Hello again. Thank you so much to everyone that has followed – I am so happy that people are reading and I suppose enjoying my little tale. Thank you also to Princess Prettypants for reviewing! The actual meeting between the Captain and the historian is coming up in the next few chapters, so keep a look out. For now the Walmart conundrum is finally solved.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters aside from my own OC. The rights of the other characters belong to Marvel and its affiliates.

As always enjoy, and please do review to let me know your thoughts.

It turned out that when Fury said he'd like to talk history, he actually meant for Coraline to take what was essentially a glorified pop quiz on all aspects of social history from the 1940s onwards. After seeming happy with her answers- and so he should be considering her Masters had been a yearlong course of lectures on that exact subject, he'd replaced the photos with another file and an accompanying pen.

The papers that had been all but thrown in her direction were mostly having to be signed confirming confidentiality and complete cooperation; along with the interesting addition of what looked like a 7 year olds guide to rehabilitating soldiers.

All of which struck as a bit odd for Coraline as the last of whatever they had pumped her full of wore off for her to find her mind completely clear if not with a few pertinent gaps, in the carpark of a Walmart god knows where in upstate New York.

aAa

Coraline looked at her cart scornfully as she resurfaced from her somewhat lethargic thought pattern. She's made it past toiletries while operating on the basis that the own brand stuff all had the same packaging and so could be swept into her cart in one fell sweep.

After sweeping her hair back away from her face, she kissed her teeth in frustration as the next item on her now crumpled shopping list was even vaguer.

'Enough food for a week minimum."

Gee if only there were a few less details, she thought as she grumbled her way towards groceries. I am practically swamped in information; it's almost too much for me to work from.

Stopping at the first aisle of unfamiliar packages, Coraline sobered up enough from her disgruntled inner monologue to process what was actually being asked of her.

Captain Steven G. Rogers, recently unthawed and completely unprepared for the ways of 21st century life, was due to be moved to his own S.H.I.E.L.D issue apartment in two days. Before that, everything that wasn't orderable from a catalogue needed to be purchased, and for some ungodly reason they had chosen Coraline Quinn, a British historian, as the one to do the shopping.

That was why she was in a Walmart at 8.00 on a Sunday. Because this grand organisation of secrets and dark suits had decided that she was the perfect candidate for whatever job this was, and had let her sign her life away while coming off a high from whatever it had taken to get her from London to New York without a fight.

Not that that was in any way legal, and not that that in any way mattered. She was here now. She had a job to do. And it started with crackers.

She was two aisles further along in her jetlagged quest when she was stopped, this time by a hand on her arm.

She flinched and spun round- nearly taking out an end display in a process. As she looked up at the arm-toucher, she had to do a double take, and then resist the temptation to knock that display over after all.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She all but hissed.

Agent Clarke mocked hurt, putting a hand to his chest as he met her with the same smile she'd seen before he'd pointed a pistol in her direction 6 hours before.

"Where's that British charm gone now, Doc?"

Coraline pinched the bridge of her nose, before looking back up at the man purposely towering above her when she realised his accent had disappeared.

"Wha-?" She started before she was interrupted.

"Oh keep up Doc," The distinctly American Clarke drawled. "If what your file said is true your mind exceeds your frankly dull personality by far. If you were in any way lucid in your flight over you would have worked out my accent was too polished hours ago."

"It's not your accent that doesn't fit, Clarke," Coraline stepped out from under his glare, and stared at the shelves in front of her to escape his gaze. "No one in England is that gung-hoe about weapons. Plus when your nose is bleeding your vowels get gunky. You were American for the first five minutes of the plane journey – whether you were trying for Received Pronunciation or not."

Clarke scoffed as he followed her, his strides overtaking hers with ease.

"You're bluffing, which is dumb, even for you."

Anger flared in Coraline's eyes, but she brushed it off as she bit her lip and turned the corner into the next aisle.

"Do you have a reason for following me across the world Agent Clarke, or is my charm and superior intellect just that entrancing?"

Two can play at that game; Coraline smirked inwardly as she scooped more things into her cart.

Clarke choked on his smirk momentarily, before gathering whatever dignity he could muster as he put his foot in front of the trolley wheel.

"Geez Doc," He surveyed the cart's contents with distaste, "Are you trying to kill the Captain with blandness. He's been frozen not assaulted by a spice rack."

Coraline raised an eyebrow at the man in front of her. Well, he asked for it, she rationalised as she drew in a breath.

"The diets of soldiers in World War 2 were varied, with the concept of protein rich and carbohydrate filled diets starting to filter its way into corp cuisine. However rations didn't always get through and even when they did it often consisted of dried food: crackers and powdered coffee being the highlights. While I am sure Captain America had rations – though judging by his size and ...uh… enhanced capabilities probably never quite enough, not that he'd complain – the richness and variety of today's cuisine will be not only overwhelming but significantly likely to cause stomach irritation simply because of the unknown or at least unfamiliar flavours and ingredients. Therefore, "And she waved a box of crackers at him at this, "Basic foods are required that will not impede digestion and will be familiar yet still nutritious and able to be used for further diet integration in the future."

She smiled as she finished her spiel, before manoeuvring herself and her cart out and away from Agent Clarke.

He stood- completely out of place in his rumpled suit and slightly flabbergasted expression in the now empty aisle of Walmart.

"You have 10 minutes," He shouted after the vacant historian.

She poked her head back around the corner, concern clear in her eyes even from his distance.

"Until what?"

He strode past her, passing her a credit card nonchalantly on his way.

"Well Miss Quinn, someone's got to put all this stuff away."

Coraline hung her head back and groaned, not even caring how much of a kick Agent Clarke was clearly getting out of it.

Why her?

Of all people, why her? There were certainly historians in America- and for certain there were more competent historians in this country on the subject of American troops. Hell, even a current rehabilitation worker for troops would be able to do this job.

She was a historian, a British historian. Her specialities concerned British history- and yeah she knew a lot outside of her specialised field, but what did any of that matter when all she was to this S.H.I.E.L.D agency was a personal shopper and apparently their newly employed interior designer.

Her head hurt. There was too much idiot in the room courtesy of her friendly neighbourhood Agent Clarke, which was only making it worse; and as she grabbed a few last minute items and headed towards the tills, she was reminded again about how much this situation was not only alien but completely and entirely unwanted when, from somewhere in the depths of her coat pockets: the alarm that reminded her to eat lunch went off with gusto.

Coraline Quinn looked at her pockets, then at her trolley, then around her at the slowly busying supermarket.

Biting her lip to try to quell the ache of tears in her throat, she placed her shaking hands firmly on the cart and pushed it towards the checkouts.

Thoughts? Questions? Criticisms? Thanks for reading and look out for more soon!