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marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Chapter Four: Assignments
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
The day had started with a peculiar dream involving two people being caught in one body. She'd struggled to first make sense of it and then to withdraw herself from it. Even in the middle of the dream, she'd known it wasn't usual by any stretch of the imagination. The images that had rolled through her head had felt different, had been trying to tell her something. But she'd been unable to decipher their meanings. So she'd been left both irritable and sleepy upon waking. Those two feelings had followed her around all day long.
Fortunately, business had been slow, so there hadn't been many customers who had been victims of her poor temper. She'd kind of hoped that the slow influx of customers would last through the day, but here it was shortly after lunch and several large vehicles had pulled up in front of the shop. Several large, black vehicles. She frowned at that. Get that many black SUVs together and you were looking at gang bangers or government stooges. She kind of thought they were all the same. And she wasn't sure which she was dealing with, since the windows of the vehicles were tinted dark enough that she couldn't see inside of them.
One door opened and a generic man in a suit stepped out. Government, then. Curious. Phoebe watched as one suit after another piled out of the vehicles. All of them were uniform in their blandness. All except the last one. Where the others went out of their way to look unassuming, the last one made sure that he was dressed well enough to catch every eye that turned his way. Tall and dark, with a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee, she had no problems recognizing him. Her eyes flicked to the folded newspaper on the counter.
Just a few nights ago, Tony Stark had held a fund raiser at the Waldorf-Astoria and anyone who was everyone had been there. The society column had been rife with image after image of people mingling and tossing their money about, comments about the lavishness of clothing, and a run down of every charity to which the fund raiser was donating money. He looked just as suave in his expensive every day suit as he had in the pictures where he'd been wearing a lush tuxedo. But it would take more than his snappy manner of dress and his infamous charm to get past her.
The large group stepped into her bookshop, the bell over the door tinkling merrily as it opened for the first person in line. She watched silently as men filed in and began going down the aisles. They weren't looking for books. Of that, she was sure. Stark, flanked by a couple of the bland guys, stepped up to the counter and flashed her a smile that was sure to have melted the panties off more than one woman in his lifetime. "Phoebe Sinclair?" he asked politely.
"I am. How can I help you, Mr. Stark?" The use of his name brought a fleeting smile to his face before he seemed to recall that this was a public place. He glanced around, as if searching for unwanted listeners. One of the men in suits had already locked the door with one hand while the other had been occupied by turning the cardboard "Open" sign over so that it proclaimed the shop "Closed."
She watched as his gaze flicked over what he could see of her behind the counter. When his eyes met hers again, they seemed unimpressed. But she knew that it was a front, that he was as interested as she wasn't. Everything she knew about Stark said he was a playboy of the highest caliber. She didn't take his interest personally. "It has come to the attention of certain individuals that you are quite adept at computers." The statement had the feel of diplomacy to it, suggesting that someone else had given him the words. Sound bites and quotes were all over the place that said he had a tendency to speak his mind and diplomacy be damned.
Phoebe arched a brow at him. "Has it?"
He seemed slightly confused by her answer, neither confirming nor denying his statement. Which pushed him out of his attempt at diplomacy. "Alright. Here it is. You hacked your way into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mainframe yesterday and snooped around before leaving a note for the director. Unfortunately for you, adept as you are in your hacking abilities, I'm better and I followed the electronic trail of bread crumbs you left. It didn't take me that long. Which means I'm here to escort you to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters so that you can meet with the director in person." His gaze flicked around the shop before returning to her. "I suggest you close up the store quickly. Fury doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"I have no intention of going with you, Mr. Stark," Phoebe remarked placidly. She reached down with her hands to pat the heads of her Dobermans. So far, they'd been silent and docile. But that was only because no one had made any threatening moves toward her. Should someone do just that, their demeanors would change in the blink of an eye.
"I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple, Miss Sinclair. I've been authorized to escort you to headquarters using any means necessary. I'd hate to have to order one of these men to shoot your dogs because they tried to bite. I really think you should come with me and avoid a second visit. The next one will no doubt involve handcuffs and a great deal of unpleasantness that I'm sure you'd rather avoid."
She frowned at him and stroked her hands over the dogs' heads again. "You would shoot my dogs, Mr. Stark?"
"No," Tony shook his head and pointed to the man standing next to him. "He would. I'd really rather not have to ask him to do it." As if to emphasize his words, the man Stark had pointed to shifted his coat aside to show the standard issue weapon holstered at his side.
"Am I being arrested for something, Mr. Stark?"
"No, Miss Sinclair. This is a meeting between yourself and the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. If there are charges filed, I'm sure he'll let you know before he slaps the cuffs on you." Stark smiled at her and motioned toward the door. "Shall we? Really. The sooner you get this out of the way, the sooner you can go back to your life."
Phoebe considered telling him to go to Hell. She really did. But doing so would only invite more scrutiny and she'd rather she got these people out of her shop as soon as possible. Stark was correct. The less time she spent debating and denying, the less time it would take to find out what her fate was. Ghost agencies like S.H.I.E.L.D. swallowed people up. They didn't let them walk away. Not if they had skills. She hadn't gone poking terribly deep into the files, but she did know that most people who walked through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s front door on their own two feet didn't leave again for a good long time.
Sighing, she realized that the best way to deal with this was to do as she'd been asked. And she had been asked. So far, the government issue suits and Stark had both been as polite as possible, hadn't tried to force her into doing anything she didn't want to do. There was nothing for it but to go with them and hope like hell that she'd be able to leave before the end of the next millennium. "Will someone remain to care for my dogs?" she asked him politely. "As I don't know how long this will take, I don't dare leave them home alone for too long."
Stark turned to look at the man beside him. Though neither of them said anything, the suit nodded his head and lifted one hand so he could speak into the microphone hidden in his hand. She paid no attention to him, simply watched Stark. "Someone will take care of them," he told her. She nodded, then knelt down so that she could look them in the eyes. The dogs nudged her face with their noses, a gesture that let her know they cared. She smiled at them.
"I won't be gone too long. Behave. Someone will see to it that you're fed and let out to play. No biting," she admonished. It was an entirely unnecessary order, but she wasn't about to let anyone know that. The dogs wouldn't bite unless she or one of them was being threatened directly. When she was done giving the dogs orders, she looked up to find that Stark was practically standing over her, one hand held out to her.
"Shall we?" he asked her.
~*~
It looked nothing like a prison, but that didn't mean anything to Phoebe. This was a government facility, which meant that there were likely holding cells inside somewhere. After giving some last minute directions to the man who had been elected to stay with Tex and Denver, Stark had escorted her out to one of the vehicles waiting at the curb. The suit who had stood silent beside Stark was behind the wheel, driving. She hadn't let him touch her at the store and she wasn't letting him touch her now, as they wound their way up and down never ending corridors that looked the same as the last one they'd been in.
They passed a few people now and again. Most wore the same suits as the men who had come to her shop. Some wore dark colored one piece outfits that seemed to act as a uniform of another kind. Everyone she saw was carrying a firearm.
Stark led them past a secretary type person who gave him a stern look as he walked by her desk. The knuckles on his hand hit the door once, then he was pushing the panel open. The man in the suit didn't follow them into the room, but he did make sure she stepped in after Stark. Then he tugged the door shut behind her, leaving her trapped in an office with Tony Stark and a black man in all black behind the desk. A black patch covered his left eye and a black leather trench coat was hung on a coat rack to her right. Phoebe sensed a theme.
"Have a seat, Miss Sinclair," the black man intoned while one hand motioned toward an empty chair before the desk. Stark had already taken the matched chair, set near the other corner. His suit coat was unbuttoned and he looked utterly relaxed, as if this was his office and not someone else's. She took a few seconds to show that she wasn't going to let them intimidate her, that she was going to sit on her own terms, before carefully settling into the chair. She sat on the edge, back straight, and stared straight ahead at the man who had sent his goons to kidnap her.
He stared at her, his single eye seemingly cutting through flesh and bone to see the very center of her. As if he alone knew what made her tick. He leaned back in his seat, the chair rocking slightly with the redistribution of his weight, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You've had fun breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s computer systems."
It wasn't a question so she didn't bother to answer it. She did acknowledge his statement by inclining her head toward him. Why lie about it? She had enjoyed it. She'd developed quite a set of skills over the years and she hated to see them get soft.
Something like a smile crossed his face. It was a flash of brilliant white against the darkness of his skin. And there was just a touch of realness to it. It would seem she'd impressed the man. And he was obviously a man who didn't impress easily. Or, at the very least, didn't let people see that he was easily impressed. "Your days of hacking into government computers has come to an end, Miss Sinclair."
"Are you going to put me in jail?" she asked, voice lacking emotion. It was simply a question.
