So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.
You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.
Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album listed on my profile page too.
DAY ONE
CHAPTER THREE
TUESDAY, MAY 1ST 2012
1830 HOURS
S.H.I.E.L.D CIVILIAN SURVEILLANCE UNIT #7121482301 (STATUS: ACTIVE)
RAWLINS WYOMING
NORA ELAINE
CIVILIAN
The ride home took an hour total after I finally made it out of the compound's numerous security checks and to the parking garage where my vehicle was waiting or me. But only a grand total of five minutes in that hour time span were spent in my internal debate of relaxation methods. A couple of seconds into minute six I had a brilliant idea, and was even quite pleased with myself for thinking of it. Who said I had to pick one? Its my evening I'm gonna do both.
That unfortunately still left me with about fifty minutes of travel time that now lacked a distraction, though that didn't take very long to make a decision on either. It took me about is long is it took me to press the play button. I choose music, French music, and to be precise Mozart l'Opéra Rock. An awesome symphony of classical music with modern flair, and one of my favorite CD's as well.
I absolutely love the way the French language sounds, I have ever since I first heard it drift out of the speakers of an unexpected present. Even though I will admit that my private attempts to speak it, let alone sing it, would probably leave any true French speaker appalled. That is why they are private though, and what the generous use of the volume knob is for.
By the time I reached the point where I-80 turns into W Spruce St. the French music is regretfully turned off and a blue tooth is placed in my ear instead, forcing me to endure the much less pleasant sounds of a woman's heavily accented voice complaining to her friend how if her husband yelled at her one more time for overcooking dinner she was going to take him out to the desert.
That is the secondary part of my job, and the reason, if you don't count Clint's level of influence, I am allowed to live off base. I, as well is a few other lesser agents have the assignment of living in the surrounding towns and monitoring the local population for any signs of an intelligence leak or plot, reviewing any conversations that have been flagged for words or phrases of interest in them and determining their potential threat level or lack there of.
The P.E.G.A.S.U.S base is after all a highly classified research facility. It would be foolish to think they didn't have a very expansive network in place to make sure it stayed that way. I am well aware that what I am doing right this second is 'unconstitutional' by it's very definition, I just personally don't really see the problem with it but I suppose living my whole life in the shadow of S.H.I.E.L.D has affected my opinion on certain things like that. Sometimes it's what you don't know that keeps you safest and happiest.
Turning again where 14th Street runs into W Spruce I let my eyes scan over the population currently milling around The Office parking lot. It's not very busy on Wednesday night's and tonight is no different as only about ten or so patrons are standing outside at the patio of the small bar chatting with a cellphone, a cigarette, or both in their hands. A few even take notice of my passing. One waves to me, prompting me to wave back, then mumble my lack of appreciation as I pass out of his line of sight.
Oh not good, that was Miss Harriman's nephew. I've never met the man in person before, but I had been shown a picture of him, and my mind just didn't connect the two in time to stop my hand.
Miss Harriman is my neighbor and as neighbors go she's nice enough, she isn't loud or inconsiderate when she has company over; she doesn't have a dog to keep me up at night, or a dog at all to my knowledge. She is simply a nice, somewhat elderly woman after her husband passed away last year decided that she needed a change of venue and moved into the house next to mine not long before I came to town. Which is partly what leads to my problem. She is lonely, living in a new town which I completely understand, but the way she copes with that is by involving herself in the lives of others.
Specifically the life of the young single woman who recently moved in right next door because 'she too just wanted a change'. Or otherwise known is Me.
For some reason she is of the 'really' old fashioned belief that a young woman's life isn't complete without a man in it. Now I wouldn't mind that so much if her belief could settle with the concept of friends, but it continues to the idea of romance, and or marriage. Both of which are completely off the table for me.
And of course her sister has a son about my age, one who is very polite and handsome in her opinion but has not had much luck with woman. According to her all his former girlfriends were horrible in personality and appearance, but I would be just the kind of girl he needs. I sat through that whole conversation without giving in to the urge to gag, and for that I rewarded myself with some pretty epic cookies.
