Chapter 5 - Protista

The Triskelion, Washington D.C.

November 5, 2013

The chaos started the day before, when Mal was in the laboratory. It was dead silent. Esposito couldn't work with any human noise, as she made clear every time one of them opened their mouths to speak.

It started off with a few scientists sprinting past the window in the hallway. Then a few more. Then the stream was non-stop, to the point that even Mal was annoyed.

Esposito was livid. She opened the glass door, stuck her hand out, and yanked in an unfortunate scientist by his coat collar.

"What the hell is going on?" she snapped.

The scientist blanched. Mal recognized him as the guy they all called Soum because he began all of his sentences the same way. "So, um, yeah, there's a giant 'T' attacking Greenwich right now."

Colton was confused. "A T…Rex?"

Soum shook his head. "No, like the letter."

This didn't make anything clearer, but Soum didn't feel the need to explain further. He turned back to Esposito. "So, um, Jen, you're the only one with a TV in your office. Do you think we can watch the news?"

"Don't you people have work to do?" she said, crossing her arms.

But already, everyone was getting up and hustling out of the lab, following the other researchers down the hall to Esposito's office. Colton clapped his hand on her back and said, "C'mon, Jen, the national beverage of Britain is finally getting its revenge."

"No, um, not 'T-E-A'; just the 'T'."

Colton cocked his head. "Soum, are you coming on to me?"

Before that conversation could escalate, Esposito mercifully interrupted with an exasperated, "Fine."

Mal shook her head at Colton. He winked. Prick.

It looked like every scientist on their floor was nervously pacing outside of Esposito's office. A few murmured worriedly to one another. Some interns had their phones out, dictating the articles to their older bosses.

"Move," Jen snarled. The crowd parted like she was Moses and they were the Red Sea. Everyone was afraid of Esposito. Mal suspected even Dr. Krantz was afraid of her.

When the TV flickered on, the room fell silent. Ashley's hand covered her mouth.

"Oh my god," someone whispered, horrified.

Soum had described the situation surprisingly accurately. The alien ship had ripped straight through a plaza right off the Thames. Strange humanoid creatures with white faces and pointed ears marched out of the ship carrying enormous guns.

"What the hell are they?" she heard someone ask.

"Not Asgardians."

"Yeah, I can puzzle that out, dipshit."

"Quiet!" Esposito barked, but even she couldn't keep them silent when they saw him.

"It's Thor!"

"No way!"

"Who's he fighting?"

They all gasped when the Asgardian and the thing he was fighting disappeared into thin air.

"I need to call my mum," Mal heard an intern say quietly.

It was then that Mal couldn't remember where Jemma said she and her field team were going to be that week. Her blood ran cold. She squeezed out of the office, her hand already dialing Jemma's phone number. It was the first call of many.

"C'mon, Jem," she muttered frantically, hopping on the tips of her toes nervously.

"The person you are trying to call is not available. Please leave a message after the tone—"

She didn't want to leave a message; she wanted to know her friend hadn't been in London. There was a beep. "Jem, it's Mal. Please call me back and please tell me you're not in London right now. Okay? As soon as you get this, call me."

It wasn't until the next day that she got a call back.

Mal stood in line at the café, one hand clutching her phone like a lifeline and the other nervously tapping her chin. She and Steve had agreed to meet for coffee again, long before the attack on London. He hadn't texted a word about the incident, so she just assumed that they were still on. For once in her life, she was early so she used the opportunity to buy Steve's drink before he got there.

When her phone rang that she jumped, jostling the person behind her. "Sorry, sorry," she muttered to the disgruntled agent, fumbling with the buttons and pressing the phone to her ear. "Jem?"

"Hi!" Considering the state she'd been in for the last 24 hours, Jemma was far too chipper for Mal's nerves.

"Holy shit, Jem, are you okay? Were you in London? Did you see what happened? How did—"

Simmons interrupted with a chuckle. "Mallory, we're fine. Take a deep breath." She complied noisily, so Jemma could hear her. "We're in London now, but we've only just gotten here a few hours ago." Her voice became annoyed. "We're on cleanup duty."

Despite Jemma's obvious exasperation at getting assigned to custodial services, Mal sighed in relief. "Thank god." Then her relief gave way to anger. "I've been calling you for the past twenty-four hours! Did you drop your phone out of the plane? I was freaking out!"

