So, Agent 5 was supposed to stick around for 2 weeks, but he's so boring I couldn't stomach writing him and the entire thing happens in a day instead. Timeline and time zone liberties taken in this chapter, you've been warned. Longest chapter yet, and a tease more pick pocketing with some jokes about S.H.I.E.L.D. security and inability to keep track of a single seven year old thrown in for spice. As always, I don't own Harry Potter or the Avengers/Marvel. Lots of love, ~Auna.

Updated: 12/27/23

"Twenty six doors." Mr. Fury is pacing menacingly in front of his desk, and I sit on my hands in the chair, trying to keep my eyes from wandering around his office. "Three hundred and twelve," He glares at me, "light fixtures." Fury takes a few more steps in silence and I track him dutifully with my head. Miss Natalia and Mr. Clint are resolute behind me, although Mr. Clint is making little huffing sounds with his mouth, like he's hyperventilating or maybe laughing. I attempt to ignore it, since Miss Natalia wouldn't let him die. "Every." I snap back to attention as Mr. Fury leans against his desk and crosses his arms. "Single. Fire alarm was dismantled, and their covers in a pile in the fourth floor west corridor mens restroom, which is guarded. All of their batteries," He leans forward menacingly, and I bite the inside of my lip in an effort to be serious, "were piled inside of Agent Walter's office, which is closed to everyone in the base because he has high clearance and is on holiday.

"All the windows on the third floor are missing their screens, which have yet to be found. The screws for the ovens in all of the kitchens were missing until Misty Frost accidentally knocked the pantry door, which was missing it's screws and thus not connected to anything, into the chandelier in the pantry and a pound of screws fell off and knocked her in the head. She has a concussion."

I wince at that. I was having so much fun I didn't consider than anyone might be injured.

"Somehow, all the hubcaps are off of the wheels, and I mean all of them, although the size of the screwdriver necessary for such an operation is different from the size used on everything else! The soap dispensers in the bathrooms, door frames, doors and even door knobs; filing cabinets, tasers from the locked equipment cabinet in the restricted access gym, light switch covers, electric outlets, microwave siding, airplane control panels, the radiator on the fourth floor, hospital bed legs, office window frames, desks, the motherboards to half the computers in the well monitored and very busy control room, the legs of the desks in half the offices, the controls to the water fountains, and even the handle bars on the treadmills in gym three. Is there anything you didn't touch?"

"The clocks?" I offer, pinching my leg to keep a straight face. "And I didn't touch the glowing goggles next to the tasers, because that was a little bit too far outside my comfort zone." Mr. Fury blinks, slack jawed. I shift a little uncomfortably and swing my feet a few times. Mr. Clint starts coughing violently, and Mr. Fury glares at him. I wonder if the one eyeball glare is supposed to be scary, because it's not as scary as Uncle Vernon's two eyed glare, but Mr. Clint shuts up so he must find it intimidating.

"Am I a joke to you?"

"Umm, no?" I blink multiple times, unsure why he's suddenly turned to that conclusion.

"Really? Because it sure seems like it." He crosses his arms and frowns at me. "I understand that you're young, but most children have some modicum of respect for those in charge of them." Fury continues ranting as I wonder what 'modicum' means. "You refuse to listen to directions or instructions, and I'm not so convinced that you're as innocent as Captain America seems to find." Mr. Fury leans in close to me, his one eye gone all squinty, and I force my shoulders to relax and my face to return to neutral.

"Why not?"

"Maybe it's because you just dismantled my entire base with nothing but a screwdriver and three hours of boredom?" He raises an eyebrow at me, and there's an incredulous tone to his voice.

I sit up straight, a little grumpy he would insinuate I ruined everything. "I didn't dismantle the whole base! I left everything in Mr. Cou Cou's office exactly the way I found it, aside from his door, which technically isn't even inside the office. And, I didn't touch any of the important filing cabinets. Just the ones full of nonsense."

Mr. Fury's eye twitches but he moves on from my outburst. "Agent Beaver is to be reassigned, you scared the sh-crap out of him and he refuses to work with any more children, you especially. And you are never allowed to touch a screwdriver again. I'll make a note of that in your file." He sighs and leans back on his desk, eyes closed as he rubs his forehead with his hands. "These two," he gestures to Miss Natalia and Mr. Clint, "will take you shopping for some real clothes, and when you come back, a new Agent will be waiting for you in your room."

Mr. Fury doesn't open his eyes again as Miss Natalia and Mr. Clint nudges me up from my seat and out the door. I hold Mr. Clint's hand as we walk down the hallway, and ignore the fact that he's bright red. Three turns away from Mr. Fury's office, he finally cracks and bursts into laughter.

"J, kiddo, that has got to be just about the best thing that has ever happened to me, including the time Miss Natty here distracted Fury by flashing him after watching 10 Things I Hate About You."

