So this is my first stab at what will end up being a whole superhero adventure. It takes place following the events of CA:TFA but before the Avengers. Let me know what you think, as per usual.

I own nothing.

Adara.

Chapter One:

May 08, 1999, Location: Outer Courtyard, Royal Palace, Asgard

"It isn't fair, is it?" A young girl sat on the edge of a fountain, her feet splashing in and out of the water as several fish darted around her toes. Their golden scales caught the flash of the sun and sent rippling waves of color dancing through the stone basin.

"What is that?" Her companion asked, undertones of curiosity barely perceivable through the coolly amused mask he wore. It reminded her of a still river, which almost always had deeper—unseen—undercurrents.

"What your father, the Allfather, said about the frost giants. I'm sure that not all of them wanted to plunge Earth into a new ice age." She answered, fingers lifting up to scratch at the back of her head. The long red hair was pulled back into a tight, intricate braid and it all itched. She much preferred it down, or pulled into a high bun like her mother. But then, when in Rome… or Asgard technically.

"And what makes you think that?" Green eyes looked over at her in interest then, genuine interest, which was nice because he was so seldom sincere. Always joking, or mocking, at least with his parents, brother and friends. She liked that he was usually sincere with her.

She pursed her lips at that question, kicking her feet slightly in the cool water before she turned so that she was completely facing him. Mother always said that you should look someone in the eyes when you wanted to have a serious conversation with them. It was polite.

"If you think about it, there had to have been… what, hundreds of thousands? Millions? Not all of them could have been war mongering, there had to have been women and children. They're people, aren't they? And people have different opinions of everything so I don't think it's too hard to assume that some of them just wanted to be left alone. And now they're all branded as monsters." She shrugged again, her eyes turning troubled. "All we really want is to be left alone."

He watched her face fall, the conflicted expression turning inward, turning contemplative. He knew exactly where her mind was going, and he… didn't want to see it happen again. She was only thirteen, still a child by anyone's standards, and a child shouldn't have such a weight on their shoulders. He considered different ways to cheer her up, he was a master at distraction after all, but they all seemed cheap. Instead he sat down on the edge of the fountain so that they were beside one another, and bent low to pull off his boots.

"That is a very Midgardian way to think Nicole." He murmured instead, a slight smirk on his face as she looked back up at him with a familiar spark in her brown eyes.

"I am Midgardian, so it stands to logic that I would have Midgardian thoughts." She answered, wriggling her toes as one of the fish started nibbling at it. She watched it dart away, a small smile trying to break across her stern face.

"Careful now that you don't let Thor hear you say that, we'll never get him to shut up." He was rolling his pant legs up then, twisting around so that his feet were easing into the cool water as well. "But if it's all the same, I think you're right."

Her innocent features widened in surprise, a slight blush lifting to her cheeks. "You do?"

He nodded at her, winking conspiratorially as he combed his fingers through his black hair. "I do. It's hard to generalize an entire population based on exposure to only a small piece. But the war is still fresh in the minds of my people, they can still easily get riled up about it so it might be best if we keep these thoughts to ourselves."

Nicole appeared pensively thoughtful at that, a frown turning her lips into a pout. "And that's not fair either."

He seemed to consider her words for a moment, brows knitting together in a serious expression. "No, it really isn't fair. But, the world isn't always fair."

They sat in silence for a few moments then, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the cool of the water as well as each other's company. He found it odd, really, that he—Loki prince of Asgard—would come to care about the stray child that his mother seemed to be so interested in but here they were. The child was interesting on many levels though; more than just the fact that she had an innate ability to control fire, and she wasn't entirely human, but she also possessed an unusual eye for looking at things. And she wasn't nearly as oafishly boisterous as Thor and his friends were; Nicole was quite content with sitting in silence. But then, the quiet wasn't always the best thing for the child.

"You know, we still have a few hours before your lessons with mother. Why spend it sitting here?" She arched an eyebrow at that, a doubtful expression that belied the playful glint in her eye.

