Preparation Part 1
The more I thought about it, the easier it seemed. A general overview of the last century's history? No problem. Getting them up to speed on recent advances in technology? Might be a little trickier, but still shouldn't be difficult. Finally, I closed my eyes with the thought that, if I did accept, it wouldn't be that difficult.
Oh if only I'd known.
It had taken me the full week to finally make up my mind. After initially thinking it'd be easy, I made myself sit down and go through my old psychology and history textbooks. I reviewed everything from PTSD and asocial behaviors to the Cold War and the beginnings of the digital era. The more I refreshed my memory, the more I found myself in this weird balance of feeling equally prepared and equally intimidated.
And yet this entire time, I still hadn't called Mr. Coulson to let him know whether or not I accepted his offer. I kept tossing the idea around in the tumultuous ocean that was my head. It shouldn't be that difficult of a decision. It wasn't like I had to quit my job, I just had to make time to go the Avengers facility (wherever that was) on Saturdays. And then take the time to make lesson plans beforehand. And figure out how to talk with superheroes. And how to exist in the presence of superheroes without feeling small. And then make sure that all of this didn't skew my bias in my job.
Yeah, it wasn't a difficult decision at all.
After agonizing over it for my allotted seven days, I finally called the number on the card.
"A car will be at your apartment in twenty minutes," Mr. Coulson's voice intoned. "They will take you to the Avengers facility for an initial briefing."
I didn't stop to ask how he knew my address, but instead tapped my fingers against my desk and looked at the calendar on my wall. It was a good thing today was a national holiday, because usually Fridays were my busiest days at work. "Anything I need to bring?" I asked.
"Anything you think you'll need for your space," Mr. Coulson replied shortly. I nodded, wondering what this space could possibly be. "Nineteen minutes, Miss Reynolds."
I put down my phone and began to rush around my apartment to get ready. Thank goodness I'd already taken a shower and done my makeup, but I had no idea what I should wear. After a minute of staring blankly into my closet, I finally chose my favorite pair of jeans, a black tunic, and my grey keds. As I hopped around putting on my shoes, I grabbed an army green jacket and a mustard yellow scarf for good measure. It wasn't too cold outside, but layers would still be a good idea if we were going anywhere in the nearby area. With that thought in mind, I also grabbed a pair of gloves.
"Now what else do I need," I murmured as I looked around my room. I had ten more minutes, and my head felt like it was spinning. My eyes ran across the textbooks and notepads I'd pulled out, and I settled for those. I pulled out an old duffle bag and began to stuff them in, along with my laptop and charger. One water bottle, my favorite blanket, and a protein bar later, I was locking my apartment door behind me and running downstairs.
A large black vehicle was sitting in front of my apartment building, and a tall woman was tapping on an iPad in front of it. I approached awkwardly, hoping that this was the right car. Finally, the woman looked up. "Miss Reynolds?"
"Yes?" I replied warily.
A warm smile came onto her face, and I felt relieved. "My name is Maria Hill. I will be taking you to the Avengers facility today."
I nodded. "And where is the facility?"
An amused smile came onto Miss Hill's face. "An undisclosed location in Upstate New York. It's too far to drive there, so we will be taking a jet over. Should take about thirty minutes once we're in the air."
"Oh, uh, alright," I stammered. I suppose I should've thought about how we were getting to a top secret location. It wasn't as though the facility was somewhere obvious, and it wasn't likely that I'd be given an address.
With all the traffic, it took about forty minutes to get out of the inner city. A while later, we found ourselves arriving at a private airstrip where a lone mini jet was sat waiting on the tarmac. As I presumed, they checked my duffle bag and purse before I got on. It seemed like I'd just sat down when I heard the noise telling me to secure my seatbelt.
My mind was starting to reel again. I was on a private jet going to a top secret location on a Friday morning. This wasn't as casual as I'd imagined.
I spent most of the flight sitting in the cushioned chair and wondering how I would describe all of this for an article. Of course I couldn't do that, because, well, it would probably violate some sort of Avengers-Code-Of-Secrecy. Regardless of the obvious, it was an exercise that often helped me calm down, taking note of the exact shade of cream the seats were, the caramel stained wood accents, and the dizzying pattern in the grey carpet.
Before I knew it, I heard the wheels touch the ground, followed suit by the seatbelt noise. I threw my purse across my body and picked up my duffle bag to get off. I suppose that I expected another tarmac, but I was instead greeted with the sight of a large modern building surrounded by trees and lush green grass. The mini jet had landed on a patch of concrete about two hundred feet from the building, which instantly struck me as not the smartest idea, but I guess they know what they're doing.
"Miss Reynolds," Mr. Coulson greeted me as I descended the stairs. "Welcome to the Avengers Facility. Have a good flight?"
"I mean…it was unexpected, but yeah, it was fine," I replied with a shrug.
The first smile I'd seen him make appeared on his face. "My apologies. You'll understand the need for secrecy, I'm sure." After I nodded, he said, "Good. Follow me, we've got a lot of ground to cover."
My short legs were forced to speed walk to keep up with Mr. Coulson's pace. He called out locations as we passed them: training rooms, cafeteria, restrooms, laboratories. He must have seen my panicked face, because he quickly assured me that I'd be given a digital map of the grounds.
"We're entering the residential side of the building now— this is where the Earth's mightiest heroes are actual humans," Mr. Coulson told me.
