And right (ish) on schedule, a new chapter! Happy solstice and merry Christmas, and happy Hanukkah, season's greetings and any other holiday I've forgotten or don't know. As always you guys are wonderful for reading this.
And because I forgot, I own nothing of the Marvel universe… though rumor is that Marvel is getting screen rights to Spiderman.
Adara.
(Also holy crap almost 150 views in two weeks to this is amazing you people are amazing!)
Chapter Three:
July 16, 2002, Location: Outer Courtyard, Royal Palace, Asgard
"How much do you think about it? The future I mean; I think about it all the time." They were back at the fountain again, but then her favorite place to sit with him was the fountain. Her hair was down this time, the intricate braid now gone and the shoulder length strands lifting in the slight breeze and her shoes were off again.
"The future? Every now and again I suppose, but I try to avoid dwelling on the unknown." Loki replied serenely, watching the fish casually drift closer to her feet. They were much bigger than they had been last summer when she'd visited, fed incredibly well over the months. Granted, in comparison to the size they had been a few years ago when she first sat at this fountain—barely more than a few inches—the fish were absolutely huge.
Loki tilted his head to the side, lips twisting into a sly grin. "What brought on this existential contemplation?
Nicole shrugged at that, head dropping back against her shoulders as she enjoyed the sunlight on her face. "I dunno, I guess it's just getting to be that point in my life. At school everyone's talking about how we're going to be graduating in a few years and we need to start thinking about what we want to do with the rest of our lives."
"They expect you to make that sort of decision at such a young age?" She heard the condescension in his voice, the disbelief, and her brow furrowed in a frown.
"It's not like that." She defended, bumping her shoulder into him. "We don't have forever to pick up a new skill if we get bored with the old one. And we don't just decide that we want to be a doctor and then bam we're doctors. While we're in college we can explore our interests in the hopes of finding that thing that we love and getting really good at it."
Her words were reproachful, and she hoped that he at least felt a little contrite—but she doubted it. Loki had never understood Earth, hadn't been able to see the things about it that made her love it so, and it had been a point of contention among them. They generally tried to avoid talking about it so that they didn't fight, but sometimes that was easier said than done. And he had never apologized for the times when they would get into big arguments, arguments to the point where she couldn't stand to be in the same room as him without throwing something.
"Still seems foolish to me. But," He pressed before she could fit in a rebuttal. "Have you come to any startling realizations about your future?"
He didn't want to fight with her today, it seemed. Nicole pursed her lips into a soft scowl at that, thoughts turning inwards as she traced circles along the water. "I think I want to become a biochemist. I want to figure out what exactly is going on inside my body. What makes me able to do the things I can do."
As though to prove her point, she lifted the palm of her hand and stared intently at the empty space above her palm. Her eyes flashed orange for a split second as a flare exploded between her fingers, flames licking over the skin without doing even the slightest bit of damage. She allowed the fire to die before her eyes returned to their dark brown color. Loki smiled slightly at the small display of power, fingers drumming along the edge of the stone basin.
"Well then," He drawled with a smirk, "It certainly seems like you have everything all planned out then."
Nicole made a very unladylike noise at that, caught between a snort of laughter and an indignant growl that made it come out in a strangled squeak. She swung her head around to face him, a disbelieving look on her face as she reached down to flick some water at him. "That's fine, laugh it up. The truth is I have no idea what I want to do with my life. It terrifies me, and everyone else is acting like they already know what they want out of their lives and I'm just floundering."
Loki paused at the sincerity in those words, the small, lost voice that they were spoken in and against all logic he felt empathy swelling in his chest for the girl. In an uncharacteristic display of comfort, he reached out and squeezed her hand gently. "You are young still, Nicole. Give yourself time to grow as a person, and you'll figure out your passions. Sometimes you just have to be patient."
The reassured smile she gave him filled the Asgardian prince with a strange bloom of warmth, and he found a genuine smile reflecting back at her.
Sometimes, all one needed was a little patience.