"If I have to," he confirmed. He remained silent for some time, the expression on his face suggesting he was weighing his words before he spoke them, picking and choosing as carefully as he was able. It was an odd thing to see, because she was sure this was a man who was used to giving orders with the expectation that they be followed to the letter. Carried out immediately. "That all depends on you, Miss Sinclair."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," she told him politely. He let his glance slide over to the chair where Stark sat. The man shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands.
"I didn't tell her anything at all. You just wanted me to bring her here. Here she is." There was an edge, however small, of defensiveness to his tone. "Honestly, blurt out one thing at a press conference and people don't trust you to keep their secrets ever again."
The black man shook his bald head before turning his attention back to her. "Miss Sinclair, my name is Nick Fury and I'm the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I need people like you working for me. Someone with your talents would be very useful to me."
She lifted a brow at that. "You want me to work for you? Doing what?"
"That's confidential. For the moment," he countered.
"And if I refuse?" she questioned, sure she knew the answer already.
"The way I see it, Miss Sinclair, you have two choices," he told her seriously. "You can either work for me or you can spend the rest of your life behind bars. Maximum security. In a private facility of my choosing. I can promise you won't like it."
"Blackmail, Director Fury?" she asked.
"Options, Miss Sinclair."
The room slid into a comfortable silence as she began turning things over in her head. She'd suspected that this would be the end game when Stark had showed up at her door and requested her presence. It was the government, after all. They frowned on people breaking into their complex computer systems and taking a stroll through confidential information. Actions such as those usually ended up with a computer hacker disappearing into a deep, dark hole somewhere. Or prison.
She suspected she wouldn't like prison much. What would happen to her book shop if she was put in prison? What would happen to Tex and Denver? She couldn't bare anything happening to her beloved Dobermans. And it was entirely possible someone would split them up. They'd never been apart from one another. Or her, for that matter. Not for any extended period of time. She couldn't do that to them. And how would she explain going to prison to her brother? He knew nothing about her computer skills.
Phoebe allowed herself a small sigh. One that she was sure both men would hear. A glance at Fury's face showed her that he knew well enough what she was thinking. The gleam in his eye said he knew what her answer would be even before she gave it. It wasn't any sort of arrogance on his part. It was simply the knowledge that only one of those options was acceptable. "I would imagine that this means I won't be going home for some time?"
"You'll be provided with quarters here, as well as a place to work. We have a gym that is open to use any hour of the day." Fury reached for the phone on his desk. She stopped him with her next question.
"And my dogs? I won't be without them."
He thought about it for all of ten seconds. "I'll make arrangements." She nodded at him, then lapsed into silence as he picked up his phone and punched a couple of buttons. Whoever answered the phone was given quick, concise instructions as to her lodgings, belongings, and pets. Then he was rising. Phoebe rose with him, as did Stark. He held his hand out toward the door. "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Miss Sinclair. If you'll follow Mr. Stark, he'll show you to your quarters. Tomorrow, he'll walk you through your duties and debrief you on what it is you're going to be doing around here."
She shot a glance at Stark, who was offering her a smarmy smile, then headed for the door. The man followed after her, his expensive cologne tickling his nose as he got closer. Something inside of her wanted to run and scream. Wasn't that just peachy? She got to work with the staggering drunk.
Brilliant. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
~*~*~*~*~
She barely noticed the knock at her door, her finger tracking the path of a genetic twist that she'd found in her grandfather's notes. It was a hand drawn image, a spiraling helix of DNA long before science really knew what it was. How her grandfather had known what DNA looked like was beyond her. But he had. And he'd drawn it out. Not that he'd known it was DNA. He'd only known that it played a role in human evolution. Elsa jotted down a few thoughts in her own book of notes and completely missed the second knock. In fact, she wasn't aware there was anyone in her lab until a masculine voice cleared behind her.
And scared the ever loving crap out of her.
Elsa squeaked out a startled sound of fright that was entirely too feminine for her tastes, then whirled to face her intruder. Standing only a few feet from her was Captain Steven Rogers, her test subject. The man who had invaded her dreams for the past couple of nights. That thought saw her studying him, from the glossy sheen of his hair to the angular planes of his cheeks to the broad shoulders that stretched his plain t-shirt. The material clung almost lovingly to every single ripple of muscle. It was almost as good as seeing him naked.
...Covered in vanilla ice cream.
Heat flashed in her cheeks as she realized that her gaze was drifting down his torso toward his... Elsa closed her eyes and jerked around to put the pen down on the table. She'd been wielding it at him as if it was a weapon, fingers curled around it so that she could stab with it if the need arose. As if a pen could kill him. Or, rather, as if she as adept enough with a pen to kill him with it. Bugger. She'd just made an ass of herself. Hadn't she? It was a good thing Alexis wasn't here or she'd never hear the end of things.
Taking a deep breath, Elsa reached for the calm that came with science and turned once more to face her visitor. Rogers was watching her, his eyebrows puckered together in the center to show that he was slightly confused by her actions. She pulled intelligence around her and extended a hand toward him. "Captain Rogers. Good to meet you. I'm Dr. Elsa Jones. I've been employed by S.H.I.E.L.D. to see if we can't discover the secret of the serum that made you... erm, you."
"You're a doctor?" he asked, sounding skeptical. But his hand closed around hers, warm and strong. She tried not to notice, during their brief shake, that his hands were calloused but soft and were no doubt capable of doing that thing she'd dreamed, where his fingers curled and... Elsa stomped on her wayward thoughts and forced herself to concentrate on the man before her.
To be honest, that wasn't really any better than her dreams.
She'd always been told she was tall for a woman, standing at five foot seven in her stocking feet. But Steven Rogers stood about half a foot taller than her, so that she was forced to crane her neck to look up at him. Even in her modest, one inch heels. His face was angular, his eyes clear blue under a fringe of lightly colored hair. The muscles in his arms, torso, and legs practically strained against the t-shirt and trousers he wore. And even though he stood completely at ease before her, as he apparently wasn't worried about her stabbing him with a pen, she could sense an air of coiled tension surrounding him. He was always ready to launch an attack at a moment's notice.
"I'm a scientist. My specialty is genetics. Director Fury believes that I can unlock the secret of Dr. Erskine's serum. Its his hope that we can duplicate the process and create other soldiers like you." She thought that sounded sufficiently intelligent.
His brow furrowed at that. "And how do you plan on doing that? Dr. Erskine never wrote the serum down."
Elsa grabbed hold of the question and ran with it. "I told you. I'm a geneticist. And a biologist. Among other things. I'm going to study your genetic make up and see if I can't separate the genes you were born with from the genes that you got from the serum. Based on the photos I have from before the experiment, I've deduced that the serum somehow altered some of your DNA. I don't think it changed all of it, but it enhanced the areas that were... lacking."
Now that the scientist was taking over, she was able to view him through a doctor's impartial eyes. The images that had been in her files had shown the man he'd been before. She mentally compared that man to the one that stood before her. He was taller, to be sure. More muscular. Healthier looking. Somehow, the serum that Erskine had created had found a way to rewrite the man's DNA. Maybe only parts of it. Maybe all of it. But she wasn't going to know until she got to work on it.
"Somehow, Dr. Erskine managed to give us an amazing and nearly perfect specimen of man. We should be able to do it again. We just have to find the components of his serum. In the right proportions. If I can do that, I can very possibly recreate the serum. Once we have the serum, we only need to recreate the process and..."
"I still don't understand how you're going to do that." he interrupted her, bringing her words to a halt. Elsa blinked at him and then realized that he didn't know anything about DNA or genetics. Right. A few too many decades in the ice. For a second, Alexis' voice filled her head, mentioning ice and sausage and she had to stop herself from letting her gaze slide down to his groin.
"Oh. Right. I'm sorry. You'll have to forgive me. I can be forgetful at times." Elsa crossed to a poster on the wall, one that showed the double helix that made up a strand of DNA. She tapped a finger against the image and brought his attention to it. "DNA wasn't around in the Forties. Back then, the best way you had to identify people was by their blood type or by their dental records. But over the years, science advanced and they found the very thing that makes up a person on a cellular level. We call it DNA. That stands for deoxyribonucleic acid. You get your DNA from your family, so there will be some genetic traits from your father's side and some from your mother's side. These are the things that determine what color hair and eyes you'll have, how tall you'll be... Things like that."
He walked over to where she stood and eyed the poster skeptically. "So there's something that looks like this in my cells?" he asked.
Elsa smiled at him and nodded. "Yes. And each strain is unique to each person. So the DNA I get from you won't be like the DNA I'd get from myself or from Mr. Stark or Director Fury. We each have our own genetic make up."
He studied the double helix a bit more. "So you hope that you can extract not only my genetic make up, but the components of the serum?"
"Yes. Basically. If I can find the components of Dr. Erskine's serum in your DNA, the hope is that I can isolate them and somehow recreate the formula."
"But it was a two fold process. There was the serum and then there was the chamber. That played a roll in my transformation," he reminded her.