"Thanks, I guess. But, umm, what's flashing?" The Dursleys may have drilled into me that I shouldn't ask questions, but I also know that normal kids ask questions about things they don't understand.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh…" Mr. Clint squeezes my hand and opens and closes his mouth for a few minutes, a little like one of those guppy fish. He glances at Miss Natalia, who is ignoring him, and then smiles down at me. "I'll tell you when you're older."

"Okay." I smile back at him and swing our arms as I skip down the hallway. Four minutes later, no one has said anything, so I stop and tug on Mr. Clint's arm. He stops too. I fight the urge to start giggling and adopt the most innocent expression I can. "I'm older now, you can explain."

"I-what-Uh-" He chokes out, bright red, and Miss Natalia laughs at him. I start to giggle too and she sweeps me around in a circle before landing me on her hip.

"Let's go, Jasmine. It's four pm and we have a lot of shopping to do." She kisses the side of my head like she did this morning and marches down the hallway, and Mr. Clint behind us is still kneeling on the floor stunned.

"Come on Barton, the sooner we leave the sooner we're done. I know you hate shopping, but this is necessary!"

Shopping ended up taking four hours, and it takes another thirty minutes for the car to come pick us up. We have too many bags to just walk back, so Miss Natalia contacts the compound and asks for the Agent that was supposed to meet us in the apartment to meet us outside the mall instead. They let me put in a pair of my new pants while we wait.

According to her and Mr. Clint, the drive is only two minutes. It's about a five minute walk down to the garage. But ten minutes later the car still isn't here. Mr. Cou Cou is on the phone, and he insists he's notified Agent 5 that they are to be picked up in a car outside the mall instead, but both Mr. Clint and Miss Natalia are very impatient. Mr. Clint sits down at one of the tables outside the mall and starts fiddling around with some little metal pieces he pulled out of his pocket.

"What are those?" I ask him. Miss Natalia says something angry sounding in another language a few feet away from us, and Mr. Clint glances up at her for a moment.

"Trick arrowheads. I'm running low so it's about time to make more, and better I do that than start getting fidgety around here."

"What happens when you get fidgety?" I push some of the shopping bags onto the ground and climb in the seat next to him to watch. Mr. Clint doesn't respond, using tweezers to move around some small pieces that I am amazed he can see so well.

"Something explodes," Miss Natalia says dryly as she sauntered towards the table. There was no other word for it, she was definitely sauntering.

"Huh?"

"When Clint gets fidgety, he blows something up. When he's bored, he blows stuff up. When he's excited, he blows stuff up. When he's angry, he blows stuff up. When he's-"

"Yeah, yeah, we get the point Nat you can shut up now." She smirks at him as she leans on the table, and Mr. Clint ignores her in favor of moving around some more tiny pieces of metal.

"Ummm, that thing-" I point to the contraption he's working on "-isn't going to explode, is it?"

"This one? No, this one…" He pauses and looks up thoughtfully. "Well, yes actually it will explode. But it'll explode into a bunch of tiny pieces of shrapnel, not a fiery explosion of death."

"And that's better how?" I ask, eyeing the pieces skeptically. Miss Natalia snorts and pats my shoulder.

"It isn't, kiddo. But it's for shooting at other people, not you, so there's no problem."

"Right," I say, feeling mildly faint. It must have been from all the shopping. Walking around on my feed all day must have made me lightheaded. That's totally, definitely it.

A honk at the end of the road catches our attention, and a middle aged man is leaning out of his car window yelling at a poor old man driving a large, black SUV. I wince. Then, I notice that the SUV is S.H.I.E.L.D. issue, and realize the old man must be my new tail. I stare in horror as he apologizes four times and turns to poorly steer the car up to the curb. The back wheel hops the curb, but he doesn't seem to notice because he turns the car off. Miss Natalia and Mr. Clint join my staring, although they are trying to keep a hold of their facial expressions.

The old man hobbles around the car comically slow, and I fight to close my jaw as he shifts back and forth for a second to prepare to hike up the curb. When he gets three feet in front of us, he stops and looks up.

"Agent Reese, reporting for duty." When we stare at him, his old weathered face crinkles even more. "You are from S.H.I.E.L.D., right? I didn't approach some random shoppers?" He brought a hand to his lips and rubbed at the bottom half of his face. "It's a good thing I'm retiring in two weeks," he mutters. And then a little louder, "Sorry about that, folks, I'll just be on my way. You have a lovely evening."

He turns to walk away just as Miss Natalia manages to get ahold of herself. "Agent Reese, we are from S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm Agent Romanoff, and this is Agent Barton."

"Oh, really?" He croaks, then turns around painfully slowly. "What are you two doing out here with a little girl? And would either of you happen to know where I can find Agent Evans? I'm supposed to help her out with a task before I retire, Coulson said it would take awhile and I want to get started."