IOI
July 01, 2011, Location: 19th Street, Brooklyn NY
She was going to lose her effing mind. Insanity was the only obvious destination to this cluster fuck of a journey she'd set herself on. Insanity and possibly—probably—murder.
She was going to lose her mind, and kill Steve Rogers. The little shit head.
"One rule. I give him one god damned rule. Pick up your dirty laundry, Steve. Anything else I can handle so long as you pick up your dirty laundry." She grumbled, shifting the basket to her other hip. Of course he couldn't defend himself; Steve wasn't in the apartment at all right now. Every Friday morning he went down to the Bank to talk to Dr. Cross about his feelings. At least, that was the intent anyway; Nicole was certain that Julia was having the time of her life trying to get Steve to open up. He didn't like to talk about… well much of anything really. Or maybe that was just with her?
God knew that she had tried to have a grown-up, mature conversation with the stubborn meathead plenty of times. And while sometimes it worked, more often than not he avoided the questions and locked himself in his room. Or he would storm out of the apartment and not be heard from for a few hours. The first time he'd done that Nicole had—naturally—followed him to make sure he didn't hurt himself. Suffice it to say that Steve hadn't been pleased, and their shouting match had startled several flocks of starlings from their trees.
They argued about a lot of things actually; what to watch on TV, what kind of pizza to order, what was and was not appropriate to wear around the house… and of course, the laundry.
Fucking dirty laundry everywhere. Everywhere. Not in the laundry basket like hers—because Nicole was a well-adjusted human being who knew how to put her clothes away—but everywhere that wasn't the basket.
"I'm going to kill him Chauncey. I am going to straight up, stone cold, murder him." She warned, looking down at the corgi who was following behind her.
Granted, it had only been one week, but that one week of doing laundry and having to go on a merry hunt through their apartment looking for it was enough to drive her insane. Every shirt, every pair of pants, every damn sock... it threatened to implode even her sense of patience and Nicole thought that she was going to rip her head off. Or his, whenever he got back from the Bank.
It was honestly enough to test the restraint of Gandhi.
"How is this even possible? How does an army man possibly get into this sort of habit? I don't even know how to comprehend my life right now!" She exclaimed, reaching for the doorknob to his room. A small tremor of hesitation had her freezing with her fingers curled around the metal ball. She hadn't actually been in his room before; the last time she'd done laundry had been the day after he'd first moved in and there wasn't a lot of his clothes in need of washing. What he did need cleaned had been handed to her as she'd been heading over to the laundry room.
It felt… incredibly personal to go into his room. He most certainly hadn't been in her own before, but that was more his sense of modesty than her need for privacy. Nicole had spent most of her time in Operations sleeping in barracks; privacy was an ill afforded luxury to her. Steve on the other hand… his door was always closed whether he was in his room or not.
He would probably get angry at her for going into his room but… Nicole was a creature of habit and liked doing her laundry on Fridays. Not to mention she was running out of clothes to wear. And honestly it wasn't like he wouldn't get pissed off at her for something else anyway. Steve was almost always pissed at her.
"Now or never." She shrugged, pushing open the door. As soon as she hit the light switch, it took every ounce of self-control to avoid screaming in frustration. The room was obscenely clean; the bed was made with crisp, sharp corners, the books were stacked on their shelves in perfect ninety degree angles, there wasn't a single hair out of place… except for the clothes strewn haphazardly all over the damn place.
It had been one week—technically nine days—since Captain Steven Rogers had woken up from his stay on the ice. Nine days since Nicole had been assigned to help him adjust to life in the twenty first century. In those nine days any residual awe she'd felt towards the man she would beg her Papou to tell her stories about had rapidly evaporated. She was trying very hard to be understanding; it wasn't his fault, he hadn't asked for his world to be turned upside down—hadn't asked for any of this really—but he wasn't making it easy. Steve was stubborn in every sense of the word and Nicole was almost positive that he was allergic to help of any kind. Since their first meeting they had fallen into a very fragile sense of cordial politeness to one another. He didn't trust her, and she couldn't seem to prevent herself from getting into petty, bitter arguments with him.
