In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

1

Continuous purring from the Pfister Comet's engine filled my ears, engulfing me in a sweet bliss. The car followed my every command: left or right, sped or slowed. My beloved Comet and I were a team in the so-called race. Pure confidence in my fast vehicle won me the race. Satisfaction kept my car ahead of my failing opponent.

While reaching to snatch my water from the floor, I heard the sounds of terror: police sirens.

"It's the po-po!" I warned, scrambling to place my hands in the right positions again. "Scatter, my pretties!"

I jerked my wheel to the right, causing the tires to skid across the pavement as I forced the car into performing a U-turn. The cops retaliated, their bumper teasing mine.

My heartbeat skyrocketed; my palms became sweaty. It was my third time having the cops on the tail of my car— if I got caught for the third time, I was screwed. Leaning my head into the microphone of my headset, I ordered my godchildren to drive as fast as they could to escape. I would sacrifice myself for them.

"Clara, you can't!" pleaded Trevor, my youngest godchild.

John, his older brother, shouted, "Dude, there's still time! Drive faster!"

"Don't disappoint me, my children," I said; a bitter farewell. I reached across the seat and answered my cell phone. "Hi, it's Clara, I'm being chased by the cops and I really can't talk—"

"Agent Blake, quit playing Grand Theft Auto. It's time to get back into the real world," said the menacing voice of Natasha Romanoff. "Fury assigned the team a mission. If we're to make it to the coordinates by night, we leave in an hour. I need you pick up Rogers. Last I heard, he was running laps on his usual path."

"10-4," I said. I waited for the phone to disconnect before I lifted my head from my shoulder, allowing my cell phone to slide off and bounce into my lap.

"What was it you said you do for a living?" asked Trevor.

"Kick butt in drag races," I said. For their safety, I refused to let them in on my job. "Haven't you boys stayed up all night playing? Don't you think it's time for bed?"

"Whoa there," laughed John. "Don't start acting all motherly. You're the only cool relative."

"That's why you're our favorite, don't change now," whined Trevor.

I snapped an empty threat to expose their entrusted secrets to their father, and the boys quickly agreed to quit the game. It was my past time for me to quit as well, however, I refused to do so without making an amusing exit for them. Hearing their laughter fueled me throughout the workday.

"Yo, Clara, you're driving towards that cliff," warned John.

"Have you boys ever seen Terminator?" I asked.

"Don't," begged Trevor.

In a horrid Arnold impersonation, I said, "Hasta la Vista, baby," then drove my beautiful car flying from the cliff. Dramatically, I tossed my controller on the couch. As I went to shut off my electronics, my godchildren were hysterically laughing in my ears.

Smiling to myself, I dressed in black jeans, a blue tank top, and my lucky black leather jacket. I suppose lucky didn't need to be added, though I always liked to. Wearing it kept my alive through the years I worked at S.H.I.E.L.D. I considered it to be lucky; it's the Red Shirt Philosophy of being an Agent.

I wiggled into the front seat of my sleek, black Audi. It was a S.H.I.E.L.D issued vehicle, equipped with an A.I to help me when I needed it.

"Morning," I greeted it. "Can you find Steve Rogers for me?"

"Good morning, Ms. Blake," chimed my A.I. "Mr. Rogers is currently stationed at the Washington Monument."

"Inform him I'm on my way, if you would," I asked.

I hit the road to find him. I pulled to the lane nearest to the sidewalk when I saw the Washington Monument in my sights and squinted, searching for that broad shouldered blondie.

Steve swung his head my way when he heard the roar of my engine. I released my foot from the gas pedal, allowing my car to roll to a stop at the edge of the curb.

I rolled down the passenger window, shouting, "So, on a scale of one to, oh, I don't know, America, how free are you tonight?"

Steve tried to hide his amusement by a shake of his head. He waved his hand, summoning a man over. They both ducked down to see inside the window.

"Morning. Sam Wilson," said the new man, waving.

"Clara. Sorry to interrupt your running," I said, offering a grin.

"I don't know if I would call that running," teased Steve.

Inside joke, I guessed, by the way the two men chuckled. They exchanged a handshake, Sam and I politely waved goodbye, then Steve slid into my car. I wasted no time driving towards the Triskelion.

"You found us a mission?" asked Steve. He scrolled through his cell phone. "I must have missed your usual briefing e-mail."

"You didn't," I assured. "Fury assigned this mission to us."

"Where are we heading?" asked Steve.

"I don't exactly know."

Steve looked at me, his brow raised. "You haven't been briefed?"

I raised my brow thoughtfully. S.T.R.I.K.E team missions were normally founded by own research, as I was the head of the team. I spent weeks researching the world for a mission, I would brief Fury on it, then after granted with his approval, the team and I would be on our way. That's how it had gone since I was put in charge of the team. To have Fury assign a mission was out of the normal.

"We'll find out soon, I suppose," I said hopefully.