"Sorry! We've been a bit busy, though. I've barely had time to shower, let alone check my voicemail. Oh, I have so much to tell you—"

"Ma'am?" She looked around and realized that she was at the front of the line, the barista politely trying to get her attention, the agent behind her impatient and ready to punch her lights out.

"Hold up, Jem," she muttered to her still babbling friend. Quickly, she ordered her drink—a triple pump mochacchino for her, a large black coffee for Steve—and stepped out of line.

Jemma stopped her stream of consciousness chatter for a second to ask curiously, "Where are you?"

She tucked her phone between her shoulder and cheek to grab her coffees off of the counter. "Triskelion café."

"Oo, is it as nice as they say?"

"Don't try to change the subject. You're in trouble, missy."

"I really am sorry, Mal. You're alright, too, right?"

She sat down at an empty table and smiled. "I'm fine." She paused and reiterated, "I'm really good. It's good to hear your voice, though."

"Oh, you have no idea how great it is to hear yours. Fitz and I have missed you terribly."

"I probably miss you more. It's been kind of hard making friends."

Jemma scoffed. "I don't believe that you haven't already become friends with everyone there."

She shrugged even though Jemma couldn't see her. "I've met some people, but pretty much everyone I work with has their own friends already. I don't really think they want to make room for more, you know?"

Jemma sighed. "I know. We've been lucky—everyone on our team is in the same boat, so we've gotten pretty close."

"I'm glad to hear that," she replied. Mal was glad to hear that, she repeated to herself, so she knew she wasn't lying.

"You don't have to hang out with your coworkers, you know. I never thought I'd be good friends with a field agent, but we have a few on the Bus. Have you met any of them?"

As if on cue, Steve sat down opposite of her, smiling at her in greeting. She returned it, holding up five fingers. Five minutes? He nodded and pulled out his sketchbook. "You know, technically, Jem, you're a field agent now."

She could almost hear her eyes rolling. "Please. Not a proper field agent."

"Yes, a proper field agent."

"W-we don't do the guns or flip around or anything!"

Mal nodded sagely. "The guns and the flipping around are integral, I'll admit." She saw Steve smirk at his drawing.

"Now you're trying to change the subject."

"I am. To answer your question: yes, I've met a few field agents." She didn't know how to bring up the fact that she'd been hanging out with Captain America with Steve sitting directly across from her, so she figured she'd keep it to herself for now. "They're lovely people."

"Oh, I'd hardly go that far."

Mal laughed at that. "I miss you," she said fondly.

"I think you've said that already," Jemma teased.

"I know." She bit her lip and glanced out the window. Her eyes were beginning to feel moist. "Jem?" she said, willing her voice not to crack. "I have to go. Can I call you tonight? I want to hear all about your adventures, straight from the source."

Jemma paused before answering. "You know I would hate to pass up an opportunity to talk your ear off, but I might not be able to. Things change so quickly in the field. I'll let you know?"

"Okay." She smiled softly. "Be careful. Love you."

"Love you. Fitz says hello, by the way."

Mal laughed. "Tell that cutie that I miss him too, alright? And say 'hi' to that new friend of yours—Skylar?"

"Skye, and I will. We'll talk soon, I promise."

"Of course. Bye, Jem," she said, hanging up before Jemma could question the doubt in her tone. She looked at Steve. "Sorry about that."

He set aside his sketchbook, waving off her apology. "No problem."

She explained anyway. "My friend's in the field right now, and I didn't know where she was yesterday, so…"

He furrowed his brow. "Is she alright?" he asked kindly.

"Yeah. She's in London now." She cocked her head and studied Steve, sitting across from her and decidedly not in London. "To be honest, I'm a little surprised you're not there."

His expression darkened. "That makes two of us," he muttered, clearly not intending for her to hear him. Mal had good hearing.

"You didn't get called in?" Steve shook his head with a frown. Clearly, this fact troubled him. "I'm sure there was a reason for it," she tried to reassure him.

"No one's told me so far," he replied dryly, taking a sip of his coffee.

He was unhappy—hunched forward with his head lowered towards his cup, a crinkle forming between his eyebrows. She didn't know the nature of his assignments, but she couldn't see how he could be successful on undercover jobs with his heart on his sleeve.

She tried again to soothe his nerves. Seeing Steve unhappy was sort of like seeing a golden retriever getting kicked.