The blame could mostly be placed on her however; she hadn't exactly been the most understanding roommate either. In truth, Steve had thought he was going to die—end of the line, light at the end of the tunnel, no coming back dead—and then he had just… woken up. And he might as well have died because it was about seventy years in the future and everything had changed. His old life was gone, his friend and family leaving him to try and stay afloat in a world where people kept throwing new information at him. People like her who had expected him to just open up and share his feelings, when he came from a time where such emotional behavior was generally not the societal norm.
That realization stopped her cold, remorse ripping through her. Nicole was the one person who was supposed to be his friend, and help, but she had been doing a shit job of it. She had been so worried about getting him up to speed, trying to read the modern times into his life, that she hadn't realized she was a part of the problem and not the solution. She should have realized it too, should have seen the signs that he was becoming overwhelmed because how often had she needed her own time to decompress when her entire universe was going every which way?
She was an insensitive bitch.
"Chauncey, I'm a jerk." Nicole announced with a frown, quickly snatching up the rest of the clothes. Her dog cocked his head in confusion at that, not understanding the words but sensing the tone of them well enough.
As shitty as she felt at the moment, if Steve didn't learn how to use a basket she was going to kill him.
They had a very simple way of divvying up chores in the apartment; they both had certain rooms that they were supposed to clean—Steve took the kitchen and bathroom, she had the living room and foyer as well as the laundry—and they alternated the dishes. It was a good system, one she was quite content with because it kept things simple and painless. Plus, Nicole had always hated cleaning the bathroom, ever since her mom had stuck her with it as a kid.
Tossing in the whites, Nicole reached for the bottle of bleach only to find it empty. Well, a little liquid sloshed around inside but not nearly enough to be of any use. With a frown on her face the woman unscrewed the cap anyway, peering inside and ignoring the slight bite of the harsh chemicals on her nose. In the back of her mind she could hear the nasally screech of her high school chemistry teacher nattering on about how you were supposed to waft things to you, not just shove them in your face.
As suspected earlier however, there was not enough bleach left in the bottle to wash a load. Which meant that she would need more before she could finish the wash.
"Son of a bitch." She growled in annoyance, sealing the bottle and setting it back in place before she began the arduous task of unloading the washing machine once more, thanking anyone who would listen for the foresight to wait before adding the soap. Exchanging the white clothes for their colors Nicole pursed her lips at the stain on her favorite pair of shorts. That would require the stain stick.
She was in her way to add bleach to the shopping list when her eyes happened across the stove clock. It was almost three, Steve should be done with his session with Dr. Cross and SHIELD's historian soon… She could just ask him to pick it up. Technically it could wait for later, but… she was a creature of habit. And Steve wasn't an idiot, he could pick up the bleach without a problem.
Grabbing her phone, Nicole brushed the hair from her face and quickly dialed Steve's number. He answered on the third ring. "I don't need you to keep checking up on me."
She bit her lip at that combative tone, one eyebrow arching in direct challenge as her nose wrinkled. It was the day of his appointment with Dr. Cross so she supposed that his annoyance made sense. And Nicole did have a bit of a habit of checking up on him… still, it took a bit of effort to refrain from snapping back. "I am gonna assume that someone isn't having a good day. I'd ask if you wanna talk about it, but I feel like you don't."
"What do you want, Nicole?" Steve sighed in annoyance, voice coming out slightly strained. At least he wasn't calling her Ms. Dugan anymore.
"I need a favor, if you're on your way back. I'm out of bleach to do laundry can you swing by the store and pick some up please?" She asked sweetly, coating her words with honey.
"I—" Steve paused, completely losing his response. "Bleach?"
"Yeah, its laundry day and I need some." She explained with a shrug, one that she realized there was no way he could possibly see. "Pretty please?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone and Nicole could almost hear the gears turning in his head. "I… can do that, yes."