"Lady Frigga is getting quite tired of me coming into my lessons dirty." She warned with mock gravity, crossing her arms with a pointed glance that seemed to place all of the blame on him. Loki just chuckled, easily rolling to his feet and offering one hand with a familiarly devilish grin on his face.

"Well then, we'll have to do our absolute best to stay clean won't we?"

IOI

June 13, 2011, SHIELD Base: Triskelion, Location: Washington DC

The staff was an extension of her body, it was defensive and—if used properly—could debilitate an enemy before they even drew within striking distance. When using it, one would be well off to avoid letting a single foot touch the ground. Easier said than done, in fact it was a technical impossibility unless that person could fly, but the idea behind the saying was solid. Never stop moving. Never let yourself get tired, get slow. The staff might be a part of her, but it could only do so much if she wasn't careful.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

She spun, wrist rotating as her body danced to her own rhythm. In and out, strike and defend, it was so familiar that her muscles knew what to do and her mind lulled into a false sense of security. A sense of ease that would allow it to drift. That was dangerous; her enemy was not one to be underestimated. She would need all of her senses alert and ready if she wanted to keep her ass from being handed to her.

"Sloppy." The blonde woman across from her smirked, sweat plastering her hair to her face. Nicole offered a savage grin in response, allowing herself to fall back and gather some distance.

"Don't tell me you're getting tired, Dugan." Her partner challenged, twisting the twin batons in her hands and dropping into a low stance.

"Not on your life Morse." She began spinning her staff, taking a few steps forward. "Allez viens espèces de vache."

Agent Barbara Morse rolled her eyes at the light banter, tightening her grip on her batons and loosening up her muscles. Dugan had to be one of her favorite sparring partners, one of the few who could give her a real challenge. But then the redhead was coming at her like a crazy ten-armed windmill and Bobbi found herself lying flat on her back.

Nicole felt a swell of victory as she watched Bobbi go down, panting as she leaned against her staff for support. Offering a hand, the redhead pulled her fellow agent to her feet. They both looked absolutely exhausted; sweat dripped out of their every pore and bruises dotted their bodies.

"Laideron." Bobbi spat back at her, causing Nicole to burst out laughing.

"Love you too, pumpkin. One day you'll beat me." Twisting the staff absently between her fingers, Nicole tossed it up in the air with a spiral before catching it and returning it to the shelves. For the sake of personal safety, she used softer, wooden weapons than her own personal ones. For instance her own staff was a lightweight titanium bo-staff that she only used during missions.

Bobbi rolled her eyes, tossing her own forearm length sticks into a pile and reaching for a towel. They had been sparring for what had to have been over an hour, their savage fighting drawing more than a slight crowd of newer agents—who watched with a sense of awe and fear—as well as some of the more seasoned ones who were in the process of divvying out bet winnings. In all honesty Bobbi was more than impressed by Dugan's skill, even though she really shouldn't be. The red haired agent who was currently lounged on a bench had been assigned Melinda May as her SO, and the Calvary didn't pull any punches during training. She expected nothing but the best from her trainees, and so far Dugan had been her star pupil.

"Why are you looking at me like that? You're not gonna kiss me are you, because I don't think your hubby would like that." Nicole offered wryly, looking over from her seat.

Bobbi offered her friend a thin smile at that, shaking her head before dropping down next to the woman. "I actually think he would. But no, I was just thinking about something."

"I thought I smelled smoke—ow." Groaning slightly at the firm punch placed on her shoulder, Nicole turned so that she was facing the woman. "How are things on the home front?"

"They're—" Both women looked up at the shadow that fell over them, jumping to their feet in the presence of a higher ranked agent.

"Ma'am." They nodded in unison, sharing an uneasy look. Dressed in a nice suit and looking distinctly uncomfortable, Maria Hill possessed an air of brisk professionalism that was more than slightly frosty. Her brown eyes slipped over Bobbi dismissively before locking on Nicole, who was ever the picture of the attentive agent. Agent Hill thrust out a black folder, the action earning her a surprised look.

"Director Fury wants to see you immediately." Hill snapped, hands falling to clasp behind her back as soon as the folder was taken.