"Oh, yes. We know that. There is a team working on a new chamber. Between the notes that Howard Stark left and those of my grandfather, we're sure we can build a new one without any trouble at all."
"Your grandfather worked on the project?" he asked her. She nodded at that.
"Yes. He kept very thorough notes." Her mind had already shifted gears and she clicked her way over to the exam bed and the tray that rested on it. She'd prepped everything this morning. There were several vials for blood, a syringe, the little alcohol swab, a cotton ball or two, the rubber tie, a pair of cheek swabs, and, much to her chagrin, a few Sponge Bob band aids.
"I don't know if I'm going to need those," Rogers told her, one hand reaching past her so that a finger could land on the band aids. Elsa's cheeks flamed bright red, prompting her to snatch the band aids away. Rogers chuckled behind her.
"Those were obviously meant to be a joke. I would never presume that you would need a band aid and certainly not one with Sponge Bob on it." She could hear the mortification in her voice and promptly shut up. Damn Alexis. This was her doing, without a doubt.
"What do I need to do, exactly?" he asked. If he sensed her embarrassment, he said nothing about it. She motioned to the tray.
"I just need to take some blood. And some saliva from the inside of your cheek."
"That's all?"
"That's all, soldier. The miracles of modern science." Slipping back into doctor mode, she reached for an alcohol swab. "I just need to borrow an arm. First I'll draw the blood. No need to worry about it. It'll only be a little prick. Then I'll get the saliva sample by putting one of these long Q-tips in your mouth. Just a quick thrust and swipe. Then we're done and I'll be all set."
It wasn't until nearly an hour after she'd collected her samples and sent him on her way that she realized just how dirty her instructions to him had really been.
~*~*~*~*~
This was the fourth day this week he'd showed up at Stark Industries and demanded her time. Four days in a row. She was sure that meant that someone had put him up to this. Men didn't notice her. Not enough to pay attention like this. After their walk along the edge of a lake on Sunday, she'd kind of thought he'd gotten his jollies and would be on his way. But Monday had brought him to her work room, a fresh floral arrangement in a beautiful and expensive cut crystal vase, in his hands. Tuesday had seen him trying to serenade her. It might have been more endearing if it hadn't occurred in front of everyone she worked with. Now here he was again, this time offering to take her to lunch.
And by the look on his face, he didn't quite understand why she didn't want to go. "But I do not understand. If I am to woo you, you must give me an opportunity to prove myself to you. I assure you my intentions are serious. Why will you not go to lunch with me?"
She tried the first thing that came into her head. "I'm not dressed for lunch." As if to prove to him that she wasn't lying, she motioned to her overalls and faded t-shirt. His gaze slid down her length, then up again until it rested on her face. The confusion was still there.
"This is not attire one would wear to eat a meal? If it isn't, then I am much underdressed myself," he finally replied and glanced at his own jeans and t-shirt. Astrid blinked as she realized that he wasn't suggesting some place where black ties were required. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if he meant a simple lunch someplace that wasn't as concerned about their dress code as they were about making sure they got the right meal to the right person.
Sighing, she set the regulator down on the table and faced him fully. How could a man who was so obviously not from this world look so damned at home in it? The jeans seemed to cling to him enticingly while his tee hugged every single ripple and bulge of flesh. With his long blonde hair and those brilliant blue eyes, she was more than sure that he could find a woman anywhere to accompany him to lunch. Quite a few men, too. So why her?
Astrid knew she wasn't some towering, ravishing beauty that he was no doubt used to. She was short next to him. And just about anyone else. Pale. Her hair was a golden brown that spent more time in a braid or simple pony tail than down against her shoulders. Her eyes were a green that was more hazel, with flashes of gold that sparkled in their depths depending on her mood. She was a plain looking woman and he was a stunning man. He could find someone so much better than her. Someone tall and lithe and willowy. Someone blonde, with that traditional Nordic look, that would compliment his own handsome looks.
His near obsession with her confused the ever loving spit out of her.
"I guess that all depends on where you plan on going for lunch." She slid off her stool and closed the distance between the two of them. "If its some place simple like McDonald's, then you'll fit right in. If its some place a little more upscale, then I think a change of wardrobe would be in order. I just don't understand why you keep trying to pick me up."
He frowned at the statement. "You are small enough that picking you up would be easy. Are you worried that your form will strain my strength? If so, allow me to assure you that you would put no challenge to my strength at all."
She had to fight not to put her face in her hands and weep at his lack of knowledge. It was refreshing and kind of scary, all at the same time. "No. Not physically pick up. Its a term people use here when a man is trying to get a woman to go out with him or go home with him. Its a kind of metaphorical pick up."
He blinked at her. Right. Moving along.
"What I'm saying, Thor, is that there are many women out there for you to choose from. And a lot of them are far more attractive than I am. Why pick me out of everyone?"
That question was one he could answer. He closed the distance between the two of them and took her hand in his, an action she was coming to find was very typical of him, then lifted it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I have chosen you because there is something compelling and intriguing to you. I have chosen you because you are the one who speaks to my heart."
"I... speak to your heart?" she asked, stumbling on the words. She'd never had anyone tell her that she spoke to their heart before. In fact, she couldn't name one person of her acquaintance who could say that someone was interested in them because they spoke to someone's heart. Astrid swallowed and hoped she didn't look as shell shocked as she felt.
"You do. Now. Do we stand here and quibble about our attire or do we venture forth into this vast city and share a lunch together?" he asked her. Even as he did so, he was pulling her toward the door. She let him do so without saying a word, realizing that it would be useless to argue with him. She could recall many a time when her mother imparted to her the wisdom that Norse men were as bull headed as they came and it was always best to let them think they'd won the argument. It would save on confrontations.
"What did you have in mind for lunch?" she asked him, one hand reaching out to absently pull the door shut behind her. The key to her office was in her pocket, along with all of her other keys, her money, and her identification.
"I have tasted many delights here in your realm," he began, tugging on her hand so that she was propelled forward far enough to let him tuck her arm under his. "But none appeals to me more than pizza. I believe we shall share a pizza for lunch. Does this please you, Astrid?"
Her stomach rumbled out an answer for her. Thor laughed. Astrid felt her cheeks pinken in embarrassment. But she did her best to shove mortification aside and enjoy her time with Thor. She was almost positive that the man would loose interest in her soon enough. She was a mouse where he was a lion. He would get bored. She was sure of it. "Pizza sounds great. In fact, I know of this place that serves the best pie in town."
"Lead on, fair Astrid. Show me this place that serves the best pie in town."
There was such infectious warmth in his voice, in the smile he gave her, and in his eyes, that she couldn't help but return it. Smiling, she was the one who led them through the confusion of hallways until they emerged into the lobby. Passing through the doors, she noted that there was no limo parked at the curb as there had been on Sunday. That was okay. She could hail them a cab. This was some grand adventure anyway, wasn't it? What was a little adventure without taking one's life into one's hands?
Drawing Thor to the curb with her, she raised a hand and whistled for a taxi. Seconds later, a yellow sedan pulled up beside them. Astrid opened the back door and slid in, then watched as Thor followed her. He shut the door behind him and remained silent while Astrid gave the driver the address of a nearby pizza place where she and Thor could sit and eat. When the car pulled away, she settled back in the seat and allowed the world to slip away for just a moment.
Traffic was light enough that they got to the pizza joint in under fifteen minutes and Astrid made sure that the driver got a good tip. He was gone before she had even fully straightened up from the car. Turning, she found Thor glancing at the windows, staring into the depths of the pizza parlor and the small crowd of gathered regulars who had claimed their tables and their pies.
He opened the door for her, held it while she passed easily under his arm and stepped into the dim interior. The door clicked closed and enveloped them both in the familiar, pleasant smells of warm, yeasty dough and melted cheese. He let her show him the way to the counter and told the girl behind it that she wanted her usual. The girl then turned curious, hungry eyes Thor's way. "What'll you have, big fellow?"
"A large pizza with everything on it," Thor replied. The girl blinked at him.
"A whole pizza? You don't want just a slice or two?"
"A whole pizza. And a pitcher of ale." The girl blinked at him again, then shook her head and put the order in. It took a moment to get their drinks, a glass of Diet Coke for Astrid and an empty glass with a pitcher of beer for Thor, then they headed for a table to sit.
She was worried that they'd pass the time in awkward silence. She needn't have. Thor told stories of his youth, told stories of his adventures. In between, he managed to coax information about Astrid's life from her. He drank his beer and smiled and laughed. He made her feel like she was the only person in the place other than him. Not once did his gaze stray from her, as if he didn't notice that people stared at them. That women were eyeing him with ill concealed hunger.
She barely noticed when her slice and his whole pie came. They kept talking, only occasionally taking bites from their pizza. Astrid was so caught up in him that she forgot to be uncomfortable and uncertain.
She was so caught up in him that, for the first time in a very long time, she forgot that she had to get back to work. She forgot about her toys and gadgets. She forgot about all of it and simply enjoyed time spent in his presence.