"Thanks! I usually get the mountain fresh Clorox." She beamed, wandering over to the shelf of movies. Brown eyes lit up when they landed on two of her favorite trilogies; Indiana Jones and Jurassic Park. Both series that would be great to watch over a pizza or Chinese.
"Alright," She frowned at the weariness in his words. "Anything else you need?"
"Nope. Hurry back though, I have a surprise." She didn't have a surprise. Well, she had part of a surprise. She had the idea that Steve could use a surprise to cheer him up, even if she didn't quite know what that surprise was going to be. So it would be safe to assume she had roughly… twelve percent of a surprise. It was really more in the developmental stage than anything else.
"Great." Steve answered sarcastically. "I can hardly wait."
After a quick goodbye Nicole dropped down at the kitchen table and pulled her laptop out. It powered up quickly, revealing a desktop background of her uncle's ranch—that had once been her grandparents' home—out in Montana. She smiled at the sight of it; the wrap around porch with the wind chimes and swing, the dogs lying on the stoop right near the flowerbeds, and the horses just visible in the corner. The ranch was one of her favorite places to be, and she had loved flying out there for the long holidays. She could spend all day looking at that ranch, but if she did then she would never get the opportunity to surprise—and hopefully cheer up—Steve.
So instead she brought up her internet browser and began searching for local gyms. There was one, small and family owned that Sergeant James Barnes had taken a thin and somewhat sickly Steve Rogers to in order to teach him how to box. All in an attempt to earn him a spot in the US Army. It was a place with sentimental value, and early on she had noticed that he liked to vent through physical activity so Nicole was planning on taking him there to work off some steam.
And then veg out with some pizza and movies.
But first she owed him an apology. A sincere apology because she had been less than charitable towards his situation. Steve had been difficult to live with, more than a little hostile towards her, and rather than trying to level with him Nicole had gotten offended and challenged him right back. He didn't trust her, but then why should he? Nicole had started out lying to him, manipulated him, and she had given him no reason to trust her. The knowledge that someone she admired—looked up to—didn't trust her was actually a little painful.
"Oh balls." She dripped her head into her hand, the other reaching into her pocket to pull out a worn pack of cigarettes. Sliding over the glass ashtray she placed the end of one in her mouth and flicked her thumb against her middle finger. As soon as the gesture finished a small flame appeared over her thumb, bathing her hand and the surrounding area in a warm orange glow. The gesture itself was somewhat unnecessary; with a bit of concentration she could have conjured the fire without it, but the movements were repetitive and made it easier to direct the fire inside of her body.
Plus… if she were honest, Nicole felt a little awesome when she did it.
Nicole took a long pull from the cigarette, the smoke drifting up from her mouth in lazy spirals as the nicotine shot through her. She didn't smoke often… just when she was feeling particularly stressed about something. Such as the fact that she had pretty much made an ass of herself to one of her childhood idols. Chauncey seemed to sense her stress, pawing at her pants leg and whining softly.
"I'm okay buddy, just realizing how much of a jerk I've been lately." She assured the dog, patting him on the head before lifting him up into her arms. Nicole couldn't help but giggle at the tongue that swiped excitedly at her face. The unconditional love of her dog was an amazing thing, it never hesitated to bring a smile to her face. Especially when she was feeling particularly low.
"Such a fuzzy little cutie! My big baby!" She cooed, running her fingers through his reddish orange fur. She found the one spot on the back of his ear that made his leg kick happily and applied just the right pressure to it. "You're a silly boy!"
Snapping her laptop shut, Nicole set Chauncey down on the floor and went to go check on the laundry. She had to admit, SHIELD knew how to pick living space; they had two large, spacious bedrooms, a decent sized kitchen, separate living room, a small greeting area and personal laundry facilities. It was nice, and it saved her the trouble of going all the way downstairs. The bump of something against her ankle—something fibrous and slightly damp—made her look down, a lazy smirk painting her lips.
