So, since art/photo links are down, I'm gonna give you a description of the main character of this story. The actress I chose as a face-claim is Victoria Justice. Not only because she's pretty, but her appearance is gonna play another part of the story when it gets to it, but I promise you, it's gonna blow your minds and rock your world! Now, onto the next chapter! Remember to review, I like to hear what people have to say with their opinions and such. My grammar, I feel, has gotten a bit... out of sorts. I feel it's out of sorts, but I might eventually catch on what it is and try and fix it, until then, enjoy this chapter.

xX 2oo9 Xx

The hobo was sitting across from me in the middle of a steakhouse party. And he did not look like a hobo.

"Ms. Connor, this is Clint Barton," Phil Coulson, who had arrived mysteriously after my dad left to get some drinks at the bar, nonchalantly introduced the man sitting next to him currently dressed in dark leather and faded jeans. "Barton, say hello."

"Hey there, tiny." the sandy-haired man greeted casually like he hadn't been following me through college and university dumpsters. "Congratulations by the way."

"Th-thank you," I sputtered awkwardly as we shook hands. The excitement from earlier after shaking hands with several of my professors, hugging and crying with my dad, and feeling the rush of accomplishments despite past difficulties made me feel drained. I just wanted to eat some sirloin steak with my dad and head back home to crash in bed.

Still, I felt good getting to the finish line. Suck it, bullies of my childhood!

The steakhouse was full with cheer as families and friends gathered to give the locals that graduated recently praise for their success. Dad was still at the bar, babbling to his friends, occasionally pointing my way with a big, proud grin plastered on his face. I smiled and shook my head as he and the boys from security made a toast in my honor.

"He's really happy." Clint needlessly pointed out to my dad's group.

"He is."

"As any father should for their child." Coulson cuts in as he pulls out a manila folder, an act that took me back to when I had been young and we were both standing inside a gym.

It was time, wasn't it? The promise of a better life for my family was made the moment dad told me how proud he was when he saw me walk up on the stage in a red and gray gown. It was like a great, powerful waterfall began to crash against me, my body growing heavy as I sank deeply into my chair and stared at the manila folder anxiously.

With a small slide of my direction, the manila folder was sitting neatly before me. Who knew a stack of papers folded inside a brown-yellow folder could be so intimidating?

Slowly, I reached out and opened the folder...

A first-class ticket to Washington sat there on the top.

"... huh?" I couldn't stop my face from scrunching up in confusion. "The heck is this?"

"That there, my tiny friend, is a ticket to your new job." Clint cheerily provided as he took a sip of his own drink.

'Just like that?!'

"Just like that." Coulson agreed.

… could he read my mind, or something?

"I cannot read minds, but your expression is very easy to decipher." the older man said as he pulled out a wallet to leave a few tips for the server. "I'll see you in August, Ms. Connor."

"Welcome to the club, Agent." Clint gave me a pat on the head before following after Coulson.

Dad finally came back from the bar, shaking my shoulder when I hadn't responded to him as I stared blankly at the frozen faces of grotesque-looking head mounts situated on the wall in front of me.

How the flying flip does Coulson pull this shit off so effortlessly?

xX 2o12 Xx

It was terribly awkward.

Sitting next to me, in blue and white plaid shirt and khakis ,was the guy whose life was practically torn out of his hands the moment I opened my mouth. I could still remember the destroyed look on his face when I told him what had happened to him after his crash... I winced at the memory of his very bad reaction to the news.

Director Fury initially wanted to break it to him under the false pretense that he was under the assumption that it was still the 1940's, but I was quick to oppose the idea. After careful evaluation from the files I was able to access, I came to think that Steve Rogers seemed like the type of man who would rather have the band-aid ripped off quickly than wait for the slow, painful process. He was practically a living incarnation of patriotism, justice, and courage (and let's not forget to mention that he had been born in the 4th of freaking July!), it was almost ridiculous.

From former agent Margaret "Peggy" Carter's personal notes, she described the Captain as a man who stood up to bullies, even if they were bigger and stronger than he was (something about how he personally confided to her, before his Super-Soldier Procedure, that a scrawny man liked him always ended up getting into fights with beefy men twice his weight and size).

It was quite admirable to hear and read about how little Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, the kid people overlooked with his tiny, sickly body, became so much more when the late Dr. Erskine saw his three-times-too-big heart.

That was why I, being the empathetic idiot that I was, suggested that someone simply tell Rogers straight of what went down.

Fury, probably not liking that his idea was shot down, appointed me with the task to personally inform Captain America of the bad news. I swear up and down that people in SHIELD act like children with temper tantrums when things didn't run as smoothly as they wanted them to.