I'm serious on the use of the word epic is the descriptor. They involved Oreo cookies, double stuff of course because anything less would be a culinary faux pas of the highest order, and chocolate chips cookie dough, and brownie batter which now that I think about it probably makes calling it a cookie incorrect so maybe I should...not let myself get distracted by dessert until I am actually out of the car and can do something about it.
I really had to force myself to stop thinking about that 'not a cookie' delicacy because at the time I still had a distance to go before I got home. My skill in the kitchen comes from my love of being in it. Once I learned how to cook I've never really stopped doing it, or thinking about it. But that's not the point.
The point is I've been dealing with it as patiently as I can. I know she means well by it, she thinks I must be lonely too despite my reassurances; she just wants to see her nephew happy, so this way she thinks she can accomplish both. But there are still times I just want to cut her out of my life completely. It would be so much easier if I could tell her why I don't want to be in a relationship with her nephew.
Unfortunately I can't. Being a single woman is part of my cover, and being personable is part of my job. I need to interact with the people in this town, and I also need to talk to her specifically because if anyone knows the inner workings of this area it's her. If there were a hierarchy to the gossip around here, Miss Harriman would be the queen. So when your job is to keep your ears open for any potential leaks, who better to talk to then a woman who hears everything and doesn't mind sharing.
Thankfully the Universe is on my side tonight, and it's about time, it's been busy undermining me all day. As I reach my block and roll toward the end I am met with a sight of relief. Her lights aren't on, not a single one in her whole house unless you count the porch light. Oh thank you God, she's sleeping.
After coming in early to work a shift and a half today, as well as Clint and Erik's little spat on the way out, all I want to do is relax for the rest of the evening. I don't want to have to feel like I'm some sort of prize-winning pony set to be bred off. I know she doesn't mean it like that, but sometimes the way she talks about it I just get this impression that her high opinion of me has to do more with my assumed 'genetic stock' then anything I've done here so far.
With that thought still running through my head as I pull into my driveway I've made the decision to work quickly, I don't want to give them the chance to catch me outside. I may have dodged a bullet so to speak with her, but that doesn't mean there won't be more. After all, being the new girl in a small town seems to be something very interesting because Miss Harriman isn't the only one obsessed with me, she's just the closest.
Turning the key and pulling it out of the ignition I let my 'Rubicon' go to sleep for the night. 'She' is a royal blue jeep outfitted with an awesome autopilot A.I installed in it that makes up for me not knowing how to drive yet. It was bought for me by Clint as a surprise, he knew I was coming out here before I did and thought I would like it. He also bought it with the original paint job, the color purple. I got into a little 'trouble' when I had it repainted to royal blue, he teased me that I choose that color because of my 'crush' on Captain America.
My argument was, and still is that he was being ridiculous. I didn't have a crush on Captain America, I just wanted something that wasn't PURPLE that's all; besides royal blue is a great color. Needless to say, it wasn't my most convincing argument ever.
He even came back with the argument that if I just wanted a different color I could have gone with black or red. So I told him that then I'd be copying Natasha colors, and stepped right into his 'ah ha, so I was right' moment, but I shut him up with the suggestion of painting it red and gold, and then I was the one laughing at his scowl.
Speaking of Natasha my favorite resident Miss Super Spy, I'm sort of glad she isn't here to see me right now because of the embarrassment I'd have to face if I did this in front of her. I'm ducking down next to the driver side tire, doing my best to shut the door without a sound, and still wincing at the tiny click it makes is I look around to make sure no one heard that.
I even move to my door at a low sprint, and by low I mean in the vertical sense. I'm in such a hurry tonight I don't even stop to enjoy the sight of the small decorative flower bed I have framing the walk way. It is a very pretty little garden and I am proud of it because I did it myself, and despite what Clint likes to believes none of the flowers are fake.