"Do I have the time for—" Nicole began, fingers tracing over the crisp corners of the folder.

"Immediately, Agent Dugan." And with that Hill was walking out the door again leaving the pair to share astonished looks.

Bobbi dropped her eyes down to the folder that Nicole was holding; it was black, unmarked, and thick. "What the hell is that?"

Nicole lifted the cover, eyes scanning over the contents. Her eyebrow began a steady climb to her hairline, lips pursing into a scowl before her jaw literally dropped. "I have to go."

Without preamble, without even removing the towel that was around her neck, Nicole was practically sprinting to the doorway. Several agents scattered away from her as she moved, a sudden urgency filling her steps and a trail of restlessness following behind. She didn't even hear Bobbi call out her name behind her, though she knew that there would be questions later. Hell, there were questions now as she began flicking through the file.

Name: Rogers, Steven Grant Age: 26 Status: Living

There were more basic demographics listed below that line, covered by a paper clipped picture of a man so skinny he bordered on being emaciated that was black and white and frayed long the corners. That wasn't what had gotten her, nor was it the secondary picture of a much taller, muscular man with the same face. What had her blood running cold was the fact that the file listed him as being alive, when that was utterly impossible.

Steven Rogers went MIA almost seventy years ago during his final mission against the Red Skull when he crashed an advanced jet into the ocean. She knew that, she knew it for a fact because her grandfather had told the story to her almost every night when she was a kid. And considering the fact that her grandfather had been one of his Howling Commandos, she figured if anybody would know, it'd be him.

"Agent Dugan, if I may have a word?" She looked up as somebody put themselves directly in her path; her eyes registering the bald head and the glasses first.

Her feet slowed so that she was standing in front of the man, snapping the file closed and tucking it under her arm. "Agent Sitwell, what can I do for you?"

She didn't much like Jasper Sitwell, even if she couldn't exactly say why. There was something about him, his almost avian features, which set her off. It wasn't even anything that he had ever done or said to her—the man had been nothing but cordial—but she just didn't like him. Being around him, holding a conversation with him, made her feel greasy.

"I have some questions about your latest field report, I was hoping you could clear them up." He was carrying a folder of his own, manila this time, to reveal papers with her own scrawling handwriting filling the lines.

Nicole frowned at that, dark eyes flicking from the paperwork to the red numbers of the clock on the wall. "I would love to, Sir, but Director Fury is expecting me at the moment."

Her words were polite, respectful, but she started to hedge away from the man. He noticed. "Are you being sent on another operation?"

"I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that Hill told me he needed to see me and that it was immediate." She didn't miss the look of distaste that flitted across his features. "But, if you want to highlight the parts you need clarification on and leave it in my mailbox, I'll take a look."

Her offer seemed to appease him, at least a little, and Sitwell nodded as he snapped the file close. Taking a step to the side, he made a slight gesture for her to go… as though she had needed his permission. Nicole kept her smile firmly in place as she bid the bald man farewell, waiting until her back was to him fully and she was well on her way down the hall before allowing the scowl to take over her features. Yes—technically—Sitwell was a higher clearance than she was and yes, technically, he was a superior officer but she hated his attitude. Always that slight sneer on his face as though he was better than everyone else.

"Put this on." A voice called in warning, giving the redhead just enough time to catch the black sweater that was being thrown at her. Switching the file between her hands as she shoved her arms through the sleeves, she pulled the soft cotton material over her head and let it fall down around her body. It was slightly baggy on her—especially across the chest, but it succeeded in covering up the sports bra she had been wearing, as well as her bare midriff.

"Thanks." She nodded over to the woman who had tossed it to her, now wearing only a white tank top. One of Fury's top agents, the woman was waiting casually outside of his office door. Waiting for her no doubt.

"They're waiting for you." Nicole swallowed a nervous lump in her throat as the black door—everything in SHIELD was black just about—was pulled open. The office itself had a view like none other, ceiling to floor windows all along one wall, several huge monitors on another, and what had to be the largest desk she had ever seen in her life. Granted, being the director of one of the world's largest intelligence agencies did have its perks.