"You know," she started timidly, "From everything I've heard, by the time anyone knew what was happening, it had already happened. You probably would've gotten there and it would've been over already. "

Steve was a million miles away, she sensed, and nowhere happy. She grimaced. She sucked at offering comfort. "And this isn't helping, is it?"

He shook his head as if he was dragging himself out of deep thought. "No, you're trying. That's more than I'm doing. I've been…"

"Dour?" she offered.

Despite his mood, he smiled. "That's a nice way to put it. I guess it's…frustrating when there's an attack and there's nothing you can do about it."

She shook her head. "Steve, you're overqualified to be dealing with battle aftermath. My friend has two PhDs and she's been assigned to sweep up broken glass. I have no doubt that Director Fury has something more pressing for you to do."

He sighed heavily and replied, "Thanks." She knew that her words hadn't helped him, but he was clearly done talking about his sour mood. "So, what's your friend's name?"

"Jemma Simmons. She's been in the field for…" she started counting off her fingers. "…two months? Something like that."

He nodded and took a swig from his cup. "How do you two know each other?"

She smiled. "We were both biochem majors at SciTech."

"That's the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, right?

"Yes—well, yes," she stumbled over her answer. When he quirked an eyebrow, she explained, "There are three S.H.I.E.L.D. academies."

He nodded. "Yeah, Nat told me there was a pretty fierce rivalry between them."

As she always did when anyone mentioned Natasha Romanoff, her cheeks flushed. "Agent Romanoff is correct, unfortunately," she said, shaking her head and sighing. "Anyway, we were friends all four years at the academy. And then we were interns together in San Fran for three and a half years until I applied for my own project and Jem and another friend requested a transfer to the field." Mal glanced down at the table. "So, this is longest we've gone apart since…ever. It's still pretty rough, being here without them."

When he was quiet, she nearly kicked herself. She didn't know how she could keep forgetting that this man had lost all of his friends. Just as she was about to apologize profusely, he said softly, "I can imagine," without a hint of condescension.

She stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"What?"

"I mean…are you even a real person?" He was bewildered. She clarified, "I have no right to be sitting here, bitching about my problems when your problems are my problems on steroids. Not to mention the fact that you're beating yourself up for not being in London, even though that whole situation was completely out of your hands. Have you always been this good, or did the serum make you selfless?"

Halfway through her short tirade, his lips began to turn up in understanding. He picked at the cardboard sleeve on his cup of coffee and answered quietly, "Dr. Erskine said that the serum enhanced everything, not just my body. He said, 'Good becomes great; bad becomes worse.'"

She didn't remember reading that in the case study. Frankly, it sounded like some pre-hippie nonsense to Mal, but she wasn't about to tell him that. It was obvious to her that he had nothing but respect for the long deceased man.

He saw her wince and rushed to explain, "He said that he chose me because weak men know the value of strength, and they won't take it for granted." He shrugged. "And I haven't yet. Every time I'm out on assignment, I remember being that wimpy kid that couldn't back down from a fight."

Steve Rogers was the most remarkable person she'd ever met.

"The nightmare kid, right. I'm not surprised you got into a lot of fights," she said, a smile creeping onto her face.

Steve matched her expression, though he was more sheepish than amused. "Uh, yeah. I…never won."

"Did you start them?"

He cleared his throat. "I never wanted to fight."

"That's a 'yes'," she muttered into her cup.

Now, he was positively glowing. Playfully tossing a crumpled up piece of napkin her way, he informed her, "I don't like bullies."

She shrugged. Mal had very limited experience with bullies. She was a bisexual Asian mutant with blue hair, and yet, in all of her twenty-six years, she rarely got more than a passing glance or a snide remark. Perks of growing up with other mutants, she supposed.

"I don't condone violence," she replied.

They stared at each other for a long moment, Steve looking like he was trying to decipher her. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and said, "I can't tell if you're joking."

"I'm not joking. Why would I be joking?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Because you work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he asked incredulously. "It's not exactly known for its diplomacy."

She sighed and turned her head towards the window beside them. "I'm aware of the irony," she told the glass pane wryly. "A pacifist working for—for all intents and purposes—a military organization? I could write a thousand-page book analyzing the cognitive dissonance here. And the truth is, I disagree with most of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operations."

She was quiet for a second. He prompted her, asking, "But…?"