~*~*~*~*~
She found Alex on the practice range, her hands wrapped casually around the butt of a Glock. She was in the process of loading in a new clip, the other one having been spent on a target that was still at the end of the gallery. Alex glanced up at her, green eyes flashing with annoyance, before turning back to her weapon. After disengaging the safety, she faced the target and promptly fired off every shot that the clip held. Finished, she set the gun down and removed both her protective ear covering and eye glasses. Then she hit the button that brought the target closer to them.
Somehow, Miri wasn't surprised to find that Alex had taped a picture of Barton to it and had only left enough of the picture to let her know that it was one that had been taken at the fundraiser over the weekend. Alex had put nearly every single shot through the man's head. No small feat, even for someone with her training. "Problems?" Miri asked, wondering if perhaps Phil's assessment of the two hadn't been spot on after all.
"Not anymore," Alex replied and dropped the picture into the trash. Not surprisingly, there were hardly any other holes in the practice target other than where Barton's picture had been taped. Right in the center of the black figure's forehead.
Miri said nothing about that. Nor did she say anything about the faint smudges of fatigue under Alex's eyes. She might have teased her about them, but she'd been at the family dinner Sunday night and she'd seen the strain between Alex and her mother. She had no doubt that it was her relationship with her family that was causing the sleeplessness, though it was likely that Barton was contributing. Somehow.
Alex must be having some pretty wild dreams. And Miri was totally not going there.
"Coulson needs to see us in his office," she told Alex, watching as the woman holstered her firearm. Alex said nothing, simply picked up the ear and eye protection she'd used and carried it with her toward the door. Miri followed her, waiting for her to speak. Alex really hadn't been herself all week. The target practice proved it. There was no need to push the woman and risk her infamous Irish temper.
"Doesn't he have enough lap dogs?" Alex asked, only mild interest in her tone. She didn't bother saying anything about Miri being one of those lap dogs.
"I'm sure he does. But he's also our superior. So I think it would be prudent to hurry up and find out what he wants, before one of those lap dogs comes looking for us. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Hey. It was one time. I told him it wouldn't happen again," Alex rejoined without any heat at all. They both knew what she was talking about. It hadn't happened again, either, because Phil had promptly transferred the reason she'd been late.
"I know. But Coulson wants to see us. That should be enough to get even your ass moving," Miri teased.
"He's so fucking uptight. If I thought it would do any good, I'd hire him a hooker. But he'd use it as a reason to send me back to the motor pool for a couple of months. Much as I love cars and fixing shit, I hate having to constantly prove myself to the jackasses down there."
"I know. Fury sent down a memo that stated you weren't to be teased when you had a monkey wrench in your hand."
Alex snorted. "Like I need a wrench to kick someone's ass."
"I know. You're a bad ass bitch. But even a bad ass bitch doesn't want to piss off Coulson," Miri reminded her. Alex sighed and nodded, then turned and started up the hall. Miri fell into step beside her easily enough, wondering what Phil would think if he could hear half the conversations she and Alex had about him. She'd have to be sure to tell him about the hooker, though. That might get a chuckle or two out of him.
They made their way along the hall silently, the soft tread of their boots on the tiled floor echoing back at them hollowly. Whatever Alex was thinking, she kept it to herself. Probably a good idea, because Miri didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was going on between her friend and her friend's mother. Not that she didn't really like Mary Quinn. Alex's mother had made her feel welcome and at home the very first time Alex had taken her over there. She was as much a part of the family as anyone with the name Quinn. But there was some kind of tension going on between Alex and her mom that Miri wasn't sure she could help solve.
So Miri kept to her own thoughts, most of which revolved around the past few days. There had been quite a bit of activity going on lately and it had kept Phil away from her. This was really the first chance she'd had to see him since Sunday morning. She was looking forward to it, of course, but she wasn't sure it was such a good thing. She'd heard a few murmurs here and there that something huge was going on. She just didn't know what. Yet.
She had a feeling that was about to change.
A sense of anticipation was running through her by the time they reached Phil's door. She would have knocked, but Alex was in no mood to wait, so she rapped a knuckle against the door and then pushed it open. Their entrance brought Phil's head up from a pile of paperwork. He gave them that bland smile that was his trademark, then nodded. Alex shut the door and approached the desk. Miri was on her heels.
"You wanted to see us, sir?" Alex asked. She was at ease, as she usually was, but there was a thread of tension along her spine and through her shoulders that was her way of showing respect to Phil. He nodded and brought out two different files. He handed one to Alex, then gave the other over to Miri. As one, they opened the manila file and began scanning the information contained inside.
"An assignment?" Miri asked.
"An assignment for each of you," Phil confirmed. That brought Alex's head up from the file in her hand.
"You're splitting us up, sir?" she questioned quietly. He nodded. "Have I done something wrong, sir?"
"This isn't a permanent reassignment, Quinn," he assured her. "MI6 has recently become aware of a compound in the Scottish Highlands that they believe belongs to HYDRA and they asked Director Fury if he would send them an expert to help them with it. Agent Grant has extensive knowledge and, therefore, is the best candidate for the job. Her security clearance is higher than yours and MI6 requested someone with at least Agent Grant's security clearance on this."
"I see," she murmured, then gave her attention back to the file. Phil turned to Miri.
"You're booked onto a flight to London, where you will be met by an agent from MI6. He'll be your liaison while in England and will work with you closely on this assignment. You're to report anything you find to his superiors as well as back to headquarters." One hand motioned to the file in her hand. "Everything you need to know is in that file, Grant. Be sure to study it in depth before arriving in London. Your flight leaves in about four hours, so you have enough time to pack and get to the airport."
"Yes, sir."
"And me, sir?" Alex asked, glancing up from the file again.
"You're going to Los Angeles, Quinn. We've had reports that HYDRA has set up a small operation there. As we aren't sure just how small their small operation is, we're sending you and a temporary partner in to observe and report back on their actions," Phil explained.
"A stake out?" Alex asked, sounding skeptical. Even Miri thought it didn't sound very plausible. What kind of stake out could she possibly be involved in. Like herself and Natasha, Alex was trained to infiltrate and spy. Or shoot first and ask questions later, if there were any survivors. Not simply watch from afar.
"Not your typical stake out, Quinn. We don't know what HYDRA is up to. So you're being given a blank check." Miri blinked at that. A blank check basically meant Alex could shoot up all of Southern California if she wanted. provided she had a really legitimate excuse and proof of said excuse. "I expect you to keep the damage to a minimum."
"Of course, sir. You mentioned a partner?"
"Yes. You and your partner are going in undercover as newlyweds on their honeymoon," Phil glanced past Alex to the back wall. Both Miri and Alex turned to follow the line of his gaze and both of them groaned. She thought she heard Alex mutter 'Fuck me!' under her breath. Barton leaned against the wall, his pose seemingly negligent and lazy. His pose was belied by the slight tension in his shoulders.
She waited for Alex to protest. Or declare she wasn't going. Or demand another partner. Something. Anything. But Alex did none of that. She simply glared daggers at Clint Barton. "Your plane leaves in six hours. I suggest you make all the necessary preparations before then." Phil picked up a manila envelope, walked around the desk, and handed it to Barton. "All of your papers are in here. I suggest you spend the flight getting to know one another so that your covers are perfect when you land. You will, of course, keep me informed of your progress."
"Of course, sir," Alex said, the words coming out with a bite to them.
Barton looked her over and then smiled. "Well, sweetheart," he drawled, putting extra emphasis on the term of endearment. Alex's hands closed into fists but she made no other move to acknowledge him. "Should we get moving? We've got a lot to do before we're on that plane."
Alex glared at him for a short while longer, then turned and gave Miri a look. She shot a glance toward Phil, who was seemingly unaware of the tension. When he didn't notice her, she headed for the door and pretended that Barton wasn't following after her.
Miri waited until they were gone before she spoke again. "You put them together on purpose."
"Me? I would never do something like that, Miriam. The orders came down from Director Fury that Quinn and Barton were to go to Los Angeles together. I simply passed them on." Phil's mild voice sounded so innocent.
"That may be, but the bit about the newlyweds? That's all you."
He stared at her a moment, then gave a slight twitch of his lips. A smile. "Maybe I was feeling a little puckish and I simply wanted to help them finally come to terms with their attraction to one another."
Miri laughed at that, shaking her head as she did so. "Maybe you just want Alex to try and kill Barton for you."
"Maybe." He fell silent for a moment, then got up and came around his desk so that he could brush a kiss across her lips. "But you should go get ready for your flight. Its going to be a long day." She nodded and kissed him harder before slipping from his office.
She swore the soft sounds of his laughter followed her all the way to her car.
