The Triskelion

Washington D.C.

U.S.A.

11:00

(An excerpt from a conversation between Agent Patel and Director Fury)

Fury: Congratulations Agent Patel, no one's graduated with marks that high since Agent Romanoff.

Patel: Thank you, Sir.

Fury: And because of that, it's been decided that we'll be placing you on a team with both Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton.

Patel: Excuse me, Sir, but I'm sure you're aware that I work best alone.

Fury: Exactly. The one thing that stopped you from exceeding Agent Romanoff was your...difficulty with working with other agents. That's why we're setting you up with a team.

Patel: With all due respect, I didn't come to S.H.I.E.L.D. to hold hands and sing kumbaya. I came to make a difference. Sir.

Fury: And with all due respect, I am your commanding officer and if I say you're to sing kumbaya you respond with "how many yaya's?" - am I clear?

Patel: ...yes, Sir.

Chapter Four

Listen To Taylor Swift In The Bathtub

Steve holed up in his bedroom after Agent Lewis delivered Peggy Carter's file.

Random encounters in the hall when Steve ventured forth in need of food or the bathroom became the only contact between the pair. Every time he would avoid Poppy's gaze, blue eyes cast towards the floor. As though she couldn't read him through body-language alone. His depression near palpable in the almost-too-close for comfort apartment.

The first day Poppy attempted understanding. After all, it was a lot to take in - experiencing a life that should have been yours second-hand. Especially through the clinical way S.H.I.E.L.D. reports were written up. While it wasn't the life ahead of her - one she neither expected nor wanted - Poppy could comprehend on an emotional level how it could be difficult to read about how the love of your life moved on with a husband and two children.

Heartbreak was apparently one of the most relatable experiences in the world, the sheer amount of songs written about it supporting that statement. Clint had advised, however, that telling Captain Rogers to listen to Taylor Swift in the bathtub and move on wasn't a good idea. Poppy had been joking when she'd text him that - mostly.

The second day Poppy's capacity for understanding was beginning to wane. Naturally, people grieve differently, she knew this. She herself was a firm practitioner of compartmentalizing and resorting to coping mechanisms such as the other night when ignoring an issue no longer worked. But knowing something and experiencing something were two entirely different things. To stop herself from interfering with Captain Rogers' process, Poppy had taken the chance to catch up on paperwork she had let slip while playing babysitter and personal tutor.

The third day Poppy had finished the paperwork and was brimming with excess energy. The tiny part of her brain that's emotional and illogical and easily frustrated was beginning to increase from its usual 17% Poppy usually kept it capped at. Clouding her judgment and normally stellar ability to detach herself from the situation - something that had become increasingly difficult since Captain Rogers had been inserted into her life.

When Poppy was wound this tight there were only a few things that could get her to relax. The first, sex, was obviously off the table. She wasn't allowed to leave the building except for emergencies - 4AM trips to the liquor store notwithstanding - and she sure as hell wasn't bringing in a booty-call with Captain America in the next room. The second was a good old-fashioned fist-fight, again not really easily arranged. Her best sparring partner was in Russia and the second guarding the very object Captain Rogers froze himself over.

Only one option was left.

Ducking through the living-room window Poppy climbed up the fire-escape, ignoring the way the aged black-iron creaked beneath her weight. There was a narrow-minded focus to her that helped ignore the cold droplets of water that landed on her skin and made her hair stick to the sides of her face and neck. That it was raining made very little difference in Poppy's mind, the result would the same regardless seeing as she couldn't get sick, she'd just be a little bit wetter.

It only took her moments to reach the roof of the building, swinging a leg over the raised ledge and dropping down onto the slick concrete. Her bare toes curled inward at the sensation. A shiver ran down her spine as the rain came down harder and the sky lit up and cast everything in contrast before a loud crack split the air.

Moving out to the center of the understandably deserted roof, Poppy began to dance.