Director Fury was seated behind his desk looking every bit the lethal, secretive spy that she knew him to be. That wasn't entirely surprising—she was in his office after all—but what Nicole did find interesting were the two people that were flanked on either side. Dressed in a crisp suit and seemingly humming a jazzy tune to himself was Fury's right hand man, Agent Phillip Coulson. On the left was a sandy haired man wearing a purple trimmed black uniform. He had reflective sunglasses on his face in spite of the dim light, and the fact that they were indoors.

She wanted to make a comment, the sarcastic words blistering the tip of her tongue, but perhaps now was not the best time.

"You wanted to see me Director?" She asked instead, hands behind her back and pressing the file into her spine.

"Yes I did, Agent Dugan. I take it you've had some time to see what was in the file Hill gave you?" She unfolded the limbs then, to display the folder.

"I looked through it a little bit on my way up here. But… I don't understand Sir. Captain America was lost and presumed dead seventy years ago. Why the sudden interest in it now?" Phil grinned slightly at her question, excitement obvious in his eyes. His counterpart on the other hand was as stone faced as a statue, arms still crossed over his chest.

"Earlier this week, we received word from a Russian oil rig that discovered some wreckage in the ice. Among that wreckage they found this." Director Fury made a gesture with his hand, causing one of the monitors to light up and display an image. After a questioning look at the man, Nicole approached the monitor with a curios look on her face, eyes drifting over it as she tried to process what she was seeing.

It looked like the wing of an airplane, but not any design that she had ever seen. It was dark metal from what she could tell, and the carrier itself was still mostly submerged in the ice with red lights leading up to it.

"Okay, that's great but what is it? Other than the obvious that is." With a look over her shoulder, Nicole quirked a curious brow as Fury rose from his seat, good eye fixed on the screen just behind her.

"This is an advanced airplane, the technology of which hasn't been fully inventoried yet. What's so odd about it is the fact that it's been frozen in the ice for the past seven decades." He lifted a hand, cycling through the pictures that depicted the interior of the plane.

He stopped on one that showed a door. Only, it wasn't really the door that was the important part rather the symbol embossed on it. A red skull over six perfectly symmetrical tentacles.

"You believe that this is Schmidt's plane." She breathed in awe, mind racing. "The one he tried to escape in."

"We know for a fact that it is, Nicole." Phil's words brought her gaze away from the computer screen. He spoke with much more familiarity to her than Director Fury did, but then they did live in the same building. And they had adjacent parking spots.

"Agent Dugan what we are about to reveal to you is available to agents given level seven clearance. Consider this your promotion as we put you on a new mission." Fury swung his one eye down to her, and she had to admit that even in light of her impromptu promotion she was creeped out by the intensity in his look.

"After this disclosure, you will find your SO and fill out the necessary release forms, as well as the confidentiality agreements. Afterwards you will report to Coulson directly; he is taking over as your handler." It was all getting a little too cryptic, cloak and dagger for her, but Nicole found herself nodding along just the same.

Her braid hit her shoulders as she spun around to face the three men entirely, fingers clutching anxiously at the folder. It suddenly felt heavier. "Understood, Sir. But will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

Phil stepped forward then, his movement drawing the entirety of her attention. "What we found in that plane was not only access to HYDRA weaponry and information regarding Schmidt's use of the Tesseract—his power source—but we also found… well, see for yourself."

The monitor display shifted focus again, this time changing to a live security video. It was in the SHIELD med bay, an area that was walled off from any outside visitors as doctors and nurses ran around anxiously. Their patient was a large, muscular man attached to so many different machines and tubes that she felt herself cringing in sympathy. Nicole had never liked being in hospitals before.

"I can't believe that he survived this long. And his muscles haven't atrophied at all." One nurse gasped in surprise, bending low to inspect the man's pulse.

"Don't you know who this is? Of course he survived." The doctor scolded slightly, walking down towards the end of the bed to pull up a medical chart. As soon as that happened, Nicole was given an obstructed look at the face of the unconscious figure on the hospital bed.