Chapter Four: Assignments
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
The day had started with a peculiar dream involving two people being caught in one body. She'd struggled to first make sense of it and then to withdraw herself from it. Even in the middle of the dream, she'd known it wasn't usual by any stretch of the imagination. The images that had rolled through her head had felt different, had been trying to tell her something. But she'd been unable to decipher their meanings. So she'd been left both irritable and sleepy upon waking. Those two feelings had followed her around all day long.
Fortunately, business had been slow, so there hadn't been many customers who had been victims of her poor temper. She'd kind of hoped that the slow influx of customers would last through the day, but here it was shortly after lunch and several large vehicles had pulled up in front of the shop. Several large, black vehicles. She frowned at that. Get that many black SUVs together and you were looking at gang bangers or government stooges. She kind of thought they were all the same. And she wasn't sure which she was dealing with, since the windows of the vehicles were tinted dark enough that she couldn't see inside of them.
One door opened and a generic man in a suit stepped out. Government, then. Curious. Phoebe watched as one suit after another piled out of the vehicles. All of them were uniform in their blandness. All except the last one. Where the others went out of their way to look unassuming, the last one made sure that he was dressed well enough to catch every eye that turned his way. Tall and dark, with a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee, she had no problems recognizing him. Her eyes flicked to the folded newspaper on the counter.
Just a few nights ago, Tony Stark had held a fund raiser at the Waldorf-Astoria and anyone who was everyone had been there. The society column had been rife with image after image of people mingling and tossing their money about, comments about the lavishness of clothing, and a run down of every charity to which the fund raiser was donating money. He looked just as suave in his expensive every day suit as he had in the pictures where he'd been wearing a lush tuxedo. But it would take more than his snappy manner of dress and his infamous charm to get past her.
The large group stepped into her bookshop, the bell over the door tinkling merrily as it opened for the first person in line. She watched silently as men filed in and began going down the aisles. They weren't looking for books. Of that, she was sure. Stark, flanked by a couple of the bland guys, stepped up to the counter and flashed her a smile that was sure to have melted the panties off more than one woman in his lifetime. "Phoebe Sinclair?" he asked politely.
"I am. How can I help you, Mr. Stark?" The use of his name brought a fleeting smile to his face before he seemed to recall that this was a public place. He glanced around, as if searching for unwanted listeners. One of the men in suits had already locked the door with one hand while the other had been occupied by turning the cardboard "Open" sign over so that it proclaimed the shop "Closed."
She watched as his gaze flicked over what he could see of her behind the counter. When his eyes met hers again, they seemed unimpressed. But she knew that it was a front, that he was as interested as she wasn't. Everything she knew about Stark said he was a playboy of the highest caliber. She didn't take his interest personally. "It has come to the attention of certain individuals that you are quite adept at computers." The statement had the feel of diplomacy to it, suggesting that someone else had given him the words. Sound bites and quotes were all over the place that said he had a tendency to speak his mind and diplomacy be damned.
Phoebe arched a brow at him. "Has it?"
He seemed slightly confused by her answer, neither confirming nor denying his statement. Which pushed him out of his attempt at diplomacy. "Alright. Here it is. You hacked your way into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mainframe yesterday and snooped around before leaving a note for the director. Unfortunately for you, adept as you are in your hacking abilities, I'm better and I followed the electronic trail of bread crumbs you left. It didn't take me that long. Which means I'm here to escort you to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters so that you can meet with the director in person." His gaze flicked around the shop before returning to her. "I suggest you close up the store quickly. Fury doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"I have no intention of going with you, Mr. Stark," Phoebe remarked placidly. She reached down with her hands to pat the heads of her Dobermans. So far, they'd been silent and docile. But that was only because no one had made any threatening moves toward her. Should someone do just that, their demeanors would change in the blink of an eye.
"I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple, Miss Sinclair. I've been authorized to escort you to headquarters using any means necessary. I'd hate to have to order one of these men to shoot your dogs because they tried to bite. I really think you should come with me and avoid a second visit. The next one will no doubt involve handcuffs and a great deal of unpleasantness that I'm sure you'd rather avoid."
She frowned at him and stroked her hands over the dogs' heads again. "You would shoot my dogs, Mr. Stark?"
"No," Tony shook his head and pointed to the man standing next to him. "He would. I'd really rather not have to ask him to do it." As if to emphasize his words, the man Stark had pointed to shifted his coat aside to show the standard issue weapon holstered at his side.
"Am I being arrested for something, Mr. Stark?"
"No, Miss Sinclair. This is a meeting between yourself and the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. If there are charges filed, I'm sure he'll let you know before he slaps the cuffs on you." Stark smiled at her and motioned toward the door. "Shall we? Really. The sooner you get this out of the way, the sooner you can go back to your life."
Phoebe considered telling him to go to Hell. She really did. But doing so would only invite more scrutiny and she'd rather she got these people out of her shop as soon as possible. Stark was correct. The less time she spent debating and denying, the less time it would take to find out what her fate was. Ghost agencies like S.H.I.E.L.D. swallowed people up. They didn't let them walk away. Not if they had skills. She hadn't gone poking terribly deep into the files, but she did know that most people who walked through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s front door on their own two feet didn't leave again for a good long time.
Sighing, she realized that the best way to deal with this was to do as she'd been asked. And she had been asked. So far, the government issue suits and Stark had both been as polite as possible, hadn't tried to force her into doing anything she didn't want to do. There was nothing for it but to go with them and hope like hell that she'd be able to leave before the end of the next millennium. "Will someone remain to care for my dogs?" she asked him politely. "As I don't know how long this will take, I don't dare leave them home alone for too long."
Stark turned to look at the man beside him. Though neither of them said anything, the suit nodded his head and lifted one hand so he could speak into the microphone hidden in his hand. She paid no attention to him, simply watched Stark. "Someone will take care of them," he told her. She nodded, then knelt down so that she could look them in the eyes. The dogs nudged her face with their noses, a gesture that let her know they cared. She smiled at them.
"I won't be gone too long. Behave. Someone will see to it that you're fed and let out to play. No biting," she admonished. It was an entirely unnecessary order, but she wasn't about to let anyone know that. The dogs wouldn't bite unless she or one of them was being threatened directly. When she was done giving the dogs orders, she looked up to find that Stark was practically standing over her, one hand held out to her.
"Shall we?" he asked her.
~*~
It looked nothing like a prison, but that didn't mean anything to Phoebe. This was a government facility, which meant that there were likely holding cells inside somewhere. After giving some last minute directions to the man who had been elected to stay with Tex and Denver, Stark had escorted her out to one of the vehicles waiting at the curb. The suit who had stood silent beside Stark was behind the wheel, driving. She hadn't let him touch her at the store and she wasn't letting him touch her now, as they wound their way up and down never ending corridors that looked the same as the last one they'd been in.
They passed a few people now and again. Most wore the same suits as the men who had come to her shop. Some wore dark colored one piece outfits that seemed to act as a uniform of another kind. Everyone she saw was carrying a firearm.
Stark led them past a secretary type person who gave him a stern look as he walked by her desk. The knuckles on his hand hit the door once, then he was pushing the panel open. The man in the suit didn't follow them into the room, but he did make sure she stepped in after Stark. Then he tugged the door shut behind her, leaving her trapped in an office with Tony Stark and a black man in all black behind the desk. A black patch covered his left eye and a black leather trench coat was hung on a coat rack to her right. Phoebe sensed a theme.
"Have a seat, Miss Sinclair," the black man intoned while one hand motioned toward an empty chair before the desk. Stark had already taken the matched chair, set near the other corner. His suit coat was unbuttoned and he looked utterly relaxed, as if this was his office and not someone else's. She took a few seconds to show that she wasn't going to let them intimidate her, that she was going to sit on her own terms, before carefully settling into the chair. She sat on the edge, back straight, and stared straight ahead at the man who had sent his goons to kidnap her.
He stared at her, his single eye seemingly cutting through flesh and bone to see the very center of her. As if he alone knew what made her tick. He leaned back in his seat, the chair rocking slightly with the redistribution of his weight, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You've had fun breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s computer systems."
It wasn't a question so she didn't bother to answer it. She did acknowledge his statement by inclining her head toward him. Why lie about it? She had enjoyed it. She'd developed quite a set of skills over the years and she hated to see them get soft.
Something like a smile crossed his face. It was a flash of brilliant white against the darkness of his skin. And there was just a touch of realness to it. It would seem she'd impressed the man. And he was obviously a man who didn't impress easily. Or, at the very least, didn't let people see that he was easily impressed. "Your days of hacking into government computers has come to an end, Miss Sinclair."
"Are you going to put me in jail?" she asked, voice lacking emotion. It was simply a question.
"If I have to," he confirmed. He remained silent for some time, the expression on his face suggesting he was weighing his words before he spoke them, picking and choosing as carefully as he was able. It was an odd thing to see, because she was sure this was a man who was used to giving orders with the expectation that they be followed to the letter. Carried out immediately. "That all depends on you, Miss Sinclair."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," she told him politely. He let his glance slide over to the chair where Stark sat. The man shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands.