Then my attempt at haste leads to me failing my already pathetic imitation of acting like a spy, I drop my keys. And that folks is exhibit A for why I would make such a horrible spy!
By the time I actually make it in the house and let the weight of my back shut the door for me I am only given a second before my thoughts are taken off my embarrassment. The relief is thanks to my handsome housemate, whose small thud as his feet meet the carpet alert me to his presence.
He must have been sleeping on the couch, no doubt waiting for my return. So now that I'm home at last he is clearly very happy to see me, and about to climb right up my pants if I'd let him.
Before his claws can do any damage to the uniform I aid him in the task and just lean down to scoop him up in the air, an effort he disagrees with in his own appreciative way. "Awe, hey Jar-Jar baby."
The way his little body squirms in earnest answers the question well enough, but I ask it anyways. "Did mama's little boy miss me?" He is always so happy to see me when I get home, and his excitement is visibly greater with each passing hour I'm not here.
It honestly makes me feel a bit guilty, I don't like the idea of leaving him home alone, but I can't just stay home from work because my kitten has some minor separation anxiety issues. I understand that my obligations to S.H.I.E.L.D come first but it doesn't help that my kitten knows how to pout, which is what he is currently doing since I'm not giving him what he really wants.
Once I concede though, I can practically feel his whole little body shake in delight. His purring is so strong that its been compared to a mini-gun of all things, and on more than one occasion. He shows his appreciation that I'm back in other ways too, his small head rubbing almost aggressively into the side of my cheek is he clings expertly to my shoulder.
This time I don't bother unhooking his tiny claws from the material. Before I had to so he wouldn't damage the uniform, but now there is the protective layer of my plaid wool bomber jacket. It hides enough of the uniform to keep it from being recognized as one, and keeps me warm enough on the ride home through the desert since I love driving with the windows down.
I'm not sure where he learned this strange little habit of his, nor do I much care, in fact I find it sort of adorable. He loves to be up high, which seems to be normal for most cats, but where he is unusual is that he sees humans as something to perch on. He rides around on people's shoulders like he thinks he is a parrot.
Something else that separates him from the usual is that he is incredibly skilled at finding ticklish spots. This seems to be endlessly fun for him, playing attack of the tickle monster, and its fun for me too until he stops trying to tickle me and decides he wants to suckle instead. This something the vet said was because he was separated from his mother too soon and not weaned like he should have been. I normally don't mind it, except when, like he is now, he suckles my ear.
I'm not sure what it is either about my ears in particular he likes so much, but he does; in fact I've never seen him do it to anyone else. Sure he will still suckle on anyone's fingers if they offer them, but even when riding around on other people's shoulder he never goes after their ears, even when there's nothing in the way to stop him. After all I have much more hair in the way then Clint or Steve do, but that's never stopped him from burrowing through it to find his goal.
If there's one thing I miss about New York, it would be Steve. I haven't even known him for a full year yet, but he has never been anything less than a wonderful friend to me. The kitten on my shoulders is proof enough of that. He showed up at my door with a smaller and dirtier version of Jareth in a gift bag on Christmas day looking very sheepish and hoping I liked kittens. There's no other word for someone like that besides wonderful.
That's the downside to working for a paramilitary organization like S.H.I.E.L.D; not that I would do anything else given that I've spent my whole life in S.H.I.E.L.D after all, but when they tell you they're sending you somewhere the only thing you really can do is ask how long you have to pack and say goodbye, if you can say goodbye. They said go here, so I did. They also said not to call him.
Well, they didn't specify him in particular, they said I couldn't call anyone, but he would have been the only one I would have called.
I understand why I can't make phone calls. I'm stationed at a top-secret military testing facility. Anyone I need to talk to is already present on the site, and calling someone living in the civilian population poses an intelligence risk. Radio silence is just part of the job.
Still though, in a few days I will be able to talk to him. Clint told me he was pulling some strings to arrange 'A' phone call for me and wanted to know when he should set it up. When he said that I was so happy, I didn't even care that he teased me about it, he could compare me to a school girl with a crush all he wanted, I was going to be able to talk to my friend again!