Blonde hair was combed back from a well-defined face, revealing a strong jaw and straight nose. She… she knew that face! She knew it from countless pictures that her grandfather would spend hours poring over as he recounted her with tale after tale. She knew it from the display at the Smithsonian that they had visited every Sunday since she was old enough to walk until she had moved down to Georgia. She knew that man's face like she knew her own, her grandfather's.

"Oh… my god." The file fell from numb fingers to spill over the floor. "That's Captain America."

"He somehow survived the crash, and was preserved in the ice." Phil informed her, as the man in sunglasses easily scooped up the papers.

"He's been kept in a state of unconsciousness as our medical staff tries to figure out the how and why, but eventually he will be woken up. When that happens, Agent Dugan, yours is going to be the first face that he sees. You are the closest thing to a familiar face Captain Rogers is going to have, and he's going to need a friend. Someone to stay with him, and keep him out of trouble while he adjusts." Fury's words went right over her head for the first two seconds before making a second pass that eventually sank into her brain.

"Me, sir? Wouldn't it be better to have someone more experienced? A therapist or historian?" The dark, foreboding figure shook his head and circled back towards his desk.

"All things considered Dugan, you're the best person that we have for the job. And it's not only because of the relationship between your family and the Captain. You are also one of the few individuals that we have here capable of holding their own against Captain Rogers should things turn violent. And of those individuals, you are the best fit." Her jaw dropped open at that, brow furrowing slightly at the implications of that statement.

"With all due respect sir, I don't think that Captain Rogers is going to turn violent against SHIELD. Not after we explain everything to him." It wasn't his type; from what her grandfather had told her he was the epitome of a chivalrous, cordial young man.

Fury inclined his head at her words, fingers steepled before him. "No, I don't think so either. But nonetheless, I want to have someone prepared for the worst."

"We will have therapists and historians to talk with him, bring him up to speed but there are many small nuances that they won't be able to explain. And he could use a friend." Phil added more reassuringly. Unwillingly Nicole glanced back to the sleeping figure on the bed, the doctors having left him in peace. She couldn't actually believe what she was seeing; one of her childhood heroes was actually alive… one of her grandfather's best friends.

"Wh—I am honored Director. But what's the game plan when he does wake up? He's going to be incredibly disoriented." She spoke after what seemed like ages, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

"The plan is to move him into a room designed to look exactly like a 1940's hospital. You're going to play the role of his nurse until we're ready to break the news to him." Fury answered, giving a slight nod to the sandy haired man who was approaching. "At the moment Captain Rogers is located at our New York facility. We've established an apartment there for him, where you will be staying as well. Your job until then is to get your things packed up, and to read up on that file."

Nicole took the folder that was offered to her again, looking at it as though it were a poisonous viper that was about to strike. So… she would be moving out of the city, into a much larger, much more crowded city. Thrilled was not exactly the word she would use to describe herself right now, especially considering the fact that she was being given less than a week's notice. A week's notice to completely clear out her apartment and move into a new one with a man. Not that she hadn't lived with a man before, but this was still… huh.

"Go find May, she'll have everything sorted out." Phil assured, probably reading the overwhelmed look in her eyes.

"Y—yes Sir. Is there anything else?" Fury looked thoughtfully up from his computer screen, eye so dark that it looked black even in the light.

"Dismissed, Agent."

IOI

"Sign here, and here." May didn't look up as she passed over the clip board, finger tapping near two blank lines. "This is your disclosure statement, and this is to get you processed for level seven clearance."

Nicole took the clipboard just long enough to scribble little more than a line as a signature. She used to be able to legibly sign her name, but after all of the papers she'd been handed in the past hour and a half her hand was cramping and she couldn't put in any semblance of an effort. Instead she just let the occasional tap of the keyboard lull her brain into a state of pleasant non-feeling. After a quick shower, and a stop by her mailbox where—true to his word—Sitwell had left a copy of her previous mission report, she'd gone straight to the corner desk. May hadn't even looked up at her approach, the woman had simply slid over a small forest's worth the paper work.