"I didn't tell her anything at all. You just wanted me to bring her here. Here she is." There was an edge, however small, of defensiveness to his tone. "Honestly, blurt out one thing at a press conference and people don't trust you to keep their secrets ever again."
The black man shook his bald head before turning his attention back to her. "Miss Sinclair, my name is Nick Fury and I'm the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I need people like you working for me. Someone with your talents would be very useful to me."
She lifted a brow at that. "You want me to work for you? Doing what?"
"That's confidential. For the moment," he countered.
"And if I refuse?" she questioned, sure she knew the answer already.
"The way I see it, Miss Sinclair, you have two choices," he told her seriously. "You can either work for me or you can spend the rest of your life behind bars. Maximum security. In a private facility of my choosing. I can promise you won't like it."
"Blackmail, Director Fury?" she asked.
"Options, Miss Sinclair."
The room slid into a comfortable silence as she began turning things over in her head. She'd suspected that this would be the end game when Stark had showed up at her door and requested her presence. It was the government, after all. They frowned on people breaking into their complex computer systems and taking a stroll through confidential information. Actions such as those usually ended up with a computer hacker disappearing into a deep, dark hole somewhere. Or prison.
She suspected she wouldn't like prison much. What would happen to her book shop if she was put in prison? What would happen to Tex and Denver? She couldn't bare anything happening to her beloved Dobermans. And it was entirely possible someone would split them up. They'd never been apart from one another. Or her, for that matter. Not for any extended period of time. She couldn't do that to them. And how would she explain going to prison to her brother? He knew nothing about her computer skills.
Phoebe allowed herself a small sigh. One that she was sure both men would hear. A glance at Fury's face showed her that he knew well enough what she was thinking. The gleam in his eye said he knew what her answer would be even before she gave it. It wasn't any sort of arrogance on his part. It was simply the knowledge that only one of those options was acceptable. "I would imagine that this means I won't be going home for some time?"
"You'll be provided with quarters here, as well as a place to work. We have a gym that is open to use any hour of the day." Fury reached for the phone on his desk. She stopped him with her next question.
"And my dogs? I won't be without them."
He thought about it for all of ten seconds. "I'll make arrangements." She nodded at him, then lapsed into silence as he picked up his phone and punched a couple of buttons. Whoever answered the phone was given quick, concise instructions as to her lodgings, belongings, and pets. Then he was rising. Phoebe rose with him, as did Stark. He held his hand out toward the door. "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Miss Sinclair. If you'll follow Mr. Stark, he'll show you to your quarters. Tomorrow, he'll walk you through your duties and debrief you on what it is you're going to be doing around here."
She shot a glance at Stark, who was offering her a smarmy smile, then headed for the door. The man followed after her, his expensive cologne tickling his nose as he got closer. Something inside of her wanted to run and scream. Wasn't that just peachy? She got to work with the staggering drunk.
Brilliant. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
~*~*~*~*~
She barely noticed the knock at her door, her finger tracking the path of a genetic twist that she'd found in her grandfather's notes. It was a hand drawn image, a spiraling helix of DNA long before science really knew what it was. How her grandfather had known what DNA looked like was beyond her. But he had. And he'd drawn it out. Not that he'd known it was DNA. He'd only known that it played a role in human evolution. Elsa jotted down a few thoughts in her own book of notes and completely missed the second knock. In fact, she wasn't aware there was anyone in her lab until a masculine voice cleared behind her.
And scared the ever loving crap out of her.
Elsa squeaked out a startled sound of fright that was entirely too feminine for her tastes, then whirled to face her intruder. Standing only a few feet from her was Captain Steven Rogers, her test subject. The man who had invaded her dreams for the past couple of nights. That thought saw her studying him, from the glossy sheen of his hair to the angular planes of his cheeks to the broad shoulders that stretched his plain t-shirt. The material clung almost lovingly to every single ripple of muscle. It was almost as good as seeing him naked.
...Covered in vanilla ice cream.
Heat flashed in her cheeks as she realized that her gaze was drifting down his torso toward his... Elsa closed her eyes and jerked around to put the pen down on the table. She'd been wielding it at him as if it was a weapon, fingers curled around it so that she could stab with it if the need arose. As if a pen could kill him. Or, rather, as if she as adept enough with a pen to kill him with it. Bugger. She'd just made an ass of herself. Hadn't she? It was a good thing Alexis wasn't here or she'd never hear the end of things.
Taking a deep breath, Elsa reached for the calm that came with science and turned once more to face her visitor. Rogers was watching her, his eyebrows puckered together in the center to show that he was slightly confused by her actions. She pulled intelligence around her and extended a hand toward him. "Captain Rogers. Good to meet you. I'm Dr. Elsa Jones. I've been employed by S.H.I.E.L.D. to see if we can't discover the secret of the serum that made you... erm, you."
"You're a doctor?" he asked, sounding skeptical. But his hand closed around hers, warm and strong. She tried not to notice, during their brief shake, that his hands were calloused but soft and were no doubt capable of doing that thing she'd dreamed, where his fingers curled and... Elsa stomped on her wayward thoughts and forced herself to concentrate on the man before her.
To be honest, that wasn't really any better than her dreams.
She'd always been told she was tall for a woman, standing at five foot seven in her stocking feet. But Steven Rogers stood about half a foot taller than her, so that she was forced to crane her neck to look up at him. Even in her modest, one inch heels. His face was angular, his eyes clear blue under a fringe of lightly colored hair. The muscles in his arms, torso, and legs practically strained against the t-shirt and trousers he wore. And even though he stood completely at ease before her, as he apparently wasn't worried about her stabbing him with a pen, she could sense an air of coiled tension surrounding him. He was always ready to launch an attack at a moment's notice.
"I'm a scientist. My specialty is genetics. Director Fury believes that I can unlock the secret of Dr. Erskine's serum. Its his hope that we can duplicate the process and create other soldiers like you." She thought that sounded sufficiently intelligent.
His brow furrowed at that. "And how do you plan on doing that? Dr. Erskine never wrote the serum down."
Elsa grabbed hold of the question and ran with it. "I told you. I'm a geneticist. And a biologist. Among other things. I'm going to study your genetic make up and see if I can't separate the genes you were born with from the genes that you got from the serum. Based on the photos I have from before the experiment, I've deduced that the serum somehow altered some of your DNA. I don't think it changed all of it, but it enhanced the areas that were... lacking."
Now that the scientist was taking over, she was able to view him through a doctor's impartial eyes. The images that had been in her files had shown the man he'd been before. She mentally compared that man to the one that stood before her. He was taller, to be sure. More muscular. Healthier looking. Somehow, the serum that Erskine had created had found a way to rewrite the man's DNA. Maybe only parts of it. Maybe all of it. But she wasn't going to know until she got to work on it.
"Somehow, Dr. Erskine managed to give us an amazing and nearly perfect specimen of man. We should be able to do it again. We just have to find the components of his serum. In the right proportions. If I can do that, I can very possibly recreate the serum. Once we have the serum, we only need to recreate the process and..."
"I still don't understand how you're going to do that." he interrupted her, bringing her words to a halt. Elsa blinked at him and then realized that he didn't know anything about DNA or genetics. Right. A few too many decades in the ice. For a second, Alexis' voice filled her head, mentioning ice and sausage and she had to stop herself from letting her gaze slide down to his groin.
"Oh. Right. I'm sorry. You'll have to forgive me. I can be forgetful at times." Elsa crossed to a poster on the wall, one that showed the double helix that made up a strand of DNA. She tapped a finger against the image and brought his attention to it. "DNA wasn't around in the Forties. Back then, the best way you had to identify people was by their blood type or by their dental records. But over the years, science advanced and they found the very thing that makes up a person on a cellular level. We call it DNA. That stands for deoxyribonucleic acid. You get your DNA from your family, so there will be some genetic traits from your father's side and some from your mother's side. These are the things that determine what color hair and eyes you'll have, how tall you'll be... Things like that."
He walked over to where she stood and eyed the poster skeptically. "So there's something that looks like this in my cells?" he asked.
Elsa smiled at him and nodded. "Yes. And each strain is unique to each person. So the DNA I get from you won't be like the DNA I'd get from myself or from Mr. Stark or Director Fury. We each have our own genetic make up."
He studied the double helix a bit more. "So you hope that you can extract not only my genetic make up, but the components of the serum?"
"Yes. Basically. If I can find the components of Dr. Erskine's serum in your DNA, the hope is that I can isolate them and somehow recreate the formula."
"But it was a two fold process. There was the serum and then there was the chamber. That played a roll in my transformation," he reminded her.
"Oh, yes. We know that. There is a team working on a new chamber. Between the notes that Howard Stark left and those of my grandfather, we're sure we can build a new one without any trouble at all."
"Your grandfather worked on the project?" he asked her. She nodded at that.