"I'm Agent Evans. But you can call me Jasmine."

"Oh?" He looks at me (so, so slowly). Then, he blinks, just as slowly. "Oh. Wait, one moment." He licks his lips, and we actually wait a moment for him to do it. "I thought Coulson said your first name was Sophie."

"It's not." I say flatly, getting annoyed.

"No, no, my folder said it was… Hold on, let me get it." He turns around slowly and walks, hunched over and painfully slow, towards the curb.

"Nope, nope! Unnecessary Agent Reese, I just remembered. My name is Sophie. Sophie Evans."

"No, no." He waves me off, and I make a desperate face at Miss Natalia. "Now I've got to check. It's always a good thing to be sure, and in my old age…" He trails off for a moment as he leans against the front of the car to step one foot down the sidewalk. He gives a grunt as he brings his other foot down with it, before continuing. "...it's always good to check. You never know what you might have forgotten in your age."

I walk over to Mr. Clint, climb into his lap, and decide to take a nap.

"Wake me up when we get back. I can't deal with this."

I'm asleep before he can say a word.

Some undetermined time later, I wake as Mr. Clint passes me off to Miss Natalia. She's pissed off about something, maybe not being able to drive the car back to the compound, and carries me inside while I pretend to be asleep. I can still hear Agent 5 puttering about in the garage, and keep my breathing as even as possible.

"I know you're awake, Malen'kaya Ocharovashka." I press my face into her shoulder and pretend I can't hear her. "Wake up please."

I sit up in her arms with a pout. Then I think her words over. "What did you call me? What language is that?"

She stops in the hallway, just inside the door to the garage, and smiles prettily at me. "I called you 'Little Charmer.' It's Russian."

I perk up. I've always wanted to learn another language. "Will you teach me? Can Mr. Clint speak Russian? You should teach me a language he doesn't know so we can gossip about him and he won't know it."

"Slow down, Malen'kaya Ocharovashka." She boops my nose gently and I giggle. "Yes, I'll teach you Russian. Yes, Clint knows Russian, but I'll teach you something else too, that he doesn't know. Now, I need you to stay here and not get into any trouble while I go deal with the old man, okay?"

"Okay." I nod as she sets me down and crouches in front of me.

"While I'm busy, I want you to practice saying "Ya nemnogo der'mo."

"Ya nemnogo der'mo."

"Good girl." Miss Natalia kisses me on the forehead and stands to leave.

"Wait! What does it mean?"

"Ask Clint." She turns and winks at me, and then I'm alone with nothing to do but repeat a useless Russian phrase.

"Ya nemnogo der'mo." I say glumly. "Ti nemnogo der'mo." I say instinctively, and then decide to practice that instead. I still have no idea what it means, but I might as well.

Besides, I reason, if "ya" is "I" then some variation of "tu" or "te" has to be "you." Maybe I'll get lucky with the phrase and it's an insult.

Three minutes later, during which I've practiced doing handstands on the wall while saying the phrase, Mr. Clint comes into the hallway whistle and smiles when he sees me doing handstands.

"Hey, Jazz. Doing handstands?" He seems excited. I squint at him and say the Russian very loudly. He jerks back, hard. "What the hell?!"

"Ti nemnogo der'mo." I say again, standing up. "Miss Natalia said she would teach me Russian, but she won't tell me what that phrase means. She said to ask you." I glance up at him, but he's not looking at me.

"Nat!? The kid can't know more cuss words in another language than she does in English." He yells over his shoulder.

"Oh no!" I stare up at him. A curse word?! "What did I say?!"

He ruffles my hair with a little grin. "Nothing to repeat, ever again. But, if you ever get kidnapped by Russians, I want you to tell them this: Ty bol'shoy kusok der'mo."

I think the phrase over in my head, going through each sound, and then try to say it out loud. "Ty bol'shoy kusok der'mo."

He grins and rubs his hands together. "Just like that."

Miss Natalia opens the door to the garage and walks through, one foot holding it open for Agent 5. He hobbles through very slowly, and I repeat the phrase again for her. She flicks an eyebrow up.

"And what did he teach you that for?"

Mr. Clint and I cross our arms and nod smartly as I tell her, "To yell if I ever get kidnapped by Russians."

Her eyebrow climbs higher. "You do know I'm Russian, right?"

I purse my lips, tilting my chin even higher. "Are you planning on kidnapping me?"

That seems to actually stop her for a moment, and Miss Natalia does the same head tilt motion she did when she told me her name was 'or some variation.' "Well, no."

I nod smartly again. "Then we won't have a problem." I turn to march back to our room.

Agent 5 is the slowest person on the planet. As we walk at his pace through the compound to our apartment, I make a list of different ways I could move him around faster. I might never be allowed to put any of them into action, but spending time imagining different solutions serves, at the very least, for my own personal entertainment. My favorite so far that I've come up with is getting a Radio Flyer wagon, since I don't think anyone in the compound would let me have a motorcycle.

