Monster

The worst part about this “mission” was not the possibility of being murdered by a super-soldier with a robotic arm. It was waitressing. Hill set up the job so I could establish my false life at least one week before Rogers was set to come to my house, and possibly bring along a trailing shadow.

They had already sent someone to work on my house. They arrived at sunrise as I was walking out the front door to head to the restaurant. People were coming in and out of my house with flower planters and lawn mowers because apparently my house wasn’t as warm and fuzzy as this super assassin needed. I never mowed my lawn. Ever. Sometimes a kid who lived down the street from me offered to do it for a small fee, and that was the only time it ever got done. And I usually only ever remembered to water the damn lawn when my dad would call to lecture me about responsibilities.

Romanoff made it very clear that I was supposed to appear as kind and gentle as a “fairy princess.” To be honest, I didn’t expect my house to make the cut. I didn’t use it for anything other than sleeping, eating, and a place to spend my off days watching Tvland reruns. So it wasn’t exactly “fairytale castle” material. And by the time my shift would be over at the diner, my house would be what Romanoff and Hill considered a “threat-free environment.”

When I was in high school, I had one real job. Usually I made extra money helping out my grandparents or occasionally going to work with my dad to clean up his office. But one time in my junior year of high school my parents were short on cash, and I couldn’t afford the money I needed to cover the cost of my prom dress. So I got a job and paid for it myself. I was a waitress at a chain pancake restaurant in town. And I hated every second of it.

I felt all of that hatred coming back to me when I stepped into that diner. It was originally supposed to be a 50’s themed diner with pictures of Elvis, James Dean, and various old cars along the walls. The floor was tiled in a checkerboard pattern, and their biggest seller was their old fashioned malts. I had never even heard of the place before I got the job, but I already felt my dislike for all the greasy food and I knew I was going to want to destroy the shake machine before leaving for the day.

The dining area was fairly small with several booths along the windows, a few tables, and a bar where customers could sit and play with the non-working jukebox selectors as they waited for food. A girl was already standing behind the counter making a milkshake when I came in. She appeared to be the only person in the dining area besides a man at the bar drinking coffee and a mom with a sleepy kid, eagerly awaiting his shake.

I headed back and introduced myself to the girl making the milkshakes. She said her name was Megan or Morgan, but I couldn’t remember which because we didn’t have nametags. She had choppy black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail even though her hair wasn’t long enough, and she was tall and looked uncomfortable in her chunky wedge sneakers.

When she was done showing me how to make the shake, she took it out to the little boy sitting in a back booth with his mom. She was smiling brightly like it wasn’t early in the morning. Then she came back around the counter and nodded for me to follow her into the back to meet the manger.

I was going to be in training for two days and then I was going to be observed for the rest of the week. I knew how to do the job since I’d done it before, so it wasn’t too difficult to get started. I just didn’t like the job at all. I never wanted to go back to it, and I hated HYDRA even more for getting me stuck there. The only consolation was that Rogers was going to pay me the difference, and I’d be able to afford my mortgage payment.

By the time my shift was over everything below the waist hurt. My thighs ached, my knees, my calves, and especially my feet. I used to wake up every morning at 4am and run laps with a bunch of stinky sweaty people. But I would rather go back to that than spend another day waiting tables. My head was pounding, my stomach felt heavy with fried foods, and I wanted to go home and never return. Luckily, I didn’t have to say late. So I rushed out of there the first chance I got.

My house felt different when I arrived. The front lawn had been mowed to my father’s standards, and flowers had been planted in the little boxes outside of my windows. There was a small potted shrub beside the front door and a welcome mat with friendly little polka dots. The inside had been cleaned from top to bottom. There were no more cobwebs on the ceiling fans. There were decorative quilts and pillows. They’d even put a worn and weathered looking patio set in the small backyard.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor and found my bedroom neatly cleaned with a small soap dish and a friendly shower curtain. My bed was made and all my work clothes had been removed from my closet. The box that held all my military memorabilia was missing, along with my collection of knives. Romanoff said they were going to put my stuff in storage. I really hoped nothing happened to them.

After I was done examining my new house, I sat down on my bed in the center of the bedroom and took off my shoes. I stretched my toes and noted that, despite the new curtains, my room was still relatively dark. I really wished they hadn’t called an exterminator to get rid of Rocket. I knew he posed a risk to my health and my home, but I didn’t want the poor guy out on his own. And sometimes I found his scurrying and chattering comforting. I liked the way he made the trees shake when he shot out of the house like a damn rocket.

It wasn’t that I found the new look of the place uncomfortable. I got to wear my weekend clothes every day, and I had always wanted my house to be as welcoming and warm as my childhood home. I just rarely spent any time in it and, therefore, never spent anytime ON it. My weekends were spent drowning out the silence, not tending to gardens and waxing floors.

I always thought that I was a fairly organized person until Clara went off to college and left me at home in Ohio with the growing clutter. My mother always said that Clara was destined to be rich and never have any children. She said I was destined to be a mom. I liked kids, from a distant sort of way. But anyone could be a mom. My mom was awesome, and other moms were awesome. But it just seemed too easy for me. My mother made it seem like I would just pop out a few kids and dedicate my life to caring for them. Instead of doing anything useful. Not that I couldn’t raise amazing kids. Just that the only good I was capable of doing for the world was taking care of other people who were going to do more than me.

Clara had to fight her way to where she was. She worked her ass off through high school and college, then she landed her dream job with Stark Industries. Then somehow the bastard had fallen head over heels for her, and while Tony was a great business man, he still needed her. She was a Public Relations Expert. She was his private PR. He relied on her to represent his company. To make sure he was represented in a good light. To make sure the media kept talking about him. She wrote invaluable speeches (that he never used) and organized conferences. Stark needed her. And that’s what I really wanted. To be valuable to something other than children. To be needed for more than just caregiving. I wanted to be so good at something that I was wanted for a greater cause.

So I joined the military to prove that I was strong enough to handle something larger than myself. To prove to my father that my kindness and gentleness had nothing to do with a lack of strength. I had worked as hard as Clara did. I gave the army everything I had. I took up hobbies that got me noticed by Special Forces. I was destined for great things. I could help people. I could be a doctor. I could make a difference AND make my father proud.

And I couldn’t even do it. I got my comrades killed. I failed to save a group of children. I couldn’t even pull a damn trigger and avenge them. And now I was waitressing in a shitty 50’s diner so that Captain America could use my house to find his friend. So that a potentially dangerous HYDRA experiment didn’t find me too threatening.

Of course they’d chosen me. I was so non-threatening that Colonel Talbot took one look at me and determined that there was no possible way HYDRA could have used me. I had been the least threatening SHIELD agent in the entire district.

I was a failure.

Notes

Sorry for this filler chapter already. It was originally going to be longer but then it was just too damn long. And I didn't want to add anything or remove anything. So just left it as is.

Also, if you didn't read my recent blog, I have a SHIELD watching beta now. So there have been changes made to the previous three chapters. I haven't been watching Agents of SHIELD so there were things I didn't know about SHIELD in relation to this story. Now that I DO know these things, I can alter my story accordingly. Chapter 1 and 3 were left relatively the same, with just a few minor alterations to fit with the Agents of SHIELD changes. But Chapter 2 has been completely rewritten. So it might be important to check that out. I've also added gifs to every author's note for incentive.