They weren't even half way through it.

"I feel like I need some liquor to get through this." Nicole groaned, resisting the urge to bang her head against the desk. May just looked at her then, features as impassive as the redhead had ever known them to be and reached for another stack of papers.

"Fill out all pertinent health information here, here and here." She flipped through the papers, eyes scanning the small, blockish text in confusion.

"Doesn't SHIELD already have this information on database?" It was a pertinent question, with more than a small amount of whining in her voice.

"Do you remember the emails I sent you for the past six months?" May inquired lightly, her voice steadily even. "About how we needed to renew your paperwork?"

Nicole felt her face flush with heat, pouting slightly as she looked down. "Paperwork sucks."

May gave her the look again, the one that suggested that the senior agent would like nothing more than to jump over the desk and throttle her, but was too composed to do so. For which Nicole was infinitely grateful, because neither her ego nor her ass had recovered from the last whipping that had been so liberally allocated to it. She remembered all those years ago, how excited she had been to learn that the Cavalry was going to be her SO. Back when she was just a rookie fresh out of the academy with a black eye from a fistfight just before graduation. Nicole had thought she'd known how to fight… May had proven her wrong.

Even with her Asgardian training the redhead had been laid out flat in less than a minute.

It had been a learning experience to say the least… for the both of them. Nicole had become a ruthless fighter afterwards, mastering the Northern Shaolin style of kung-fu directly at the woman's tutelage as well as several other styles including staff fighting. She'd also learned incredible breathing support to help control her abilities. And May had learned quite a few interesting things about her pupil as well; the young woman was an incredibly intelligent biochemist, and would have been just as well placed in Science and Technology had the woman not been so adamant on entering Operations. May had questioned Dugan's choice multiple times, even going as far as accusing her of just trying to imitate her grandfather which was when she learned perhaps the most interesting thing about the woman that there was.

She was gifted with super human abilities; hardier than a normal person and with the gift to control fire Nicole was a prized field operative. Once she had learned how to control her temper and think things through before acting rashly that was. Not that she would ever admit it to the girl, but May had enjoyed having her as a trainee, and would even go as far as to say that being her handler hadn't been too unbearable. With the exception of the paperwork that the redhead ferreted herself out of.

It would be a little disappointing to have her relocated to New York.

"You're going to do fine." The pen froze at those unexpected words; an assurance from Melinda May was one of the last things she had been imagining she would hear. Rubbing tiredly at her eyes, Nicole was wondering to herself whether she had imagined the whole thing when she felt the probing weight of the older woman's gaze on her body.

"You really think so?" She swallowed, scribbling down her next-of-kin information.

May didn't answer for a few moments, content to just stare at her until Nicole wanted to fidget. "You were trained well, and you've got a head for these sort of things. You possess something that a lot of our field agents lack, Dugan. You're sincerely likable. And from what I've been privy to, the partner they're giving you can see through falsities with relative ease. That's why you're best suited for this, because you won't lie to him."

"I… think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." The redhead noted, succeeding in causing the smallest twitch that could barely be called a smile to curve May's lips.

"It's more a complement to me than you." The smile dropped as she took the papers, only to replace them with another set. "These are going home with you, they're an inventory list for insurance purposes. Is there anything you would like to requisition for the new apartment?"

Nicole considered that thoughtfully, nose wrinkling in concentration. She was comfortable with all of the things that she had, and couldn't entirely foresee any other immediate needs that she couldn't just buy on her own. But there was one thing that she'd always wanted, and just hadn't had the room for. "A piano would be nice. Nothing too fancy, but I'd appreciate a small one."

"A… piano?" May confirmed, fingers pausing over the keyboard.

Nicole shrugged in embarrassment at that, looking back down at the papers. "Personal recreation."

"I'll put in the requisition. SHIELD will send you with two agents to help with the packing. You'll also want to clear out your personal locker here. Once you get to New York, the Bank will be your office of operations." She nodded at that, grateful that she already had her workout bag with her. "Your uniform and equipment has already been sent."