Which would be really cool, I think.

Miss Natalia keeps a firm grasp on my hand as we walk, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm not paying attention to where I'm walking or if she's under Fury's orders to make sure I don't go wandering off again, "dismantling the compound." Probably both, but I don't really care since she's keeping me from tripping on the stairs.

Aside from the ridiculously slow pace, we make it to the apartment just fine. Mr. Clint huffs as he puts all the shopping bags on the floor, and I frown at myself for forgetting to help carry all of the bags.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Clint, for not helping carry that in." I start moving the shopping bags to the kitchen counter and the dining table so they're out of the way.

He laughs and ruffles my hair as I dart past. "It's alright, I needed the workout anyway. Good for these babies, huh?" He raises both his eyebrows playfully and kisses his biceps. I make a face, and Miss Natalia laughs and gives him a shove in the direction of his room.

"Go take a shower, Hawkeye."

"I don't need to take a shower!" He says in fake outrage, meandering towards his room anyways.

"You smell like your name sake!" Miss Natalia flops down on the couch, although I notice she doesn't relax. While they play fight, I sort out the bags between clothes and things for me, and stuff for everyone else.

"Hawk's eyeballs?" Mr. Clint says, making the same silly eyebrow's face, although this time he has a grin on his face. Before she can say anything, he yanks the door shut.

"Hawks!" She yells, chucking one of the pillows at the door. In the silence that follows, their amused chuckles synchronize. I wrinkle my nose playfully and fight the urge to giggle over them. Their manner of insulting each other, poking fun, is adorable.

Agent 5 speaks from his place by the door, reminding us of his presence. "Well, Agent Roman, it seems as though you have everything in hand. I'll leave you and Agent Bart to Agent… ummm, Sophia? Yes, well, goodnight." And with that, Agent 5 turns and leaves, fast as I've ever seen him move.

"He got my name wrong." Miss Natalia is staring after him, stiff in her seat on the couch. "Unintentionally. I- no one has ever gotten my name wrong by accident, Jasmine. This is- I'm actually irrelevant to him. He doesn't see me as some ex-soviet tool, a scary spy woman, or even a sex object. He doesn't see me at all. This is amazing. Is this what Clint felt like for years?" Miss Natalia begins to self reflect, mumbling to herself on the couch. I blink at her a few times, eyebrows knitting together in concern. She'll be fine if I go to bed, right? I'm exhausted after such a long and full day... I grab all my bags of clothes and head to my room.

"I'm going to bed now," I tell her, voice raised more than necessary. She doesn't respond, but I didn't expect her to.

My new pajamas are very soft, and my bed is very cozy, and I am very tired.

S.H.I.E.L.D.

Debrief Form

Report: Romanoff and Barton

Subject: Sophie Evans (Ward)

Sophie requests to be called Jasmine. Says Aunt deliberately misled orphanage to keep from being reconnected. Information may be available under 'Jasmine Potter.'

Was extremely impressed with bare guest room. Easily emotionally attached to new people who treat her with kindness. Woke up before Romanoff and cooked breakfast in the oven unsupervised. Cleaned kitchen without being asked. Believes these normal expectations.

Suspected cause: Aunt and former family did not treat her well.

Well meaning and cares for others when hurt or inconvenienced.

Understands social structures but not interactions. Becomes violent when belittled.

Extremely high energy and emotionally inconsistent- Barton tells me that is normal behavior for children; strike from record.

Report Expectations for future understood.

When I wake up the next morning, later than I should have if I wanted to cook breakfast, I have a brief moment of panic, a ball of feeling knotting high in my throat. Miss Natalia's words from the day before echo through my memory, but I don't know if that was a lie or a trick, or if she was telling the truth.

With shaky hands, I pull on a yellow dress with purple flowers, and matching purple tights. I open the curtains, and make my bed, and put away all my new things, and ten minutes later I've run out of things to do. Procrastination over, Jasmine. I chew hard on my lip, staring at my hand on the doorknob, take a deep breath, and then pull the door open and march out into the living room. A little bravery goes a long way.

"Morning, Kiddo," Mr. Clint grouches from his spot nearly in his mug of coffee. Miss Natalia is plating scrambled eggs onto three plates, and the toaster is sitting on the counter. She smiles at me. They're wearing matching shirts that say 'I'm not actually funny, I'm just mean and people think I'm joking.'

"Don't mind him, he's almost always grumpy in the mornings until Coffee Cup number 3, and this is only number 1." She gives me a wink as I tentatively walk closer to the table.

"Sit down, kid, and have some breakfast," Mr. Clint orders. I scoot onto the bright blue chair, the one that hurts my eyes, and stare at my plate of eggs and toast. The knot in my throat throbs and I experimentally swallow against it.