"Yes. He kept very thorough notes." Her mind had already shifted gears and she clicked her way over to the exam bed and the tray that rested on it. She'd prepped everything this morning. There were several vials for blood, a syringe, the little alcohol swab, a cotton ball or two, the rubber tie, a pair of cheek swabs, and, much to her chagrin, a few Sponge Bob band aids.
"I don't know if I'm going to need those," Rogers told her, one hand reaching past her so that a finger could land on the band aids. Elsa's cheeks flamed bright red, prompting her to snatch the band aids away. Rogers chuckled behind her.
"Those were obviously meant to be a joke. I would never presume that you would need a band aid and certainly not one with Sponge Bob on it." She could hear the mortification in her voice and promptly shut up. Damn Alexis. This was her doing, without a doubt.
"What do I need to do, exactly?" he asked. If he sensed her embarrassment, he said nothing about it. She motioned to the tray.
"I just need to take some blood. And some saliva from the inside of your cheek."
"That's all?"
"That's all, soldier. The miracles of modern science." Slipping back into doctor mode, she reached for an alcohol swab. "I just need to borrow an arm. First I'll draw the blood. No need to worry about it. It'll only be a little prick. Then I'll get the saliva sample by putting one of these long Q-tips in your mouth. Just a quick thrust and swipe. Then we're done and I'll be all set."
It wasn't until nearly an hour after she'd collected her samples and sent him on her way that she realized just how dirty her instructions to him had really been.
~*~*~*~*~
This was the fourth day this week he'd showed up at Stark Industries and demanded her time. Four days in a row. She was sure that meant that someone had put him up to this. Men didn't notice her. Not enough to pay attention like this. After their walk along the edge of a lake on Sunday, she'd kind of thought he'd gotten his jollies and would be on his way. But Monday had brought him to her work room, a fresh floral arrangement in a beautiful and expensive cut crystal vase, in his hands. Tuesday had seen him trying to serenade her. It might have been more endearing if it hadn't occurred in front of everyone she worked with. Now here he was again, this time offering to take her to lunch.
And by the look on his face, he didn't quite understand why she didn't want to go. "But I do not understand. If I am to woo you, you must give me an opportunity to prove myself to you. I assure you my intentions are serious. Why will you not go to lunch with me?"
She tried the first thing that came into her head. "I'm not dressed for lunch." As if to prove to him that she wasn't lying, she motioned to her overalls and faded t-shirt. His gaze slid down her length, then up again until it rested on her face. The confusion was still there.
"This is not attire one would wear to eat a meal? If it isn't, then I am much underdressed myself," he finally replied and glanced at his own jeans and t-shirt. Astrid blinked as she realized that he wasn't suggesting some place where black ties were required. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if he meant a simple lunch someplace that wasn't as concerned about their dress code as they were about making sure they got the right meal to the right person.
Sighing, she set the regulator down on the table and faced him fully. How could a man who was so obviously not from this world look so damned at home in it? The jeans seemed to cling to him enticingly while his tee hugged every single ripple and bulge of flesh. With his long blonde hair and those brilliant blue eyes, she was more than sure that he could find a woman anywhere to accompany him to lunch. Quite a few men, too. So why her?
Astrid knew she wasn't some towering, ravishing beauty that he was no doubt used to. She was short next to him. And just about anyone else. Pale. Her hair was a golden brown that spent more time in a braid or simple pony tail than down against her shoulders. Her eyes were a green that was more hazel, with flashes of gold that sparkled in their depths depending on her mood. She was a plain looking woman and he was a stunning man. He could find someone so much better than her. Someone tall and lithe and willowy. Someone blonde, with that traditional Nordic look, that would compliment his own handsome looks.
His near obsession with her confused the ever loving spit out of her.
"I guess that all depends on where you plan on going for lunch." She slid off her stool and closed the distance between the two of them. "If its some place simple like McDonald's, then you'll fit right in. If its some place a little more upscale, then I think a change of wardrobe would be in order. I just don't understand why you keep trying to pick me up."
He frowned at the statement. "You are small enough that picking you up would be easy. Are you worried that your form will strain my strength? If so, allow me to assure you that you would put no challenge to my strength at all."
She had to fight not to put her face in her hands and weep at his lack of knowledge. It was refreshing and kind of scary, all at the same time. "No. Not physically pick up. Its a term people use here when a man is trying to get a woman to go out with him or go home with him. Its a kind of metaphorical pick up."
He blinked at her. Right. Moving along.
"What I'm saying, Thor, is that there are many women out there for you to choose from. And a lot of them are far more attractive than I am. Why pick me out of everyone?"
That question was one he could answer. He closed the distance between the two of them and took her hand in his, an action she was coming to find was very typical of him, then lifted it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I have chosen you because there is something compelling and intriguing to you. I have chosen you because you are the one who speaks to my heart."
"I... speak to your heart?" she asked, stumbling on the words. She'd never had anyone tell her that she spoke to their heart before. In fact, she couldn't name one person of her acquaintance who could say that someone was interested in them because they spoke to someone's heart. Astrid swallowed and hoped she didn't look as shell shocked as she felt.
"You do. Now. Do we stand here and quibble about our attire or do we venture forth into this vast city and share a lunch together?" he asked her. Even as he did so, he was pulling her toward the door. She let him do so without saying a word, realizing that it would be useless to argue with him. She could recall many a time when her mother imparted to her the wisdom that Norse men were as bull headed as they came and it was always best to let them think they'd won the argument. It would save on confrontations.
"What did you have in mind for lunch?" she asked him, one hand reaching out to absently pull the door shut behind her. The key to her office was in her pocket, along with all of her other keys, her money, and her identification.
"I have tasted many delights here in your realm," he began, tugging on her hand so that she was propelled forward far enough to let him tuck her arm under his. "But none appeals to me more than pizza. I believe we shall share a pizza for lunch. Does this please you, Astrid?"
Her stomach rumbled out an answer for her. Thor laughed. Astrid felt her cheeks pinken in embarrassment. But she did her best to shove mortification aside and enjoy her time with Thor. She was almost positive that the man would loose interest in her soon enough. She was a mouse where he was a lion. He would get bored. She was sure of it. "Pizza sounds great. In fact, I know of this place that serves the best pie in town."
"Lead on, fair Astrid. Show me this place that serves the best pie in town."
There was such infectious warmth in his voice, in the smile he gave her, and in his eyes, that she couldn't help but return it. Smiling, she was the one who led them through the confusion of hallways until they emerged into the lobby. Passing through the doors, she noted that there was no limo parked at the curb as there had been on Sunday. That was okay. She could hail them a cab. This was some grand adventure anyway, wasn't it? What was a little adventure without taking one's life into one's hands?
Drawing Thor to the curb with her, she raised a hand and whistled for a taxi. Seconds later, a yellow sedan pulled up beside them. Astrid opened the back door and slid in, then watched as Thor followed her. He shut the door behind him and remained silent while Astrid gave the driver the address of a nearby pizza place where she and Thor could sit and eat. When the car pulled away, she settled back in the seat and allowed the world to slip away for just a moment.
Traffic was light enough that they got to the pizza joint in under fifteen minutes and Astrid made sure that the driver got a good tip. He was gone before she had even fully straightened up from the car. Turning, she found Thor glancing at the windows, staring into the depths of the pizza parlor and the small crowd of gathered regulars who had claimed their tables and their pies.
He opened the door for her, held it while she passed easily under his arm and stepped into the dim interior. The door clicked closed and enveloped them both in the familiar, pleasant smells of warm, yeasty dough and melted cheese. He let her show him the way to the counter and told the girl behind it that she wanted her usual. The girl then turned curious, hungry eyes Thor's way. "What'll you have, big fellow?"
"A large pizza with everything on it," Thor replied. The girl blinked at him.
"A whole pizza? You don't want just a slice or two?"
"A whole pizza. And a pitcher of ale." The girl blinked at him again, then shook her head and put the order in. It took a moment to get their drinks, a glass of Diet Coke for Astrid and an empty glass with a pitcher of beer for Thor, then they headed for a table to sit.
She was worried that they'd pass the time in awkward silence. She needn't have. Thor told stories of his youth, told stories of his adventures. In between, he managed to coax information about Astrid's life from her. He drank his beer and smiled and laughed. He made her feel like she was the only person in the place other than him. Not once did his gaze stray from her, as if he didn't notice that people stared at them. That women were eyeing him with ill concealed hunger.
She barely noticed when her slice and his whole pie came. They kept talking, only occasionally taking bites from their pizza. Astrid was so caught up in him that she forgot to be uncomfortable and uncertain.
She was so caught up in him that, for the first time in a very long time, she forgot that she had to get back to work. She forgot about her toys and gadgets. She forgot about all of it and simply enjoyed time spent in his presence.
