraid of what, Cass?" Kyle wonders.

Her tears begin to form that familiar lump in her throat, making it a struggle to speak. "A-a-afraid he won't w-wake up," she manages.

As the words leave her mouth, she feels her fiancé's arms tighten around her. "I know, I know it's hard," he says in a soothing tone. He leads her with a gentle hand to the couch, the two sitting down close together. With an arm wrapped around her shoulder, he pulls her in close, allowing her to rest against him.

Cassandra sniffles and settles against Kyle's body. "I hate this terrible limbo we're in. I'm either waiting for him to wake up or for his body to give up. And I don't think I can take much more of the uncertainty weighing down my heart."

"I know. I wish there was something we could do, but there isn't. You just need to continue to stay patient. Because that's all you can do for him. Keep hoping for the best," he says. He pulls her chin up for their eyes to meet. "Never stop hoping."

Cassandra rests her head against Kyle's chest, feeling his steady breathing begin to calm her own. His arm pulls her in closer and he presses his forehead to hers', his soft hair brushing against her skin as they meet. In the closeness, their eyes lock. A small smile turns the corners of her mouth up as their noses brush, breathing each other in. She missed this, these soft moments she and Kyle share where the rest of the world and their problems seem to fade away in a warm haze. Nothing left but the sound of each other's heart beats.

Kyle's free hand finds its way to her cheek and his thumb traces her features. Cassandra gets caught up in what they haven't experienced together in a while, gliding a hand up his chest and anchoring it around the back of his neck. Finally, they begin to gravitate towards each other, and the gap between them is closing fast, but without warning, Cassandra pulls back.

"What?" Kyle whispers.

She turns her face away, feeling a strange tickle in her nose. Then, with a mighty force, she blows out a powerful sneeze. Kyle jumps back at the kitten-like sound, both looking at the other wide-eyed.

"Was that a-a sneeze?" Cassandra nods, preparing for another. The next two come right behind the other, louder and more forceful.

"Oh no," she moans. "Please not again, I just got over a cold a month ago. I can't get sick!"

"Do you think you picked something up at the hospital?" Kyle asks, dragging a handkerchief from his trouser pocket.

"Hospitals are supposed to be clean!" She blows into the white monogrammed cloth while Kyle rubs her back.

"And hospitals are also full of sick people, Cass," he chuckles. A few more sneezes and her voice turns nasally, her cheeks shifting to red. "I'm gonna get you some medicine."

Kyle hops up from the couch and jogs to the kitchen in search of the medicine cabinet. The very first cabinet on the end holds a small organizer with cold meds, vitamins, and other various over-the-counter drugs. But on grabbing a packet of nighttime cold medicine, he notices that Cassandra's little, yellow daily medicine container is still full.

"Cass, did you skip your vitamins this morning?" he calls. Kyle closes the cabinet door and steps over to the sink, filling a cup from the drain board with cold water.

"Oh, I knew I forgot something this morning!" she says after another sneeze. Cassandra has had to take a specific set of vitamins every day since she was young. There's no way missing one day would allow a cold to come on…would it?

Kyle walks back over to the cream-colored couch and hands Cassandra the cup along with all the colorful tablet and gummy vitamins. "Thanks," she sniffles.

The Senator sits down beside her, watching as she downs all the meds in the container. "I hope the cold medicine is okay to take with all those other pills."

"They're just vitamins, I'll be fine," she says, swallowing the two orange gel capsules. "Besides, I can't miss work. I have a very important new patient coming in from China tomorrow and I'm not about to let the 'fill-in' Doctor Lacasey see him."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he says, pressing his hand to her forehead. "You feel warm."

Cassandra sets her cup on the coffee table, huffing and sinking back into the thick couch cushions. She drags a throw blanket off the back of the couch and covers her body with the soft fabric. "Well this is great," she grumbles. She rotates and props her feet up on the couch, getting comfortable for the night.

"Do you want me to stay? Keep an eye on you?" Kyle asks, laying his hands on her elevated knees.

"You don't have to do that. You need to stay healthy just as much—if not more than I do Senator," she points out.

The man rolls his eyes and smirks. "I'll be fine, but you might not be, with your immune system and all."

"Kyle, I'm a grown woman, I've been dealing with fevers and colds on my own for a while," she says, another round of sneezes interrupting her and leaving her breathless.

"That's it, I'm staying," Kyle announces. He stands from the couch and walks across the open room to the laundry closet on the other side of the kitchen. He opens the folding doors and grabs some extra blankets and pillows from the top shelf, all of which he tosses in a lounge chair across from the couch. Then he makes his way to Cassandra's bedroom, snatching a couple of her pillows and a set of long pajamas.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" she calls. She tries to twist from her position to see what he's up to, but only sees him walking back by and heading for the spare bedroom.

"You still have some of my extra clothes in here, right?" he asks from the other room.

"In the chest of drawers." Kyle reenters the room a few minutes later wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of blue plaid sleeping pants. "Please, get comfortable," Cassandra comments.

The man walks back over to the couch and hands Cassandra her pillows and clothes from her bedroom. But the woman just gives him a funny look as he makes his bed in the chair across from her.

"What are you doing?" she chuckles. "Why can't I go lay in bed?"

"I'm taking care of you the way my mother did me before she died. Anytime I would get sick, she made me stay in the living room on the couch so that she could keep a close eye on me. And so that none of my sick germs would get in my bed," he smiles. "Oh, almost forgot." He runs back to her bedroom only to come back with a hair band. "You might need this if you start to sweat your fever off."

"I'm not even sure I have a fever," Cassandra says.

"Trust me, you do."

She tiredly rolls her eyes and relaxes her head back on the pillows under her neck. "Fine, you can take care of me, if it makes you happy."

Kyle grins widely as he snuggles down in the white lounge chair. "It does."

Cassandra shuts her eyes and smiles. Of the three years they've been engaged, not once has she allowed him to take care of her during a sickness—much less spend the night while she's sick. He practically lives here, but he avoided her place when she had the flu, several colds, and a virus—on her request. Her work is important to her, and if she didn't have such a weak immune system, she would just shake it off. But sometimes she can't, and as much as she hates missing work, she'd hate for Kyle to miss work more. His work is important to the state of New York, and S.H.I.E.L.D. for that matter, and she's tried so hard to keep that relationship going.

As she lays here on the couch drifting to sleep, Cassandra thinks about all the good Kyle has done to ease the strained relations between politicians and S.H.I.E.L.D. He's helped to make a Senate that works closely with the organization to make sure secrets aren't kept. She supposes that's what attracted her to him, his honesty and perseverance to create peace no matter the odds. It's one of his many endearing qualities. And she knows in her heart Scott would approve. She only hopes he can meet Kyle one day. One day soon.

A/N: So? How did you like grown-up Cassandra? Confused about her appearance? Well, let's just say, she'll be important later on. Again, please excuse the chapter posting mix up. Drop me a review and tell me what you think comes next!

Up Next: The curious case of Kassidy Barton.

Hey I just posted this...and this is crazy...but since you've read it...review it maybe?