"You really wanna try this with me? I'm like five times bigger than you." She questioned disbelievingly. Chauncey adjusted the grip on his rope, chewing at one of the knots before dropping it on her foot once more. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Their battle was intense, long and gritty. And by intense, long and gritty she meant that she spent about an hour dragging her dog across the apartment while he tried to fight her. But then, she was a fully grown adult and he was a small dog. She had long since finished her cigarette and was feeling much better, sprawled out on the floor and trying vainly to shield her face as Chauncey crawled all over her when Steve walked in.
"I got the…" He dwindled as soon as he saw her, the bottle of bleach held in one hand that dropped to his side. "Do I even want to know?"
"Help!" Nicole whined, rolling onto her stomach and covering her head. This wasn't nearly as bad as when she played with her uncle's shepherds—there were two of them—but she couldn't help the high pitched squeal at a cold nose against her neck.
She heard Steve place the bottle of bleach on the floor, footfalls landing on the hardwood. "Alright buddy, I think you've won this war."
Chauncey was lifted off of her and Nicole remained on the floor for a few heartbeats longer before lifting her head. "Thanks. Both for the bleach and the timely rescue."
Steve inclined his head, dropping down onto the couch without a word. His features looked haggard and raw, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping much lately—not that she could particularly blame him—but it was still concerning. Getting her arms and legs under her, Nicole pushed up to her feet and grabbed the bottle of Clorox.
"So…" She left him on the couch, absently petting the now settled dog, as she went to replace the empty bottle with the now full one.
"No, I don't want to talk about it." He responded instinctively, tiredly. She frowned as she came back through the hall, reaching up to rub at her sore shoulder. He hadn't moved from his seat, still sunken in to the suede couch with his eyes shut. He looked like he had fallen asleep, and she really didn't want to disturb him. Nicole was considering putting this off until tomorrow when his eyes sprang open. They were an icy, piercing shade of blue, watching her and seeming to know that she had something to say.
She took a steadying breath. "Not what I was gonna say."
Apologies had never exactly been her forte; she was proud, and hated to admit when she was wrong, but right now Nicole was willing to make an exception. "This is actually kind of important…and awkward. Okay, really awkward. But afterwards we can get to the fun, surprise part of the day."
Steve arched an eyebrow at her rambling, sitting up and crossing his arms. "Just tell me, Nicole."
"Okay, here it goes." She paused, looking down at her bright blue socks. "I'm sorry."
Those words were spoken with such profound weight, as though she had just revealed some divine truth. Steve's face went from polite expectation to confusion; this had obviously not been what he was expecting. "You're… sorry?"
"It sounds so much more anti-climactic when you say it." Nicole moved so that she was sitting beside him. "But yes, I'm sorry. Very sorry even; I've lied to you, I've been rude as hell—my mama would have slapped me across the mouth by now—and I haven't actually given you much of a reason to like me, let alone trust me. Which really sucks for me, because I would like to be friends. Or at least acquaintances. And, like, okay so I know an apology doesn't just equal manicures and gossip but—look—can we just start over? Find common ground? I'm actually pretty great once you get to know me."
Steve watched her thoughtfully, chewing on his lower lip as his eyes searched her face for any hint of deception. There was none to find, as Nicole was completely heartfelt and sincere. "I… haven't made the best first impression either. So, yes, I'd like that."
"Okay," She thrust her open hand towards him. "Hello, my name is Nicole Dugan. My grandpa told stories about you during the war and I'm a huge fan. I'm really sarcastic—it doesn't shut off—and I try not to swear but sometimes I do anyway. Do you want to be my friend?"
He looked down at her hand with uncertainty for half of a second before reaching out to grasp it. "Hello Nicole, I'm Steve. I can't imagine Dum Dum getting married, let alone having kids but you look a lot like him so I guess I have to believe it. I'm very stubborn and like to figure things out on my own, and I don't really like talking about my feelings or when something is giving me trouble. I can't guarantee that I'll be easy to live with, or that you won't want to hit me, but I'd like to be friends."