"Eat," Miss Natalia commands when she sits next to me, pushing a fork into my hand. With still shaking hands, I pull my plate as close to myself as possible and scoop my first bite of eggs. By the time I've swallowed it, I've checked the whole room over twice. Neither of them are paying me any attention, almost carefully sure to not look at me. I scarf down the rest of my food faster than is likely good for me, and they don't say anything about that either. When Mr. Clint gets up to clear the dishes, I try to get up with him, but he serves me a glass of water and Miss Natalia tells me to sit with her at the table. He sits back down, more of a lazy lounge on the chair in the living room, and clears his throat. I swallow another sip of water apprehensively.

"So, here's the thing." Mr. Clint tosses a pen straight up in the air and catches it without looking when it falls back down. Both Miss Natalia and I turn to him to listen. "Nat has a mission she has to go out for, and she's going to be gone for a little bit, like two days. Hopefully I don't have any assignments during that time, but if we both have to go we want you to listen to Agent Reese."

I feel my shoulders fall as I relax. Routine. Information. Nothing about my failure to make breakfast. I blink my eyes and put on a doe face, stupid smile and all.

"Who?" I asked innocently.

Mr. Clint gives a put on sigh and rolls his eyes before giving me a pointed look. "Agent 5." Miss Natalia clears her throat, and I don't think I have to look at her to know she's raising an eyebrow as well.

I drop the expression with a pout, trying not to think about how absolutely boring it's going to be if I have to sit and listen to Agent 5 for two whole days. "Okay," I say glumly.

A knock sounds on the door, seemingly time specifically to interrupt, and Mr. Clint rises to answer it. Miss Natalia's foot hooks under my chair and scoots me a few inches closer to her as he walks over to the door. She takes a smooth sip of her coffee as I'm dragged around the table, and if one was perhaps deaf and looking only at her face, they wouldn't know she'd just manhandled and maneuvered me to sit at her side.

Agent 5 is at the door when it's opened, in the same S.H.I.E.L.D. issued uniform look as yesterday, although today he has the notable addition of a flat cap. I watch him remove it.

"Agent Reese." Mr. Clint gives him a jerky nod in greeting. Miss Natalia rests an arm on the armrest of my chair.

"Coulson asked for Romanoff to head out, Stark has a race car sponsorship in Monaco, and he wants you there as his PA." He squeezes the hat uncertainly. "Not sure what all that means, but he made sure I repeated it just like that."

Mr. Clint nods again. "Thank you, Agent Reese. Will you watch Jasm- I mean, Sophie, while I walk her out to the hangar?" Miss Natalia rises and leaves her coffee cup in front of me on the table. Before Agent 5 has come in the doorway or agreed to the situation, they're leaving.

"Of course, of course, no problem. Might I trouble you for the bathroom, while you…"

Miss Natalia and Mr. Clint are already down the hall.

"Sophie can help you out," Mr. Clint calls.

And then they're gone and I'm alone with Agent 5. I stare at him as the door closes.

"The bathroom is down the hall to the left. It's not far, and it's clearly marked." I hop off my seat and make for the sink to wash the dirty dishes.

"Is there not one here?" His frail voice almost pulls on my heartstrings. Unfortunately for him, the ketchup on Mr. Clint's plate (he liked his eggs smothered in it) is the exact same shade as Dudley's old Radio Flyer, and I remember my annoyance from yesterday. A walk won't hurt him.

"Nope."

"Alright then. You be good, I'll just be a minute."

"Take your time," I call over my shoulder, turning the water on high and hot. Two minutes later, I glance over my shoulder to see he's closed the door and I turn the water off.

I decide now is the perfect time to investigate Miss Natalia's room, since she isn't here. I wonder if she'll have anything interesting, or if it will just be plain like mine. Sadly, the door is locked and I have to figure out how to get in without breaking the door, since I can't pick locks. As I'm investigating the apartment for a key to get in, I notice a small piece of shiny metal poking over the lip of the door frame. It's one of those universal keys that unlocks any of the doors in the house! Now I just have to get it. I drag one of the kitchen chairs over in front of the door and climb on top.

Standing on a chair on my tip toes, I can barely reach the top of the doorframe. My fingertips brush the bit of key sticking over the edge, and I force myself to stretch even further. I hit the key too hard and knock it back against the wall. Luckily, the frame is only an inch thick, so the other end of the key appears over the ledge, even further out than before. The bad news is that it's about three inches to the side. I lower my feet and scoot over, stretching up again when I think I'm in the right spot. The key is easy to get now, and I blow my hair out of my face in a huff as I jump off the chair.

The small metal stick works like a charm and the lock clicks open easily. I turn the handle and push the door open with apprehension, but I don't see anything. Oh, right. She would have turned the lights off. I search with my fingers for the switch, and turn it on to find a room very similar to mine.