I try not to take advantage of the fact that one of my best friends has a level seven clearance and the authority that comes with it, but in this case I was okay forgetting that personal rule for the time being. Honestly, if he said I had to go and have a beer with him to earn that phone call, I would probably drink a whole six-pack to myself, just to be sure.
I'm very glad he didn't think of that, or if he did, actually consider it. I have a horrible opinion of beer, and a horrible memory to justify it, both of which are his fault.
Speaking of consumable liquids, I'm reminded of another's particular preferences the closer I get to the kitchen. I usually give my adorable companion a treat of cold cream when I get home, and with each step closer I can hear his impatient excitement grow. If he wasn't on my shoulder he would probably be pacing in circles, as it stands he is already trying his best to.
He even seems to consider jumping onto the back of the plush armchair in the living room as I pass it, before it dawns on him that it has nothing to do with the kitchen. That realization seems to just make him even more anxious to do something just for the sake of doing it.
"Honestly, you'd think I never feed you..." The tone of amusement in that moment of grumbling fades off, along with my observation that his self dispensing food dish still is rather full except for a meager dip in the middle of it. The reason they trailed off for both is the actions of the kitten, his paw is now resting against the side of my nose.
"Yes?..." Doing my best to suppress a grin and speak with half my nose smooched closed, something I do for his sake even though I'm not sure it will even matter to him, I turn my head to meet most pitiful set of kitty eyes. "...Can I help you?"
His response is without fail, to be even more adorable. Removing his paw he runs his little sandpaper like tongue over the tip of my nose instead and lets out a desperate mewl.
Now I don't even bother trying not to grin, I even allow myself to laugh is I pluck him up off my shoulder and switch to cradling him in my arm. "Oh, you little goofball. I am on my way to the kitchen you know? Your cuteness is only slowing me down."
He has a such a huge appetite it's almost ridiculous. I can't seem to rationalize how something so small can consume so much and still stay tiny, though I suppose I can't talk. I sort of have that too, I can eat quite a bit and stay the same size. In fact with the rate of my metabolism burns through calories I almost have to. My female coworkers sort of despise that about me, I suppose it figures that my 'little boy' would be the same way.
He is the Captain's too in a way, and his 'dad' eats quite a bit as well. That's sort of my own personal joy, that the Captain and I adopted this kitten like he was a little human, and made a pseudo-family. It's a nice little fantasy and innocent enough, though I have never really said it out loud to anyone, since I know that Steve is incredible bashful about the idea of a 'romantic' relationship like that, and calling us a family does have that undertone to it.
It was awkward enough for him when strangers in public mistakenly assumed we were a couple, and worse when it happened on the base, because there walking away was less of an option.
Also back to the idea that Jareth is his 'little boy', he certainly doesn't share the same awkward anxiety around woman that Steve sometimes does. He is actually incredibly comfortable with the idea of women, if anything he might be too comfortable. This time my grin is a little conflicted as he squirms to adjust his place in my arms pushes his paw roughly into a certain part of my chest. Definitely adopted.
By the time I get to the counter itself he is squirming so much that I just let him go, his little body almost falling over himself as he rotates around to land on the surface. No sooner do all his feet connect with it he puts himself right at the edge of it and reaches for me, meowing desperately like he thinks I've forgotten about him already.
"Oh you..." I bend down more to his level and let his tan paw reach for my face again, unconcerned about the presence of his claws since he is very conscientious about them, my smart little boy. I cup his little face before blowing a puff of air in his face to tease him. It makes his nose crinkle up is he cranes his head back a little and produce a small sneeze which makes me laugh.
He looks even more annoyed when I stand upright again, and ruffle the fur on his head. "...you'll get your treat, mommy just needs a few seconds. Okay? Now don't pout." That last part is added because once again he is.