The smile he gave her was shy, slightly hesitant, and Nicole found herself responding with one much warmer. "Okay, awkward moment gone and done with, I have a surprise!"
"I think you mentioned that over the phone." There was a quirk of amusement in his voice. It was nice, really, the way he smiled, and Nicole was grateful that the air seemed to clear a little between them.
She jumped to her feet, stretching out her arms and back. "So I've noticed that after you talk with Cross, you're usually very restless. I thought we might go work off some steam by punching things! There's a gym not too far from here that's a lot easier to get to than the ones at the Bank. Plus there we won't have to deal with the annoying recruits."
"I… ah, right. I haven't been to a gym since…" His eyes darkened at that, thoughts turning back over the years.
Nicole reached a hand for his arm, squeezing the corded muscle gently. "I know, it's hard Steve. But you'll get through it. It's going to be okay."
She hoped she wasn't lying.
The look he gave her said that he was pretty sure she was lying, but he quickly wrangled his emotions back into line. He went back to just looking tired, and she wanted to hug him. But then, she really was a soft, squishy heart that felt the world would be a little better if people hugged more.
She didn't, of course—hug him that was—because it would be weird for Steve, who probably wasn't used to random hugs. And Nicole had done enough weird things for the day, so she decided that instead it would be better if they just… went and punched things. Which had a tendency to cheer her up most days.
Other days she just needed to set something on fire.
Unfortunately for her, Nicole couldn't just go around incinerating objects willy-nilly; what would the neighbors think? Probably that she was some sort of demon-spawn and should be driven out of town… and her thoughts had taken a very real turn.
"Are you okay?" It was that question that made the woman realize she'd been scowling, and quickly wiping the expression from her face she offered her most reassuring smile. It felt fake, even to her, but at the moment Nicole wasn't quite able to muster any sort of genuine, positive, emotion.
"I'm fine." She lied, a partial lie, blowing a bubble with her gum. It popped with a soft crack, spurring her into motion as she climbed to her feet. "But come on Steve, let's hit the road so that we can hit… something."
"Something?" The blonde arched a skeptical brow, both at her response and the follow up statement, but he was climbing to his feet anyway.
"Something, someone, take your pick." The woman smirked, pushing her hair out of her face as she rolled on the balls of her feet. "Like I said when we first met, I'm pretty sure I can take you."
"With all due respect ma'am, those are some pretty bold words." Steve had a half-smile on his face, looking down almost bashfully. "But you'll forgive me if I don't try and put those words to the test."
Laughing harder she rubbed her nose, turning back to her room. "I'm going to get my bag together."
They parted ways at that, going to their adjacent rooms. Chauncey followed behind, his head swinging back and forth between them in confusion as though he wasn't certain who to chase after. Nicole looked up at the soft squeak of her bedsprings as her dog pounced upon it, straightening from her hunched position under the mattress. The red trimmed black duffle flopped down next to her dog, who was currently getting his head scratched right behind his ear. His warm tongue swiped along her wrist, causing the woman to laugh slightly and pull back.
"Eugh, stop that. You chubby fuzz ball." Her right knee creaked slightly as she straightened into a standing position. It wasn't exactly that she was old—twenty six wasn't old, okay—but her knees had seen a lot of use in her life. And it only took one injury to make the right one start to ache if she stayed in one position for too long. The soreness didn't happen often, and normally Nicole was able to just take a few Ibuprofen and move on with her life.
Being an agent of THE big intelligence agency didn't leave her time for small bumps and bruises.
That being said, the first thing she threw into her gym bag was a copper lined brace. Followed by a pair of workout pants and a ratty t-shirt from spring break at Myrtle Beach. It had been some time since Nicole had gone to an actual gym. Honestly, the closest thing she could recall in her life was going to the rec center at her college. Other than that, it had been SHIELD facilities. Operations itself was essentially one huge training complex with classrooms tacked on.