There are, of course, a great many very interesting things in here, including a cool bookshelf with books in all sorts of languages, but what really interests me is mounted to the wall above the windows.

A pair of decorative swords. I grin. I bet I could reach those with my chair.

The chair didn't fit through the door, so I had to do some diagonal finagling, but eventually I got the swords down from the wall mount. As I stare at the beautiful metal work, and their pretty sword covers, on the coffee table, I debate what to do next. It's been about twenty minutes, so Agent 5 should be back soon.

Just as I stand up and grab both carefully by their handles, Mr. Clint and three other Agent's storm into the apartment. They stare at me, and I stare at them.

"I'm telling you, she wasn't there-" Agent 5 walks as quickly as I've ever seen into the apartment and stops when he sees me, "-oh, hi, Sophie." My nostrils flare.

"I'm getting you a wagon so I can pull you places. You're too slow," I say flatly, glaring at him.

"Are those Romanoff's swords?!" Squeaks one of the agents. Mr. Clint sighs and relaxes, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yes, Agent. Reese and I have this covered from here, you're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." The three extra agents leave quickly, giving me scared glances.

"Kiddo, how did you even get in there?" Mr. Clint looks slightly pained. I pout at having to give up the key, because they're certainly going to confiscate it and change all the locks, but pull it out of my boot anyway.

"The doors in the apartment all open with this key," I mumble, handing it over. He snatches it and I pout.

"And Nat didn't change hers because this apartment is new, we've only been here a few weeks," he fills in, giving me a significant look. I rock my ankle back and forth so the toe of my boot makes a half swirl in the carpet.

"I guess." I shrug as he turns it over in his fingers. Then he sighs.

"Well, I've got to go debrief Coulson on this incident, and then I have to run to the grocery store. I'll be back in about three hours, and then I'll be taking us up to command to see if Coulson needs anything, and to check up on Nat. Please be good," his eyebrows pull together in a way that makes it look like he's pained but begging.

"When am I not?" I smile at him. He grins back and ruffles my hair before adopting a serious expression.

"I mean it."

"Of course. Best behavior."

Agent 5 groans loudly as he sits down on the couch, and we both wince.

"Please be good." Mr. Clint makes the expression again, glancing at Agent 5.

"Yeah, I'll be good." I promise, nodding my head frantically as he walks out. How hard can it really be to sit quietly for three hours?

Very difficult, as it turns out. The television remains off, because Agent 5 insists that the flashing colors and 'artificial' noises hurt his head, and I'm not allowed to touch the books because they're just as old as he is and I might ruin them. I'm not allowed to cook. I'm not allowed to touch anything. I'm not even allowed to do the dishes.

I jokingly asked him if I was allowed to breathe, and his response was: 'Only if you do it quietly.' So now I'm sitting on the counter, feet in the empty side of the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the street.

Agent 5 is snoring away on the couch like an old man- wait, he is. I huff an annoyed sigh and glare at the alarm they mounted to the front door twenty minutes after Mr. Clint left- it was loud enough to wake the dead when they tested it, so it will probably be loud enough to wake Agent 5. They also changed the doorknobs on all the doors but mine, and took the keys. I shift my position to pout out the window again.

There are some people across the street moving large cargo boxes out of a big truck. The boxes are wooden and stamped with red ink, but I can't make out the letters. I wonder if there are binoculars in the Everything Drawer, and scoot around the sink to open it. The balance is a little tricky on top of the counter, but I manage.

There are no binoculars, but there is a plastic pirates telescope with a funny yellow 'M' on it, and the thing stinks to high heaven, but it works well enough for a child's toy that doesn't even expand. I poke the larger end through the curtains and aim for the parking lot.

Even with the crappy telescope, the words are barely legible, but I can read them. 'Exotic' is plastered on all of them, and the others alternate between 'fragile' and 'live cargo.' I pull the telescope away from my face and frown. What the heck are they carrying?

I shove my eye back on the telescope and press it up against the glass of the window. I have to crank my head awkwardly to get rid of the glare, but my view of the people and their crates is slightly improved. Most of the cargo has been unloaded from the giant truck now, and is being carried into the building by a different group of workers, but one last group is carrying the largest crate yet. This one has one more word stamped across it: Dangerous.

I grin to myself. If I can manage to get down there, this will be very entertaining, promise to behave aside.

The window in my room doesn't open (terrible design flaw) and Miss Natalia's room is locked to so I can't get in, the same with Mr. Clint's. The kitchen window doesn't have anything outside of it but a four story drop, and the lock on it is too squeaky to open anyway. I tried.

However, the tiny window in the top of the bathroom shower just happens to open, and just happens to be the perfect size for me to squeeze my way through. The balancing act on the shelves to get up there is risky, but I tuck my new telescope into my waistband and manage it.

