Finkle
All my life I've been called a pragmatic person. I make decisions based on what's effective; I tend to deal with people on a real-life, real-world basis. Medicine was a natural field for me, and most of my friends agree that I'm a pretty level-headed woman.
So this fascination with Fury was out of the blue, you know?
When I realized I was, yes, interested in the man I decided that the most reasonable way to deal with it would be to compartmentalize it. Draw up some rules and keep the whole thing entrez-nous, as the French would say. Whatever Fury and I might end up doing or being, it would be separate from our professional lives.
I was pretty sure he'd see the logic of that. I knew his job was incredibly dangerous and time-consuming as it was, so it just made sense that the two of should agree to keep things as simple as possible.
Still, my heart was in my mouth because he took so long to agree, and of course my mind was in overdrive about reasons for his reluctance. Despite the confident exterior I do have my fair share of insecurity. Right when I thought he was going to give me his 'I don't think this is going to work' spiel, Fury nodded and pointed a finger at me.
"All right. Doesn't mean we're gonna be hopping into bed right away though. I'm not that easy, Josephine Finkle."
It took a lot not to laugh. "I can be patient. "
He looked as if he didn't believe me, but I didn't mind; the pressure was off for the moment, and right then our food arrived.
I'd heard about Waffle World, but this was the first time I'd been in one, and ohhhh it was good. My mini-pancakes were hot, fluffy and light; just the way I like 'em. Fury's plate was loaded with sausage, bacon, pancakes and hash browns. Seriously, it was enough food for three people.
We ate.
We talked between bites, mostly about the movie, with both of us sympathetic to the tiger's dilemma. I found out he'd actually been stalked by a tiger once, and I told him about back when I was an intern and a patient came in with a mauled ass. The idiot had mooned a jaguar against a chain link fence at the local zoo and it hadn't been appreciated.
So it was good, for a first date. He wouldn't let me pay, so I got even by leaving the tip, and when we stepped outside the fog blanketed everything.
"So how are we going to communicate?" I asked Fury when we walked back towards the Snug Harbor Sailor's Home.
"Cell phone's still the most efficient means," the colonel replied. "Here." He handed me something that looked like a gray rubber band. "Put that around yours; it will put your calls and texts into cipher."
"All of them?" I imagined the mass confusion of my mother and friends at receiving strings of weird code from me.
"I have the other band," Fury snorted. "It'll work only on messages between our two phones."
We'd reached the building; Fury slipped a card from his pocket and swiped it through the reader hidden behind the historical society plaque on the wall. Nobody was inside, although all the lights were on. I followed Fury into the elevator, thinking how I'd come to accept the cloak and dagger side of S.H.I.E.L.D. in the last two months or so. I mean who knew that the Staten Island cultural center doubled as a transport site?
I was so caught up in these thoughts that it didn't dawn on me until our elevator began to move that this was going to be the end of our date. Once we reached the roof Fury was going to put me in a transport to send me back to the helicarrier, and I knew he wouldn't be coming with me. So right before the doors opened, I hit the 'hold' button and looked up at him.
"And this is where we say goodnight?"
He cocked his head and right then I knew things were going to be good between us, because Fury crowded me up against the wall and cupped my face in his hands. Big hands, warm.
"This is where we say goodnight," he agreed, right before I kissed him.
And it was goooood; slow and hot, tinged with hints of maple syrup. He left me breathless and flushed, achy for him in all his big leather-coated glory. When he pulled away I know I whimpered, but then he moved towards my throat.
"Like the hair up," he growled at me. "Lets me do this—"
Dammn, I was melting then. Everyone has a particularly dangerous erogenous zone and mine was my neck. Fury's goatee scraping against it as he nibbled had me panting, wriggling, damned near clawing his coat off.
Unfortunately right then the elevator gave a warning ding and I cursed. Fury chuckled against my throat and shifted away, letting his thumb stroke my cheek before straightening up. The doors slowly rolled open and the rush of cold night air was a bit of a shock to the system.
I took a few deep breaths, looking out to where the transport sat waiting, feeling the heat rising off my face, and radiating sullenly under my stomach. My only consolation was that Fury looked pretty frustrated too, although he had more experience with scowling.
We walked over to the transport and he watched me climb in, giving me a meaningful look before swinging the door shut and stepping back. I watched Fury standing there, the edges of his duster ruffling from the breeze the rotorblades made. The transport rose up and away into the foggy night, and I rubbed my neck, still feeling the sweet tickle there, and hoping it wouldn't be too long until we did more than kiss goodnight.
On impulse I pulled out my phone and tapped a message in.
How do you justify using SHIELD resources for personal business?
I didn't wait long; the answer came back within a minute.
Part of my social security benefits. Get some sleep, Josephine.