Okay, that wasn't true. She had learned a lot more than just how to punch things while she was in Ops. Back to the original point however; Nicole hadn't been to a small, local gym in a very long time. She packed the things that she would normally use after working out; shampoo, shower shoes, and a bag to store her sweaty clothes and towel. Zipping the bag shut Nicole grabbed the two handles and lifted it off the bed. The contents of the bag—namely the shampoo and soap bottles—were too volatile for her to risk slinging it over her shoulder and sending them careening into one another. She had made that mistake once, and it only took one time of cleaning shampoo off of everything to learn not to do so again.
"Hey," She heard Steve call from just outside of her doorway, "Are you ready?"
She swung her head to face him, body following as it was known to do, with an almost puzzled look on her face. Deep in thought about the cataclysmic—or perhaps mildly inconvenient—time her shampoo had exploded all over her things, she hadn't even heard him approach.
It was unfair, a man that large should not be allowed to sneak around like that. She should get him a bell, she really should.
Because it was completely Steve's fault, and no short coming of her own training whatsoever…
"Mmm, yeah let's go. The gym is actually only a few blocks down from the apartment, so we might as well walk." She added, sliding out of her room and flipping the switch to turn off the light as she went. Chauncey followed her footsteps, as soon as he was clear allowing the woman to shut the door. "Everything is actually within walking distance in New York almost, so really there's not a whole lot of reason in having a car especially with this traffic. Unless you want to show off how rich you are because you can pay for parking in your building, on the street, as well as insurance for a vehicle that takes longer to get places than your feet do."
"But isn't your car parked downstairs in the garage?" Steve questioned lightly, holding open the front door for her.
Nicole shook one thoughtful finger in his general direction, frowning as she struggled with the key in her deadbolt. "You're missing one crucial detail here, buddy. This is a SHIELD building, meaning that I don't have to pay for parking. And I have been known to make several trips out of state at any given moment."
Steve didn't answer, deciding instead to purse his lips and adjust the weight of his bag across his shoulders. Fury had told him outright that the building he would be living in would be shared by other SHIELD agents, however he hadn't realized that all of the tenants were associated with the organization. It made sense though, he supposed; it would be easier to keep their agents all together in case of mobilization. And there would be plenty of people to keep an eye on him.
"What do you actually do while I'm not here?" The blonde asked suddenly, lifting his gaze so that the weight of his blue eyes landed almost heavily on her. Nicole rolled her shoulders, switching the bag to the other hand and jumping the last few steps down to the main floor.
"Other than watching Days of Our Lives?" She received a blank look at that response, Steve's brows furrowing ever so slightly in that way they did when he didn't understand one of her references. "It's a TV show, a soap opera…"
His confusion only mounted, bordering on the faintest edges of frustration. "Okay, starting with soap operas; they're television programs that focus on the entwined lives of multiple characters, especially their emotional relationships. The acting and storyline can get so involved to the point of being ridiculously melodramatic. Days of Our Lives is one of the longest running soap operas, and most of the time the only people who watch those kind of shows are housewives with nothing better to do. Stereotypically anyway, I'm sure that anyone can watch. I myself have never seen that particular allure, but hey, it's whatever."
"I wasn't trying to imply you were like that, or anything." The blonde quickly responded, stammering over his words in a somewhat rushed apology. Before she could get a word in edge wise, he continued. "Unless that is what you do all day, which is fine too."
She suspected that it had more to do with him not wanting to shatter the fragile truce they had just formed than anything else, and Nicole silenced him with a warm smile. "It's fine, I was making a joke. As for your original question though, what I do all day? A lot of different things. Any cleaning, taking Chauncey out, laundry… Once the technical aspects are done, if you're still not back—which you typically aren't—I'll make lunch, browse the internet, and do paperwork. There's a surprising amount of it, progress reports and the like. I also have regular check-ins at the Bank as well, dealing with my boss."