With instructions to place Steve Rogers inside a general (normal) hospital in New York, picking a few doctors and nurses with different diversity and gender, and the current medical machines stationed around him, these factors would play a role in placing a seed within the man's head that he was no longer in his 1940's New York.

And the rest, well, was history (no pun intended).

SHIELD, being the multinational organization that it was, gave me hope that I would never again have another encounter with Captain America.

That hope was subsequently destroyed the moment he loomed over me, said "hello", and then took an empty seat... next to where I was sitting. Was this what former affiliated romantic partners felt like when finding themselves in a situation where they had no choice but to share the same space? Not that I was trying to compare myself and the Captain as romantic partners, nope. Not going down that road!

"Sorry," I caught myself from jumping in surprise when his voice broke the awkward silence between us.

"Um, what?" I found myself staring up at him. Damn, dude was freaking tall!

His large hand clasped around the back of his neck, fingers rubbing the skin as he continued to stare down at the floor like he was getting a scolding. It was almost endearing to see a large man like him act like a little kid with those innocent actions. I was suddenly at the recipient end of those green-blue eyes shyly glancing at me from beneath his lashes.

"Thank you, for... for telling me the truth." he said before turning away with a deep blush dusting over his cheeks. "And sorry about the whole throwing up."

"Oh. Oh! No, no! Mr. Rogers, don't apologize," I waved my hands a bit like I was trying to push away the guilt and embarrassment that flowed from him. "The shock of it all is understandable, sir."

A person had to be crazy in not reacting to the news that they have been frozen for most of their lives.

"And, I mean, like I said before, I didn't want to beat around the bush with you. I don't think you would appreciate being coddled like—"

"—like I was some little kid." he finished, a small quirk showing at the corner of his lips.

I couldn't help but return the smile. It was amazing to be talking to Captain America when not surrounded by hospital machines and shocking revelations about being in animated suspension for nearly seven decades. I was the first to break away from his intense stare, pushing a dark strand of hair behind my ear. I wanted to say more, ask more about how he was doing so far in the new world he awoken to, but that seemed a little too nosy. He probably had enough hounding from a few agents that he would find my questions annoying, so I said nothing more.

"Do you know—" I flicked my eyes back to him, his mouth clamping shut. "Sorry, never mind."

"Mr. Rogers, if there's something of concern you need to speak about..." I began, my part time job as a consultant, besides being one of SHIELD's top engineers, kicking in.

I could do this. My job focused mainly on creating, building, and fixing, but I was also taught to have a professional opinion and sound advice when others needed a push when finding themselves stuck.

Rogers just shook his head. "It's nothing. It... doesn't matter anymore."

Sensing that he no longer wanted to talk about the subject that seemed uncomfortable to put into words, I dropped it and focused on Coulson and Jackals. Jackals was strapped up on the other side of the Quinjet while Coulson was standing near the pilots. I could hear the radio channel on, a few updates about the situation I didn't know about and some things that I couldn't hear quite clearly because of the distance.

"Is something going on over there?" Rogers voice cut through my concentration.

"I'm not entirely sure. One minute, I'm having a backyard barbecue with my dad and some of our neighbors, the next, I get a call that I have to report in." I explain to him as I watched the small group. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to tell Steve Rogers anything, but I couldn't let the poor guy walk in on the situation blindly.

There was a moment of silence, and then, "I never did catch your name, miss."

I paused, then blinked, and the slow realization came to me; I never did properly introduced myself to the man sitting on the hospital bed, too busy freaking out when he nearly collapsed into the chunky remains of saltwater left frozen in his stomach. A large hand is held out in front of me, causing me to stare dumbly at it for a few seconds before kicking my brain into gear so that my muscles got the message that I should take the bigger man's hand.

"Steve Rogers," he introduced himself, knowing that it was pointless to say his name but doing it out of courteousness.

"Miles Connor. Nice to meet you, Captain."

…

Others could see the barely contained giddiness emitting from Coulson. Honestly speaking, it was kind of creepy. Phil Coulson was always known to be the true definition of stoicism, even in the face of impending danger or bewildering situations. So, imagine everyone's surprise when a simple exchange with Steve Rogers reduced Coulson to a fanboy that looked seconds away from fainting out of happiness.

"Delta 806, you're clear for landing pad 8."

"Roger that."

Soon as the Quinjet landed, I was already unbuckling the belt straps and readily heading for the opening. Hearing heavy footsteps, I didn't doubt that Steve was following closely after pulling himself away from Coulson when he and the older agent had been near the front for some debriefing. Jackals took the spot Rogers originally occupied and proceeded to play a pointless game of I Spy. I squinted when the air of outside came in a rush, blowing strands of my hair left loose from my messy bun wildly.