"Well that's good to know," I commented lightly. "Why am I coming over here though?"
Mr. Coulson turned back to look at me. "This is where you'll be working."
Though I still felt confused, I nodded. He made a right turn into a long corridor and stopped at the third door on the left. "This is Captain Roger's room."
My eyebrows lifted in surprise. "And we're just going to knock and say hi?"
"Of course not." His amused smile had returned. "He and Sargent Barnes are out training right now. I want you to be familiar with their mental state throughout this process, and I believe you'll find their rooms to be telling."
When he opened the door to Captain Roger's room, I saw what he meant. The grey walls were entirely barren, and the rest of the room was impossibly organized. It didn't look like he'd even touched it.
"How long has he lived here?" I inquired.
"About four years," Mr. Coulson responded.
I nodded as I noticed the monochromatic wardrobe in his closet. "And have any attempts been made to get him to-"
"We've tried everything," Mr. Coulson interrupted. "He makes excuses. Says there's no need to settle in if he's always going to be out. He's-"
"-still living like he's at war," I finished.
Mr. Coulson nodded. "Precisely. All he ever comes in here for is to sleep."
That comment made me look at his bed. It was covered in a giant fluffy duvet, and there were far too many pillows for anyone— let alone a soldier— to feel comfortable. I leaned down and pressed my hand into the mattress.
"First, he needs a firmer mattress. Get rid of all the excess pillows, and make sure the ones you replace them with are also firm. The duvet isn't necessary, it probably just weighs down on him at night. A quilt with some spare blankets would be better. All that unnecessary stuff probably makes it hard for him to shut his mind off— they're not easy to escape from if he has to."
I looked back to see Mr. Coulson writing these things down on an iPad. A grin came onto my face, happy to know that I was already helping. "Are the walls-"
"Soundproof? Yes, they are," Mr. Coulson answered. "That was the first thing we discovered. He would always wake up and run outside when he heard training going on at night, but from the sound of it, it seems he was never even asleep."
I shrugged. "Everyone has to sleep eventually. My guess is he stays awake until his body forces him to sleep, which is probably averaging somewhere around twenty hours a week." I heard the tapping noise of Mr. Coulson's fingers on the iPad again. "He also needs some color in here. Color strongly impacts mood, and grey won't help him get anywhere. Start by painting the walls cream, and then the wall with the bed on it navy blue. As for the clothes, I suggest someone go pick out something a bit more personal for him. After a while, he'll let his opinion be known, and will begin to invest personal time into making sure you guys get it right."
I took in a deep breath and waited for Mr. Coulson to finish writing down what I said. After a moment, he asked, "Is that all?"
"I think it's a good place to start," I replied. "He's not going to do these things on his own— he thinks they're unnecessary. Once the ball gets rolling, though, I'm sure he'll become interested."
Mr. Coulson nodded. "Onto Sargent Barnes' room, then." I followed him out of the room and across the hall.
Oddly enough, Sargent Barnes' room was entirely different. It was a mess, open books strewn across a desk, clothes scattered in the closet, and the bedding halfway onto the floor. An amused smile came onto my face upon seeing it. That is, until I also noticed a punching bag in the corner.
"Remove that, it needs to be kept elsewhere," I told him. "A bedroom is meant to be a peaceful place, and if it's kept in here, his mind won't be able to shut down. Get a book shelf installed in that corner, and put a big leather chair there for him to sit in to read…" I trailed off when I noticed a mini fridge crammed in the corner. "…does he have a habit of hoarding?"
The tapping of taking notes stopped when I asked that. "Pardon?" Mr. Coulson said.
"I said does he have a habit of hoarding," I repeated. Mr. Coulson looked confused, but I crossed the room to take another look in the closet. It was crammed full of random items ranging from CDs to cookie packets.
"…not that we've noticed, no," he finally replied.
A disconcerted frown came onto my face. "He's been sneaky about it, then. Hoarding can sometimes be seen in orphans, people who aren't used to having things. Once they are put in a better situation, they retain the habits of trying to keep the few things they've been given."
My. Coulson looked surprised, but he wrote down my words. "What steps do you think could be taken to reduce this habit?"
"A restart," I sighed. "It's often stressful, but it's the only way someone can see what they've been doing. Paint the walls a rusty red, I'm seeing a lot of that color in his things. Install the bookshelf, like I said, and add the chair. Then have someone come in here and do a thorough clean of the room, including organizing things. He needs to see that this mess isn't an acceptable way of living, but also understand that it's okay to keep things."
"Anything else?" Mr. Coulson asked again.
I shook my head. "Nope. Just get that punching bag out of here."
Mr. Coulson smiled. "Noted. On to the last space, now." I took one last look in the room before I followed him out. As we continued down the hallway, I noticed the names on the plaques outside each room. At the end of the hallway was a large communal room with a tv, a few couches, and a kitchen. The way it was laid out almost reminded me of a college dorm.
"Your space is through there," Mr. Coulson said as he motioned the left side of the room. There was a wall with an opening on the left side, but no door. I found myself thinking this was smart, because the last thing a soldier needed was to feel locked in a room.
As soon as we walked in, I was greeted with a view of trees and grass out a giant window. Other than that, it was the same grey walls and barren space that I had seen in every other room. Confusion swept over me, but Mr. Coulson read my mind.
"Whatever you want, we'll get it," he said. "Don't worry about the cost. We know your opinion will be best."