"Fury?" They rounded a corner, passing a middle aged woman wearing a tracksuit and powerwalking with a retriever on a leash. The dog paused long enough to earn a short pat on the side from Nicole, who threw a disarming grin at his owner before commenting on the weather and bidding her a good day. Steve watched in interest, the openness and friendliness of Nicole quite at odds from the woman he had first met.
"Phil." She answered as she straightened, shoving her spare hand into her pocket. "Agent Phil Coulson. Fury's like the top boss, and then Coulson is my direct supervisor."
The look on his face made her laugh, and she tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear as she adjusted her hold on her bag. "You haven't met him yet, though you might have seen him around from time to time. But I have to do daily reports of the stuff we do, the things we talk about."
Steve opened his mouth angrily at that, brows furrowing as his blue eyes blazed in indignation. "So you are my baby sitter?"
"Look," Nicole grimaced, "Steve—"
"I knew it! Fury can't even trust me to stay out of trouble at home, he has to send someone to hold my hand all the time?" The blonde growled, turning and rounding on the woman. She didn't back down, spearing one hand through her hair and combing it roughly out of her face.
"Fucking stop!" Her voice was loud and sharp as she squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefingers. "Jesus fucking Christ, one day Steve; I'd like to go one day without fighting. Can you at least let me explain?"
"Explain what? That anything I say will be common knowledge by the next day?" Nicole had stopped a few steps behind him, and now there was a gap of about five feet between the two. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon for all of the space that separated them.
"It's not like that okay? I don't just record all of your dirty secrets, or write whole novels about what color underwear you chose to put on today. Is it red though? I bet it's red. Anyway, Steve, look. When you woke up you were told that an agent—moi—was going to be assigned to keep an eye on you. I know what to look for, Steve, what needs to be reported." She said, trying hard to keep the annoyance from filling her words. Her first instinct was to go right back into the bickering that had defined her past week and a half but she managed to keep herself from snapping.
Nicole took a few visibly deep breaths, adjusting her bag once more—anything to keep her hands busy and not throttling the man in front of her—as she closed the distance between them. "Things that might not seem important to you, small things like you waking up a little later than usual, which could indicate a full night's sleep. Which would be good for you because sleep is important, okay."
He opened his mouth to argue, of course he would he liked to argue after all, but Nicole just kept talking. "I'm just doing my job, Steve. The thing they pay me to do and I'm not gonna stop."
"Damnit, I—" He let out a sharp exhale, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm not a child."
"We're not treating you one. At least, I'm trying not to Steve. But you have to understand that this isn't the forties, we don't deal with our emotional problems by ignoring them." She chewed her lip at that, thinking that it actually was how she dealt with a lot of her emotional problems. "Okay, we're not supposed to anyway. You've talked with Dr. Cross, I'm sure that at some point she might have mentioned that you could have something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Shell shock? It's serious, and it doesn't just go away if you ignore it. So they have me keep an eye on you, not just to babysit you but to make sure that if something goes bad, if you get caught up in a night terror or bad memory, you don't hurt anyone."
"You're supposed to stop me?" Those words were spoken somewhat disbelievingly, and Nicole was going to assume that his skepticism was not related to her lack of a Y chromosome. It probably was—a small part at least—but then he was a super soldier and as far as he was aware she was just a human.
"I told you blondie, whenever you're feeling up to the challenge." She gestured to the building in front of them, the gym that they had been looking for. A smile threatened her features when Steve stopped again, familiarity painting an almost bittersweet expression of shock on his face. "Surprise."
"It looks almost exactly the same." He breathed in astonishment.
"On the outside anyway, you wanna go in?" Nicole offered gently, coming to stand beside him. She had to shift her shoulders slightly as someone wearing sweat stained clothes came brushing past them. "See what all of the fuss is about?"
Steve just stood there, blue eyes wide and drinking in the sight of the building. From what she'd seen of the pictures—some monochrome from age, others in color—it really hadn't changed. She just stood with him, giving him the time he needed to absorb this small piece of his history.
"I… let's go."