~*~*~*~*~
She found Alex on the practice range, her hands wrapped casually around the butt of a Glock. She was in the process of loading in a new clip, the other one having been spent on a target that was still at the end of the gallery. Alex glanced up at her, green eyes flashing with annoyance, before turning back to her weapon. After disengaging the safety, she faced the target and promptly fired off every shot that the clip held. Finished, she set the gun down and removed both her protective ear covering and eye glasses. Then she hit the button that brought the target closer to them.
Somehow, Miri wasn't surprised to find that Alex had taped a picture of Barton to it and had only left enough of the picture to let her know that it was one that had been taken at the fundraiser over the weekend. Alex had put nearly every single shot through the man's head. No small feat, even for someone with her training. "Problems?" Miri asked, wondering if perhaps Phil's assessment of the two hadn't been spot on after all.
"Not anymore," Alex replied and dropped the picture into the trash. Not surprisingly, there were hardly any other holes in the practice target other than where Barton's picture had been taped. Right in the center of the black figure's forehead.
Miri said nothing about that. Nor did she say anything about the faint smudges of fatigue under Alex's eyes. She might have teased her about them, but she'd been at the family dinner Sunday night and she'd seen the strain between Alex and her mother. She had no doubt that it was her relationship with her family that was causing the sleeplessness, though it was likely that Barton was contributing. Somehow.
Alex must be having some pretty wild dreams. And Miri was totally not going there.
"Coulson needs to see us in his office," she told Alex, watching as the woman holstered her firearm. Alex said nothing, simply picked up the ear and eye protection she'd used and carried it with her toward the door. Miri followed her, waiting for her to speak. Alex really hadn't been herself all week. The target practice proved it. There was no need to push the woman and risk her infamous Irish temper.
"Doesn't he have enough lap dogs?" Alex asked, only mild interest in her tone. She didn't bother saying anything about Miri being one of those lap dogs.
"I'm sure he does. But he's also our superior. So I think it would be prudent to hurry up and find out what he wants, before one of those lap dogs comes looking for us. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Hey. It was one time. I told him it wouldn't happen again," Alex rejoined without any heat at all. They both knew what she was talking about. It hadn't happened again, either, because Phil had promptly transferred the reason she'd been late.
"I know. But Coulson wants to see us. That should be enough to get even your ass moving," Miri teased.
"He's so fucking uptight. If I thought it would do any good, I'd hire him a hooker. But he'd use it as a reason to send me back to the motor pool for a couple of months. Much as I love cars and fixing shit, I hate having to constantly prove myself to the jackasses down there."
"I know. Fury sent down a memo that stated you weren't to be teased when you had a monkey wrench in your hand."
Alex snorted. "Like I need a wrench to kick someone's ass."
"I know. You're a bad ass bitch. But even a bad ass bitch doesn't want to piss off Coulson," Miri reminded her. Alex sighed and nodded, then turned and started up the hall. Miri fell into step beside her easily enough, wondering what Phil would think if he could hear half the conversations she and Alex had about him. She'd have to be sure to tell him about the hooker, though. That might get a chuckle or two out of him.
They made their way along the hall silently, the soft tread of their boots on the tiled floor echoing back at them hollowly. Whatever Alex was thinking, she kept it to herself. Probably a good idea, because Miri didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was going on between her friend and her friend's mother. Not that she didn't really like Mary Quinn. Alex's mother had made her feel welcome and at home the very first time Alex had taken her over there. She was as much a part of the family as anyone with the name Quinn. But there was some kind of tension going on between Alex and her mom that Miri wasn't sure she could help solve.
So Miri kept to her own thoughts, most of which revolved around the past few days. There had been quite a bit of activity going on lately and it had kept Phil away from her. This was really the first chance she'd had to see him since Sunday morning. She was looking forward to it, of course, but she wasn't sure it was such a good thing. She'd heard a few murmurs here and there that something huge was going on. She just didn't know what. Yet.
She had a feeling that was about to change.
A sense of anticipation was running through her by the time they reached Phil's door. She would have knocked, but Alex was in no mood to wait, so she rapped a knuckle against the door and then pushed it open. Their entrance brought Phil's head up from a pile of paperwork. He gave them that bland smile that was his trademark, then nodded. Alex shut the door and approached the desk. Miri was on her heels.
"You wanted to see us, sir?" Alex asked. She was at ease, as she usually was, but there was a thread of tension along her spine and through her shoulders that was her way of showing respect to Phil. He nodded and brought out two different files. He handed one to Alex, then gave the other over to Miri. As one, they opened the manila file and began scanning the information contained inside.
"An assignment?" Miri asked.
"An assignment for each of you," Phil confirmed. That brought Alex's head up from the file in her hand.
"You're splitting us up, sir?" she questioned quietly. He nodded. "Have I done something wrong, sir?"
"This isn't a permanent reassignment, Quinn," he assured her. "MI6 has recently become aware of a compound in the Scottish Highlands that they believe belongs to HYDRA and they asked Director Fury if he would send them an expert to help them with it. Agent Grant has extensive knowledge and, therefore, is the best candidate for the job. Her security clearance is higher than yours and MI6 requested someone with at least Agent Grant's security clearance on this."
"I see," she murmured, then gave her attention back to the file. Phil turned to Miri.
"You're booked onto a flight to London, where you will be met by an agent from MI6. He'll be your liaison while in England and will work with you closely on this assignment. You're to report anything you find to his superiors as well as back to headquarters." One hand motioned to the file in her hand. "Everything you need to know is in that file, Grant. Be sure to study it in depth before arriving in London. Your flight leaves in about four hours, so you have enough time to pack and get to the airport."
"Yes, sir."
"And me, sir?" Alex asked, glancing up from the file again.
"You're going to Los Angeles, Quinn. We've had reports that HYDRA has set up a small operation there. As we aren't sure just how small their small operation is, we're sending you and a temporary partner in to observe and report back on their actions," Phil explained.
"A stake out?" Alex asked, sounding skeptical. Even Miri thought it didn't sound very plausible. What kind of stake out could she possibly be involved in. Like herself and Natasha, Alex was trained to infiltrate and spy. Or shoot first and ask questions later, if there were any survivors. Not simply watch from afar.
"Not your typical stake out, Quinn. We don't know what HYDRA is up to. So you're being given a blank check." Miri blinked at that. A blank check basically meant Alex could shoot up all of Southern California if she wanted. provided she had a really legitimate excuse and proof of said excuse. "I expect you to keep the damage to a minimum."
"Of course, sir. You mentioned a partner?"
"Yes. You and your partner are going in undercover as newlyweds on their honeymoon," Phil glanced past Alex to the back wall. Both Miri and Alex turned to follow the line of his gaze and both of them groaned. She thought she heard Alex mutter 'Fuck me!' under her breath. Barton leaned against the wall, his pose seemingly negligent and lazy. His pose was belied by the slight tension in his shoulders.
She waited for Alex to protest. Or declare she wasn't going. Or demand another partner. Something. Anything. But Alex did none of that. She simply glared daggers at Clint Barton. "Your plane leaves in six hours. I suggest you make all the necessary preparations before then." Phil picked up a manila envelope, walked around the desk, and handed it to Barton. "All of your papers are in here. I suggest you spend the flight getting to know one another so that your covers are perfect when you land. You will, of course, keep me informed of your progress."
"Of course, sir," Alex said, the words coming out with a bite to them.
Barton looked her over and then smiled. "Well, sweetheart," he drawled, putting extra emphasis on the term of endearment. Alex's hands closed into fists but she made no other move to acknowledge him. "Should we get moving? We've got a lot to do before we're on that plane."
Alex glared at him for a short while longer, then turned and gave Miri a look. She shot a glance toward Phil, who was seemingly unaware of the tension. When he didn't notice her, she headed for the door and pretended that Barton wasn't following after her.
Miri waited until they were gone before she spoke again. "You put them together on purpose."
"Me? I would never do something like that, Miriam. The orders came down from Director Fury that Quinn and Barton were to go to Los Angeles together. I simply passed them on." Phil's mild voice sounded so innocent.
"That may be, but the bit about the newlyweds? That's all you."
He stared at her a moment, then gave a slight twitch of his lips. A smile. "Maybe I was feeling a little puckish and I simply wanted to help them finally come to terms with their attraction to one another."
Miri laughed at that, shaking her head as she did so. "Maybe you just want Alex to try and kill Barton for you."
"Maybe." He fell silent for a moment, then got up and came around his desk so that he could brush a kiss across her lips. "But you should go get ready for your flight. Its going to be a long day." She nodded and kissed him harder before slipping from his office.
She swore the soft sounds of his laughter followed her all the way to her car.
Tags:
- author: ladydeathfaerie,
- character: agent phil coulson,
- character: alexis quinn,
- character: astrid pedersen,
- character: clint barton,
- character: elsa jones,
- character: miriam grant,
- character: nick fury,
- character: phoebe sinclair,
- character: steve rogers,
- character: thor,
- character: tony stark,
- universe: marvel movie