Simple movements first, her body falling into a pattern that was as second-nature as breathing at this point. Dance was something she had turned to while still with her father. A solace in which she could still her mind and concentrate on nothing but the movements of her body. The practiced control she had over her limbs as she pushed herself harder and harder until there wasn't an inch of flesh that didn't bow to her will.

Unlike combat, this gave her peace. Sure, there were similarities between this and the martial arts she was expected to master. But while the combat training stirred nothing but violence and anger in her gut, dance gave Poppy a semblance of peace. A chance to drown out the noise in her head, the guilt, the expectations.

To just be.

Her father hadn't allowed her a lot of things to herself growing up. Too many expectations and responsibilities. Thankfully dancing had been the one reprieve Poppy had been granted. Although her father had no doubt had ulterior motives about encouraging the interest, it was still something that had been hers. Was still hers.

Lifting her left leg high, bent slightly at the knee, toe pointed she spun on the right. Arms outstretched, reaching, always reaching. Only to come to a stop when she saw blue eyes gazing curiously at her from above the stone ledge.

It seemed Captain Rogers had ventured out from his bedroom.

He had been watching her for only a moment, deliberating over making himself known or retreating back down the fire-escape. The sweeping movements of her feet against the slick concrete had thrown up showers of water. His eyes taking in how her dark leggings and tank-top molded to her as she twisted into impossible movements. Dark hair clinging to dusky skin when it wasn't fanning out around her shoulders.

Captain Rogers had watched as she danced. In the rain. Barefoot.

Agent Patel had never appeared more human, more tangible than she had then. There was something honest about it all. Not the sharp honesty of the night they had drunk together and shared secrets, where it had been anger and knives hidden beneath self-deprecation. This was a glimpse at the woman behind the persona Poppy had carefully cultivated for herself. A kind of clean, poignant truth that was both breathtaking and painful all at once.

While her movements slowed, they didn't cease. All the encouragement Captain Rogers needed to make the decision to stay as he easily raised himself onto the ledge.

Poppy thought he looked ridiculous. Leaning against the concrete in the middle of a thunderstorm, watching her with blue eyes that were softer than they had any right to be.

"Why are you doing this?" He finally decided to ask, his curiosity too much to ignore and the silence far too thick to be comfortable.

"I like to dance," Poppy replied simply, spinning lazily in place.

"Why are you dancing here?"

"Because it's raining and I knew I would be alone. Though, apparently, not as alone as I thought."

He saw a twitch in her cheek that gave her away; she was purposefully being flippant. He wouldn't rise to the bait and snap back, however. Maybe he had that night earlier in the week, but he saw her sharp tongue for what it was now. A wall to keep people out.

"And the rain? Why the rain?"

She twirled until her left leg was curled up behind her, her ankle almost reaching her crown, and her arms still reaching; before letting her muscles go lax and dropping both feet down onto the wet ground.

"It happened to be raining," Poppy stated. "There's no great significance to it. No tragic backstory of dancing through rainstorms. Just pure coincidence."

She stretched out her legs, flexed her toes. He didn't expect her to say more, quite frankly surprised she had shared this much with him. Even with all his experience during the war, he had trouble recalling if he had ever met a person who held their cards as close to the chest as Agent Patel did.

"I'm surprised to see you here, however," his head jerked up at her words, catching the small smirk twisting one corner of her full mouth, "Finally ventured out from your self-imposed exile?"

Blinking away the raindrops that had gathered on the ends of her eyelashes Poppy pushed her wet hair back from her face as she fixed her gaze on Captain Rogers. Tracking the way he shifted slightly, arms pulling across his chest, uncomfortable from either the question or the rain.

"It," he started before pressing his lips together and working his jaw, "It was a lot to process."

Poppy stayed silent, dark eyes steady on his bright blue. A blue so clear it reminded her of the summer sky she would stare at through the window of her father's lab as a child. A blue like freedom.

