A.N.
Hello people of earth!
I bring you a message from my home world: The new chapter is up! Yay!
I dropped a real bombshell on y'all last week. Sorry. *sheepish grin* Do not despair I shall reveal all. Eventually.
Do not forget that I own nothing belonging in the Marvel universe save what my own imagination has created.
Please enjoy.
Much love, such affection,
Storybooksage
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Steve sat across the table from the tall woman. He tried not to stare but she was such an anomaly he couldn't seem to help it. No longer was she sporting the wildfire hair and television shirt, instead her waist-length blond hair was braided loosely and her light grey tailored suit was fresh pressed and the pink blouse seemed to juxtapose her mood.
She hadn't said a word in the two hours since Director Fury had shown up in his- their?- apartment, and then it had only been to excuse herself to change and to demand that they take her car. Now, at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters New York, she was spaced out, her eyes pointing at the window but glazed over as if she couldn't focus them. Not a muscle twitched except her fingers which drummed constantly and her eyebrows which lowered every once in a while.
Steve had seen men lose people they cared about too many times to count. There were many responses to that kind of grief; shock, denial, anger, and even sometimes resignation. He remembered losing Bucky on the train, he had wanted to punch every nazi and tear Germany off the map. When Director Fury had notified Agent Wentworth about her father Steve had braced himself for her to fall apart. However, after the initial shock, and nearly fainting, she had straightened to her full five foot ten inch height, cleared her throat, and excused herself to her room.
While she had changed into her suit Fury had refused to answer any of Steve's questions. The only answer he gave was "If you want to know that badly ask her." Then the Director had asked Steve to accompany Agent Wentworth and keep an eye on her; a task he was finding more difficult than he initially thought.
It wasn't that she was unattractive, she was very pretty. Especially now with her face washed of the dark reds, blues and blacks and replaced with soft pink makeup. But her fierceness was even more intense having been multiplied by anger worry and a personal purpose. Her eyes were filled with what Steve could only describe as passion, so much that they seemed to have turned black.
Fury had briefed them when they first got in the sedan. Handing them each a folder and highlighting the most important details. Tony Stark, Howard's son, was the government's top weapons supplier. He was very valuable and powerful. He had been demonstrating a weapon that could level a small town. On the way back to the airport the convoy had been blown up, by Stark Tech weapons. Mr. Stark had been taken captive but no ransom call had been made. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best analysts hypothesize that Stark was being held by someone or a group of someones trying to force him to build a weapon. They were going to base in order to provide advice on his whereabouts and strategies on a rescue.
A hostess, Wendy, smiled down at him as she approached their table with a bottle in each hand. She refilled Agent Wentworth's glass with scotch, for the fifth time. "Would you like another coke, Mr. Rogers?" She beamed down at him and displayed the glass bottle in her hand.
"Captain." Both Steve and Wendy glanced at the Agent. "His title is Captain." She glared at the startled woman, "Kindly use the correct prefix when addressing people in this building." She downed her drink and tapped the glass again for a refill. She drank that in one swallow too.
"Why don't you just have the poor girl leave the bottle?" Director Fury admonished from the door to the office he had just emerged from. He held a key in his hand.
"Good idea, sir." She nodded at Wendy and then waved her hand in dismissal. She filled the glass and then seemed to notice Steve staring at her. "What?"
"That's your eighth glass of scotch, almost a whole bottle." He was surprised she could still talk clearly. "Don't you want to be able to think clearly to be able to help your f-father?" He stumbled over the last word. He hadn't expected her to be extremely wealthy. Definitely not the daughter of a weapons manufacturer.
"Captain, it will take a lot more that eighty year old Macallan to inebriate my judgement." She glared at him as she emptied the bottle into her glass and then tilted the glass into her throat. "My metabolism is much to fast for me to even get a buzz."
"Were you an experiment too?" He leaned forward suddenly interested to find out if he was not alone.
"No. I was born this way." She sighed.
"I see." He awkwardly fidgeted, "So... your dad is Howard's son?" he peeked at her. "From what I understand, he doesn't have children."
"He did for eight years." Agent Wentworth blinked rapidly, " His only child drove off a cliff when she was 16. She survived but no one outside of Fury, Colson, and now you know that."
"If he was your father for eight years then how..."
"Enough questions. We need to find my dad." She motioned for Fury to join their table, "When we arrive at the safe house in Washington I will need a computer with full access to all things S.H.I.E.L.D., access to the database that kept record of dad's movements for the last week, open communication to J.A.R.V.I.S., my dads computer," she glanced at Steve, "a copy of the interviews with Pepper Potts, Obadiah Stain, and Rhodiey, two agents to work as go-fors for me and Captain Rogers, and a triple white chocolate peppermint mocha ever hour." She seemed to broadcast an air of purpose and control. "I also want the Secretary of defense on a private line as well as the British, French, Canadian, Mexican, and Syrian leaders gathered for a video conference."
Steve stared open mouthed at the two government workers, "Can she ask for that?"
Fury raised an eyebrow, "Not only can she ask for it but she will get it too." He stood and pulled his phone out of his pocket, "I'll let the agent on duty know what to prepare. Just don't forget, Agent, that I am the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., not your personal secretary." He marched to the other side of the cushy lobby and lowered himself into the seat.
Steve watched the exchange in mild amusement. If anyone had asked his opinion he would have argued that the Director was her secretary. Where this controlled, directing woman had come from he had no idea. She was definitely not the same girl that had ducked his startled punch or slurped her chocolate milkshakes earlier that day.
A uniformed agent had entered the room unnoticed sometime ago. Now he cleared his throat. "Director, we're hovering over Seattle. Would you like to take the jet down?"
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A.N.
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