I can hear him meow more for my attention as I turn around, but this time I just ignore it. He is part Siamese, and their breed apparently loves to talk, Jareth is no exception to that trait. He even talks in his sleep sometimes, making little chirps and growls as he responds to whatever it is kittens dream of.
While he is busy pacing and whining in an effort to find the closest edge of the completely parallel counter, I am crossing to the opposite side of the kitchen pulling open the clear door of the fridge. I know right where what I want is thanks to the insulated see through glass panel there, and my hands wrap around the also glass container holding his cream.
I had to start doing that, because once before I even finished unpacking the groceries I got a phone call, and by the time I came back into the kitchen he had chewed through the wax-coated cardboard container the cream comes in, and was laying in a white puddle dripping off my counter onto the apartment's hardwood floor, purring his soaked little heart.
He also ran around the house afterward too, determined to not let me clean him up because I would be denying him the cream on his fur in the process. I ended up covered in just as much of the sticky mess as he did. As cute as the whole situation was in hindsight, I didn't ever want to repeat that situation, especially since this house has carpet, and a lot more places he could run to.
I can hear his cry gain volume as well as speed as he recognizes the jar, I can even hear his claws scramble over the laminate top with a small but especially surprised cry. I bet it's because he got so excited he almost slipped off the edge. He can be absolutely ridiculous about his food most of the, well all of the time really.
I continue what he perceives is some sort of cruel and unusual torture as I close the fridge and set 'the impenetrable container of spite' on the counter before I open the cupboard for a different glass container. As much as I am sure would he love to drink the whole thing in one sitting, he is just going to have to live with only getting a little in a bowl.
And once I turn to put it in his view I can tell he doesn't care about the quantity, at least not now. It will matter to him once it's gone, but for now it's presence is enough.
He's so eager for it that he is balanced on his haunches patting at the air between him and the bowl, and if I didn't expect his little paws to hook the rim once it got closer, he might have even succeeded in spilling it. Another thing I have learned about him from experience, and that too involved spilled milk but thankfully no broken glass.
Now with it in his possession at last he dives right into eating it, and defending it. I can hear small growls slipping between each lap of his scratchy tongue as he devours his treat. He doesn't like having me so close when it's something as precious as cream.
But I'm content to let him be, giving his antics a small chuckle before I turn to take care of my own appetite now that I have successfully distracted him and wont be hassled while I work.
Since my plan for the evening is just to relax I don't really feel like cooking something fresh, no matter how much I enjoy the hobby. That's fine though because I have some leftovers in the freezer.
For what is only a span of a few seconds I weigh my options, but then decide to leave the baked ziti for another day and go with the split pea soup. I can let it simmer while I take a bath, and since it's frozen it can be a long one.
But if I'm going to do that I should probably bring Jareth in the bedroom with me. He may be a very clever little kitten, but I don't trust him unattended around an active stove top, electric or not, especially with something that has bacon in it.
When my eyes go back to him I have to let out a chuckle. He of course has his face pressed into the bowl, trying to lick every morsel of cream residue out of the curve at the bottom, but that's not what makes me laugh so much as the tiny kitten glare he is giving me. It's a 'don't even think about it' look if I've ever saw one.
"Relax you lil fool..." I tell him is I turn back around and take down a double boiler so I don't burn the sop at the bottom. "...you have a few minutes to figure out it's all gone, then its mommy's bath time." There's a few more seconds of silence behind me before the choppy growl purr resumes once again. My kitten is so strange.
NOTE FOR THE READER:
I know that the MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE WIKI places the P.E.G.A.S.U.S base in the Mojave Desert and Rawlins Wyoming is in the Red Desert, but I did this research before they announced that, and found a small town suitable for my purposes. After I read that I tried to find a similarly suitable area but couldn't so since they didn't officially declare it in the movie I choose to overlook that small detail.
This is going to be part of a series, which is obvious since I listed it is such, but in terms of chronological order, this takes place as the 5th story in the series. As you read on I am sure you will come to understand why I started the series at this section of my characters life.