She shook her head almost violently, as though she could physically knock such a ridiculous notion from her mind. Blue like freedom - what a joke.

"I, uh, well I half expected her to be here waiting for me - you know?" Captain Rogers admitted, eyes shifting away from hers. "And to then read about everything she achieved while I was frozen…"

Stretching up onto her toes she flung her arms out then down, arching her back and pushing out her chest; face turned up to the sky as her body curved smooth as a bow. With closed eyes, it was almost as though she were addressing the heavens when she spoke.

"You saved the world, Captain Rogers, be proud of that - she was."

He stared at her, seemingly stunned by her words, or the fact that she had been the one to say them. It was uncertain. She was thrown into stark relief as lightning split the sky, outlining the lean lines of her body as she held her pose with indescribable control. She dropped to the ground in time to the booming crash of thunder echoing in his ears.

Looking up at him from where she knelt against the concrete an almost gentle look crossed her face. It disappeared so quickly if it weren't for what followed he would have sworn he'd imagined it. Taking a deep breath it seemed as though Poppy had come to some kind of decision as she said, "I'll speak to Fury, once we're allowed to leave, about visiting her."

Holding up a hand to stop his inevitable onslaught of questions or, worse, gratitude Poppy continued, "I can't promise it will go how you want, but I can at least offer a semblance of closure. It's the least I can do for the World's First Superhero."

With those words, she crossed the roof to where he was leaning against the ledge. Pausing when they were shoulder to shoulder she held his gaze for a long moment, eyes sliding away at the depth of emotion as she swallowed down a wave of discomfort.

Silently she descended the fire escape leaving Captain Rogers alone in the rain with his thoughts.

Later that night, as he stared at the ceiling while sleep once again eluded him those words echoed through his head once again, chased by the sharp crack of the sky breaking.

"Be proud of that - she was."

For the first time in three days, Poppy awoke to the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

Although she was quick to quash the feeling, she couldn't help the warmth that spread throughout her body as she entered the kitchen. Standing at the counter in front of the window was Captain Rogers, his grey T-Shirt pulled taut across broad shoulders and the morning sunlight edging his blond hair in gold.

At the sound of Poppy's entry he turned around, the corners of his mouth pulled up in a soft smile, and she quickly schooled her features into a neutral mask when she felt her lip curve upwards in return.

As his face fell the slightest bit at her sudden change in attitude Poppy questioned the cold blade of guilt that slivered between her ribs like a knife. A knife wielded by a blue-eyed, six-foot, blond puppy. In almost three weeks he had achieved something that had taken everyone else months to reach.

Captain Rogers had officially gotten beneath her skin and somewhere along the way she had grown to care for him.

Goddammit.

"Good morning," Poppy moved further into the room accepting the mug of coffee held out to her, "Captain Rogers."

"Steve," He corrected with his eyebrows pulled together in consternation.

"I know your name," Poppy took a long pull of her coffee as she leaned against the counter next to him, "Captain Rogers."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he opened his mouth to correct her again before it turned into a small grin as he shook his head ruefully.

"As you say, Agent Patel."

Leaning forward Poppy allowed her thick fall of hair to hide her smile at his words before she tucked it back behind her ear and placed her coffee on the counter. Moving around Captain Rogers she stretched up on her toes and retrieved the pan from the cupboards above the counter, dropping it on the stove-top. She was distinctly aware of him only inches away, swearing that the flush to her skin had nothing to do with their proximity.

Turning on the gas it occurred to her that Clint may have been right.

Captain Rogers passed her the egg carton out of the fridge, settling against the opposite counter as she began cracking them into a bowl. Blue eyes watching her over the lip of a coffee mug that proclaimed '#1 DAD'.

Things had gotten domestic.

And she was beginning to like it.

A/N:

Hi guys! I'm so sorry this took so long to update! Short chapter, but hopefully worth it.

Happy reading,

- susiesamurai xo