Caught a bit off guard from the harsh glint of the sun (most windshields were tinted), I took a step back to get away from the glare, but mostly ended up bumping into the hard wall of muscles behind me. Instantly, large hands wound themselves on my shoulders to steady me while I pulled a hand up to act as a shield.

"Sorry!" I said loudly, the wind and the shouting from outside beginning to rise.

"No problem, Ms. Connor."

I pulled away from his hold and followed after Jackals and the rest of the men in suits. The scent of salt water hit my nose just as the wind grew wilder as I stepped out of the Quinjet, and it felt fantastic.

'Note to self: upon surviving this, book a flight to Hawaii/Australia to enjoy the beaches and cute surfers.'

I didn't get a step further when someone stood in front of me: Natasha Romanoff.

Black Widow was one scary-ass agent that other agents were afraid of. Standing tall, red hair cut short and curled nicely to give an impression of business and poise, and the fact she had a natural beauty about her made her all the more alluring. But like her code name, she could tangle her unsuspecting targets (even the ones that thought that suspected her), disarm them with words and small gestures before she went in for the kill; both figuratively and quite literally.

If Barton and Jackals' stories were true, that is. But having crossed paths with her due to visiting Barton with upgrades on his bow and arrows, I had come to learn that I had to keep myself on my toes every time I saw the red-head step inside the room. For all I knew, I could be stepping into one of her carefully woven webs that would spring up on me. It could happen today, tomorrow, a year from now, but the Black Widow was a patient creature.

"Connor," she acknowledged my presence with a polite nod.

"Romanoff." I returned, my body standing ramrod unlike the taller woman's casual stride as she drew closer.

"Agent Romanoff," Coulson's voice cut through the stiff air. "Captain Rogers."

I swore I could hear the adoration creeping through Coulson's voice.

"Ma'am."

"Hi." Natasha did a quick once-over on the newcomer. "Coulson, you're needed at the bridge. They're starting a face-trace."

I made a move to follow Coulson as he gave a quick farewell to the others, but a gentle hold on my shoulder stopped me from going after him. Next thing I knew, I'm facing the taller red-head who stared down at me with those intimidatingly all-knowing faded green orbs.

"Fury has a job for you."

'Oh, shit.' my mind squeaked, but my face remained blank.

Romanoff tucked me under her arm easily, and I walked along with her in a mildly slow pace. From the corner of my eye, I saw Steve following behind us with a look of trepidation. It was like he could sense the foreboding feelings I was emitting and made to give a hand if things spiraled out of control. That was nice, but I didn't think he could take on whatever Romanoff was going to throw because... hello, she was feared by other agents for a reason!

I was alright with getting orders when it came from Hill, Coulson, Jackals, Barton, and occasionally from Sitwell and other higher leveled agents... but an order that came directly from the Big Man himself meant something that I could only think must be colossal. I've only had two jobs from Fury, and one of them was walking right behind me!

"It was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice." Romanoff began, her direction of conversation only making the anticipation more harmful of whatever assignment Fury was throwing at me. "I thought Coulson was gonna swoon."

'So I wasn't the only one who noticed!' I thought frantically, my mind bouncing along the mental walls as it tried to prepare me for the worst.

"Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards?"

"Trading Cards?" Rogers and I spoke simultaneously that we both looked at each other in slight surprise.

"They're vintage." she smiled at us before tugging me back to following her while I eyed her had that strayed close to collar in suspicion. "He's very proud."

"So," I said as I continued to stare at her hand. "What's this job that Fury wants me to do?"

Romanoff didn't answer. Rogers did the job for her.

"Dr. Banner!"

Instantly, my insides froze and my eyes nearly popped out for their sockets in shock. A horrifying splash of cold, unmerciful fear clashed against my poor bones, the insides of my stomach twisting in displeasure that I was lucky I had nothing to eat for hours otherwise I would have thrown up right there on the asphalt.

Just half a yard away stood a ruffled-looking man in equally ruffled attire, like he had spent the night wearing that to bed (and he probably did). He eyed the entire place warily, and I knew for a fact that he had every right to feel wary when this entire place seemed reminiscent of a military base. Even still, looking like a man that wanted the floor to swallow him whole, even as he greeted Rogers politely with a hand shake, I was fucking terrified.

I wanted to wretch myself out of Romanoff's hold and throw myself into the sea water. It was no wonder why she put an arm over my shoulder: to prevent me from running the other direction.

"Dr. Banner," Romanoff spoke up as she stepped closer to him, dragging me along because my feet suddenly couldn't move. "This is Miles Connor, she'll be assisting you with recovering the Tesseract."

'Fuck me.'

I hoped Jackals didn't play a fucking Katy Perry song at my funeral or I was going to haunt his ass!