"Alright, cool deal. I guess I'll head home and get started on my homework. Oh, Sitwell wanted me to look through this as well," She waved the manila mission report. "Do you want me to forward it to you when I get it done?"

"Give it to Coulson, he'll be your handler after this, he can put up with it now." There was the slightest hints of exasperation in her words and—dare she suggest it—fondness? Nicole bit back the cheeky grin as she climbed to her feet, stretching out her back and cramping hand.

"Aye aye Cap'n." With a cocky salute that just earned her another glare transmitting barely restrained violence, the redhead had her bag around her shoulder and was sliding the files between her clothes. The next stop was to her locker, where a box was already waiting.

Nicole felt the slightest bit of nostalgia as she began to toss random things into her box; spare clothes, combat boots, a few emergency rations… the silver framed photograph of her mother's wedding photo, pictures of her cousins, her grandparents, her aunt and uncle. The latter were photographs taped to the door, and placed in the box with more care. The last thing, the piece de resistance, was her hat. It was an old hat, an antique if you really thought about it, a bowler hat with a worn leather strap that looked like it had been through war.

It had, been through war actually. Multiple wars, multiple battles. Her grandfather had given it to her just before they'd moved to Georgia, when she'd been a scared kid. He had loved this hat, had never taken it off until that day, and it was her single most prized possession. It also fit her head perfectly, which was really just a cosmic sign at this point.

"So you've been reassigned." Bobbi leaned casually against the locker, arms nestled under her breasts.

"To New York. Effective immediately, I have a week to get my bags packed and my apartment cleared out." She confirmed, trying to fit the lid onto the box. The awkward shape of the boots and photos guaranteed her efforts a lesson in futility and with a slight shrug the lid was pitched into the trashcan.

Bobbi was not impressed, and more than mildly put out that she would be losing one of her favorite sparring partners. "On a top secret mission that you can't share."

"You're not level seven. Sorry hon." Though she was just as sad to be leaving for the next year, Nicole couldn't help the surge of pride that went through her. She did just receive a promotion—which would include a pay raise—and was being assigned to basically hang out with Captain-fucking-America.

It was all she could do to keep herself from screaming like a fangirl. Nicole could only imagine how Phil was handling this news as well, and suddenly the slight bouncing and the humming made sense. Not only was his childhood idol—and he seriously made her look downright adjusted in his adoration—alive, but he was a part of the team that would be overseeing him. Even if it was only in a very minor way, she knew that Fury would consult the man when he tried to figure out how exactly Captain Rogers was going to fit into the world again.

"Anyway, I have to go. SHIELD is apparently sending me two agents to help with packing, but you're more than welcome to join as well." Fishing the car keys out of her bag, Nicole carried her box in one hand as she reached out for the door.

Bobbi cut her off and opened it for her, rolling her eyes when the redhead gave a sheepish grin in thanks. "And by join you mean do your paperwork. I already saw Sitwell dropping the folder in your box. There's no way in hell I'm getting wheedled into that again."

Nicole laughed at that, backing out of the doorway to flip the blonde woman the bird. "Va en enfer, pétasse."

"Je dirais bonjour a ta mère, quand je serais la-bas!" Bobbi called back, waving with a sweet smile. She could still hear the laughter even through the closed door.

IOI

"Agent Dugan, it is three o'clock in the morning and you are legitimately three floors down from me. What was so important that it couldn't wait until morning?" Phillip Coulson kept odd hours, with his job he had to, but at three in the morning he was almost always asleep if he wasn't on assignment.

And when he was woken up by an agent at three in the morning, his general good graces could not be relied upon.

"But Phil… Phil. It's Captain America." She answered, the excitement in her voice making it vibrate with barely restrained energy.

Coulson allowed himself a smile at that, as tired as he was, and dropped his hand back against the pillow.

"I know."

IOI

Translations: (French)

Allez viens espèces de vache. Come on, cow.

Laideron. Ugly.

Va en enfer, pétasse. Go to hell, bitch.

Je dirais bonjour a ta mère, quand je serais la-bas! I'll say hello to your mother while I'm there!