The bathroom window is, actually, the perfect size for me to squeeze through. Which means, because I went through headfirst, I am now dangling four stories above the ground with my arms pinned to my sides.

Eight inches to my right is the fire escape. Which I can't reach. I also can't back up inside the shower because I broke off the top shelf, and I can't tell where the other ones are. So now I'm stuck.

As I hang there for a minute, I can see the boys who unloaded the trucks and the ones bringing things inside gather around the last crate. Damnit, there goes my chance. Then, one of them seems to hear my prayers and pulls out a cigarette. All the other men copy him, and they walk around the side of the building laughing at each other and talking. I have a five minute window to escape this window, get down the fire escape, cross the street and liberate whatever is in that box.

Very carefully, I shimmy forward until my hips are in the window sill and I'm holding myself up with abdominal muscles and willpower. I'm not sure which one is helping more. I lean to the left while spreading my legs out to keep from totally falling forward to my death, and pull my arm out. The plastic of the window frame scratches my arm, and a line on my forearm is bleeding slightly. I suck it into my mouth and hold pressure on the wound for a moment before repeating the process to get my other arm out. This one is easier and I don't have any scratches, probably because without my other arm there I had more space to pull out. I put both my hands on the fire escape metal and pull myself out of the window. The action unfortunately causes the telescope to slide down into my tights, and I can't bend my left knee from where I'm hanging onto the rickety metal.

Some more maneuvering and pulling myself up onto things later, I land on the fire escape and rescue the telescope. My tights, and my hands, have got to smell like fried greasy food by now. I fight the urge to cry, reminding myself that soap exists, and I turn around to close the window. I want to keep the Agents from finding out how I escaped for as long as possible. It slides shut easily and I hurry as quickly, but quietly, as possible down the fire escape.

It takes me a few moments to figure out how to work the ladder, but I get it eventually. Surprisingly, nobody stops me, or even sees me. I cross the empty road easily and make my way through their open front gate to the wooden box. It stinks a little bit, but the smell is different from the grease I've been dealing with. The lid is nailed down poorly, and the lip of the telescope pops the nails out easily. I tuck it back into my tights, wipe my hands on my skirt, and grasp the wood with two hands. It goes over easily and I freeze at the loud clatter on the ground. But no one comes. I rise from my crouch and peek into the crate that is nearly as tall as me.

Inside, nestled in a bed of straw and hissing at the sunlight, is an alligator.

I name the gator Bessie, and she insists on following me around after I push the crate over to free her (how could I leave such an incredible creature stuck in that tiny box? I practiced my innocent face for when I have to tell Fury about my escapade). I'm not sure if she likes me, or the gross fried smell coming off of me from the telescope, but she follows me easily across the street and into the side entrance of the compound.

Luckily, it's about lunch time by now, which means all of the Agents who could be in the halls are taking lunch in one of the cafeterias. So long as I avoid those and any of the hallways behind the kitchens, I should be good. However, lunch time also means Mr. Clint will be back soon.

Bessie follows me through the compound, although she does have some trouble with the stairs and she doesn't like the elevators, and we make it to command just in time to see, on the big screen in the front of the room, a scraggly looking guy slice a chunk off Tony Stark's race car with some electric whip things. Miss Natalia's face is on the screen next to it and Mr. Cou Cou is giving her orders through an earpiece she's wearing. I'm impressed she can hear him because of the amount of shouting on both ends of the call. Mr. Clint is standing next to Mr. Cou Cou, hands on his hips and a pile of grocery bags at his feet. I drop my jaw in horror at the flurry of Agents running every which way, making phone calls and yelling to each other. A few of them are throwing things over people's heads too, and six much younger Agents line the back wall, clutching their files and looking generally terrified. Must be their first time in such a chaotic environment.

I glance down at Bessie, intent on taking her away from all of this because this kind of stress cannot be good for an animal that I just rescued from whatever they were going to do with her, but Bessie isn't there anymore. Before I can even begin to look for her, a scream comes from one of the young agents on the other side of the room and they all throw their files in the air, running everywhere. On the screen, Tony Stark has donned his Iron Man suit and is fighting the shirtless dude. Someone trips in the chaos and a stack of papers shoots up into the air. Another person bumps the volume on the screens and Tony Stark's suit smashing into the ground and being electrocuted sounds unbearably loud.

Still, someone manages to shout above the noise, pointing to the center of the hailstorm of chaos, "Alligator!" I wince, hoping that my height means Mr. Cou Cou and Mr. Clint don't find me.

"Ahhh!" More panic ensues, and I scoot to the side of the doorway and cover my ears as three of the frazzled looking agents launch themselves out the door.

Amidst the chaos, three people in the room are calm: Mr. Clint, Mr. Cou Cou, and a dark haired woman who is standing on her desk making a phone call as she tracks Bessie with her eyes.