Fury
I spent the next hour walking around Staten Island, working off some steam and pretending it helped. There's a certain irony about personal impulses, particularly at my age. I didn't get to where I am by being stupid, but it's difficult to ignore basic biology sometimes. We men can have our most complicated, grandiose plans completely overruled by our physical responses. Stark's a prime example of that; Banner too, to a different degree.
In any case, I was damned glad I had enough common sense to put Finkle back on the helicarrier because it was clear to me that the woman was temptation personified. And walking around I thought about how much of a liability that could be, both to S.H.I.E.L.D. and to my own damned self.
I was already bypassing protocol by giving her an enigma band, but they weren't official equipment yet so I could justify it as a practical field test if pushed on the matter. Amused me to see her use it before the night was even up, but I expected it. Seemed that Finkle was the sort to try and get the last word in. Lotta backbone in that woman.
Generally a lot of everything, and that was more than fine by me.
My time through the next week ended up exceedingly full thanks to the aftermath of the Tia Carumba raid, and even though Hill was running the interrogations and Coulson had a good handle on processing the collected technology, I still had my share of work to do. Members of the council were making their usual half-assed threats and demands, and I was working on contingency plans for the upcoming issues of Sigyn-Laufeyson's pregnancy as well.
Bad enough to have a half-human, half-alien being born into a thorny diplomatic situation, but throwing in a loose cannon like Loki doesn't exactly sweeten the pot. Going on information from Thor, it was clear that his adopted brother wasn't any more popular out in space than he was here, and the idea that someone or something might take a few potshots at us on the off-chance of hitting him loomed large in my thoughts.
And I worried that something might go wrong with the birth. That sort of tragedy could set off a lot of unpleasant events. From her background check I knew Finkle was a damned good doctor but she was going to need all the information she could get. That meant having her talking to Thor, and Loki and maybe even making a trip to Asgard.
That was not something I wanted to happen for a whole lot of reasons ranging from the fact she was a civilian to the idea that I'd already staked a personal claim on this particular Valkyrie. Not that I could ever say that to Finkle's face; she'd probably lecture me about sexist language, but we are all products of our generation and mine happens to be a bit more direct on the subject.
Then on Friday afternoon I received a text.
I need to check out your arm. The rest of you is optional.
Note made me almost grin, especially since my damaged bicep was ninety percent healed at this point.
No point in arguing, is there?
None.
Fine. HQ in Manhattan, six o'clock. PQ level.
Oh now you're expecting a house call?
Only if the doctor wants dinner too. Multi-tasking; S.H.I.E.L.D. has refined it to an art, Josephine.
You're lucky you're cute, Nick. What time?
Six. I should be done with the last security crisis by then.
What—you know, never mind, I don't want to know. Six it is. Bring your arm.
I'll make sure to *do* that.
I was listening for the elevator so when it arrived I hit the button and the doors slid open. Finkle looked at me first, hesitating, but I fixed that by holding out a wineglass. She took it and then started scoping things out behind me, and laughed.
"Oh my God. It's James Bond's bachelor pad!"
"Am I hearing you disrespecting my décor?" I asked, but I had to grin because yeah, the place is pretty modern. I've got a view of the city—nothing to rival Stark, but nice—and it's all leather, chrome and glass. Got into Bauhaus myself early on, and I remember Stark senior's love for Lautner's work out on the west coast.
I remember when it was new, and now that it's retro it's coming full circle again.
"PQ—personal quarters, okay. So you live . . . at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters?" Finkle was wandering in, sipping and looking around. "God, how much more superspy can you get?"
"It's central and the rent is cheap."
She rolled her eyes at me and snorted. "And I suppose this is where you bring all your S.H.I.E.L.D. bunnies, plying them with excellent wine and luring them to that conversation pit?"
That would have hurt if I hadn't heard that little note of uncertainty in her voice. She might talk tough but Finkle was still . . . young. I stepped down into the living room and dropped myself on the sofa, sighing.
"If you want to go out, we can," I told her. "Got about six good places for dinner within walking distance."
She came over and sat down next to me, put her glass on the coffee table. "Sorry," she murmured. "I haven't seen you in days, and now I find out you've got a pretty incredible apartment, and it's Friday night, which means we can sleep in tomorrow and oh God, I can't believe I just SAID that!"
I turned to look at her, keeping my expression as neutral as I could. "Doctor Josephine Finkle-are you seducing me?"
Took about three minutes for her to stop giggling, and I had my arm around her by then, both of us slumped against the back of the sofa. She snuggled up against me and it was good. Damned good.
"Yes," Finkle admitted. "I am, Colonel. Problem?"
"Hope you brought a toothbrush," I told her. "And some ibuprofen."
"Ibuprofen?" I noticed she blushed at the toothbrush, and if I was a betting man I would have laid odds the woman had one in her purse.
"Yeah, you'll need it in the morning for your limp, Jo-seph-ine."
She reached up and touched my jaw, making me look at her bright eyes.
"Ha! We'll see who needs medical care by morning, mentshy-mine."