"But I can excuse it," she said wearily. "That's not a great thing to say, is it? But it's true. In my profession, ethical oversight is more important than 'fighting the power'," she put up air quotes, "or whatever. Like, being a pacifist in every sense of the word is not as important to me as my work and, in my work, I want to know that there isn't someone trying to steal my research for nefarious purposes.

"And yeah, government agencies aren't really known for their transparency, but neither are corporations. I would rather work for a shady government organization than a shady private company, because at least there's a scrap—" she squinted through the gap between her thumb and forefinger, "—of accountability in the government org."

Steve tilted his head. "I… suppose…"

Mal watched him mull the thought over and tried to ignore the snide voice in her head. It had grown louder and louder since she moved to D.C.

(The truth was that Mal moved like water through her life—what is the path of least resistance? Where is it easiest to thrive? Where can I feel no hurt or pain—and where can I receive accolades and adulation?

S.H.I.E.L.D. fell into her lap early in her life—or she fell into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s—and now there was no easy way out. But she didn't want out. For the most part, Mal liked her job at the Triskelion. It paid well, the commute was convenient, and she had a sweet-ass corner office.

Her superior, Dr. Krantz, had taken an immediate liking to her when she'd first started four months earlier, so she never stressed over getting fired or losing her funding. Despite his fondness for her stupid jokes, however, he clearly didn't give half a damn about her project outside of his administrative interest, so she only had to show him her results once a month. Mal knew that there were some projects—usually pertaining to the super soldier serum—that got extra scrutiny. She was thankful that no one found her project as interesting as those.

She got along well enough with the people she worked with. Colton, though occasionally difficult to wrangle, proved himself to be competent and obedient, with just enough humor to play off her. Ashley was kind-hearted. Esposito wasn't even close to being a friend, but her dark moods rarely affected Mal.

—the crueler truth was that if Mal had any principles, she'd leave this place and never look back.)

"Mal!"

She blinked.

"Where'd you go?" joked Steve, though he looked worried.

"Sorry, I just—started thinking about work again," she said, chancing a smile.

It disarmed Steve enough to mirror one back to her. "So, can I ask what your project is?"

Happy for the distraction, Mal scoffed. "Are you kidding? I've talked people to death about my project."

"And here I thought you were a pacifist."

She shook her head, pursing her lips to control her smile. "You're hilarious," she said archly.

A sudden beep! made them both jump in their seats. She reached into her coat pocket for her phone, but there was no message. When she glanced back up at him, he was frowning down at his phone.

"Trouble at the mill?" she asked.

He didn't justify her stupid joke with an actual answer. "It's Fury. I have to go," he told her, standing and sweeping his sketchbook into his backpack. Coffee in one hand and phone in the other, he grimaced down at her. "Sorry about this."

She waved off his apology and gave him a cheeky smile. She was glad she was right about Fury; Steve looked like he could use a good, long mission to work out some of his pent-up energy.

"Go save the world," she ordered seriously. "Bring me back a souvenir."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

Before he could make his retreat, she said, "I told you Fury had something for you."

He smiled good-naturedly. "You're always right."

She raised her cup in a toast to his statement. "Never forget it."

He held up his cup to her one more time before he left. And then she was alone with her thoughts.

It was probably for the best that he was called away before she could talk in length about her project. She doubted his clearance level was below hers—being Captain America and all—but the fewer people who asked questions about her research, the less likely she was to be discovered as a mutant.

She hated hiding a part of herself. But how many stories about mutants exposing their abilities had she heard? Too many to count. From all those cases, Mal had no doubt that if one of her superiors found out about her mutation, she'd get a pink slip. The official reason wouldn't be because she had an accelerated healing factor, but she would know the lie.

(Why do you want to work for a place that would throw you out on your ass for being who you are?)

My identity is not as important to me as my work, she recited, biting her lip. It never had been. Hell, no facet of her identity had ever meant as much to her as being a scientist did.

She wasn't bisexual. She wasn't a Hawaiian-Japanese-Norwegian-American. She wasn't a mutant.

I'm a goddamn scientist. And she'd be damned before she let anything get in the way of that.

Woo, this took forever to write and I'm still not happy with it. It was one of those chapters that sounds great in your head, but kind of sucks on paper. I wanted to talk a little bit about Thor: The Dark World because I always wonder what the other superheroes are thinking when this stuff happens.

Edited Sept 2021