Tony Stark's fight ends, and someone manages to turn the volume down as Mr. Cou Cou continues giving damage control instructions to Miss Natalia. Apparently, she can't see us although we can see her.

Mr. Fury shoves past me with a group of agents that go straight for Bessie and the alligator is hit with what I hope is a tranquilizer. Six agents carry her out and a majority of the staff calms. Most of them move to cleaning up the mess of coffee and papers on the floor, and the few that are more shaken step into the hallway.

"Thank you, Agent Hill, for contacting me. Good work." Mr. Fury is telling the woman who had made a phone call while standing on her desk. I run up to them and bump into Mr. Fury, slipping my hand into his left pocket this time, rather than the right. There's a round, flat object inside that I slip into my boot as I jump into Mr. Clint's arms.

"Don't let them hurt Bessie, please don't let them hurt her! The people across the street stole her from her home and kept her in a tiny crate! They had lots of them, but I think she was the only alligator. Please don't let them hurt her!"

"Wait, wait-" Mr. Clint holds me, but leans his face away from mine so he can see me "-Bessie? You stole the alligator from animal traffickers and named it Bessie, then brought it into the building?"

"Yeah." I nod, using the innocent face I practiced earlier. It's a bit easier, in some ways, in front of Mr. Clint. Everyone else freezes and turns to us, waiting for my explanation. Fury in particular looks very expectant. At least I think so. The eye twitching might be because of something else.

"How did you steal it?" Mr. Clint asks, managing to maintain his calm.

"They took a smoke break." I fiddle my fingers together into my skirt.

"And how did you get it inside without anyone noticing?!" The Agent who called Fury, Agent Hill, asks me.

"It's lunch time." I shrug and look down at my hands. "Everybody's eating lunch, or in the kitchens, if they aren't in here. It wasn't too hard."

"How did you get outside?" Mr. Clint raises an eyebrow. "I know for a fact that your window doesn't open."

I feel a flush creep over me, and try not to look embarrassed. "The bathroom window does though, and it's only eight inches to the left of the fire escape."

"The bathroom window's tiny," Mr. Clint says, squinting.

"So am I." I shrug at him.

"We won't hurt the alligator, if you don't bring an alligator into the compound again," Mr. Fury says. "And while I am mad at you, no one got hurt because of this, and we found a hole in our security that no one thought of before. In addition, you discovered an animal trafficking ring. Props to you, Agent Evans. You have your first successful mission under your belt, and you didn't even use any tools." Mr. Fury sounds slightly sarcastic, but I'm grinning as Mr. Clint sets me down.

"Actually," I correct him, pulling the telescope out, "I used this, both to see what they were doing and to pop the nails out of the crate lid." Mr. Fury stares as I hold it out, blinks his eye a few times, and continues staring.

Fury tilts his head just slightly. "The youngest person in my compound, who doesn't even count as an Agent-" I pout- "liberated an alligator and uncovered an animal trafficking ring with nothing more than a broken, plastic telescope from McDonalds. In less than an hour."

"I count!" I protest, eyebrows drawn down. Mr. Clint starts laughing, and even Mr. Cou Cou and Agent Hill are pressing their lips together. Mr. Fury wipes a hand over his face and gives a deep sigh.

"Fine. You can count. In any case, Agent Reese is done, we'll pay him his retirement bonus and get him out of here a week early." Mr. Fury turns to Mr. Clint, who tries very valiantly to screw his face back to something resembling respectful. "The new Agent will be up to your room in an hour. Make sure you feed the little helion lunch before then."

Mr. Clint nods to him, that sharp movement that makes him a little like a bird, and says, "Yes, sir." He then gives me a few of the grocery bags and directs me with a gentle boot on the back of my knee towards the door. We make our way back to the room slowly. Every few feet, he shakes his head and gives a little huff.

"An alligator?!" He turns to me as we walk through the cafeteria, an absolutely ridiculous expression on his face.

"It was trapped!" I screech.

Cameo from one of my favorite movies, 10 Things I Hate About You (It's super great).

The Russian meaning is something you'll find out later, it's a minor plot device and really not too important, but you're welcome to look it up if you want to know what it means. Hopefully, google did right by me, but I've been learning a little bit of Russian (emphasis on little bit- I can recognize half the alphabet and like, ten words) and I think I got it right. If you speak Russian, please feel free to let me know if I did it wrong, or right.

Yes, the swords she stole from Nat's room are Katanas, but I figured Jasmine wouldn't know what those were so we just went with "decorative swords." And you'll find out just what she stole from Fury in the next chapter. Sorry that we skipped the shopping trip, but I think it would have been a lot to write and wouldn't have pushed the plot forward for as long as it would take me. Does anyone want an 'outtakes' version where I post scenes I cut and alternate scenarios? They'd be a bunch of oneshots mostly, but I have a couple of ideas for some of them.

Lots of Love, ~Auna.