Unexpected

The Return Home

How long has it been since I've been in my own apartment? It feels like it's been at least a month. I remember hurriedly packing a bag to rush off to Miami on a protection detail for Pepper. So much has occurred since then. I fumbled with my keys with stiff fingers from the freezing cold of outside. My outfit, which had been perfectly comfortable in Florida, was not nearly enough protection from the heavy snow of Washington.

Finally fitting the key in the lock to my door I pushed it open, smiling as I flicked on the light to see the Christmas decorations I'd had up before leaving still present. I'd forgotten about them, the paper snowflakes I'd cut and tapped to the glass of my sliding door, the twisted garlands of gold and silver and of red and green that I'd strewn across the walls, and my little, four-foot Christmas tree decorated with white lights and red and silver sparkling orbs. Underneath the tree were a few gaily wrapped presents for my friends, one for Steve, one for Natasha, and one for Clint. There was also a pair of small packages for the little neighbor girls.

Smiling tiredly at the Christmas cheer still immersing my apartment I slumped to the sliding glass door, closing my curtains before shuffling to my bedroom. I hardly made it through changing into pajamas and brushing my teeth before I conked out, cuddled under my comforter. Plane rides, long reports, and an altogether late night had caught up with me, I was beat.

While all I wanted was a deep, dreamless sleep, I received nightmares instead, each filled with airplane passengers glowing red from the inside like the Extremis experiment patients and heavy turbulence that woke me up every few hours with one of those sickening, stomach-dropping feelings of free falling. At around six in the morning I finally gave up on trying to sleep. Pulling myself out of the warmth of my bed, sweat from fear making my pajamas cling to my skin, I pulled on sweatpants, a tank top, a sweatshirt, and running shoes. Stuffing my bag with a change of clothes, my laptop, and a packed lunch, I left my apartment just as morning sunlight started breaking over the horizon.

My navy pea coat was much better protection against the wintery morning than my skirt and blouse had been the night before, keeping me toasty as I climbed into my car and drove off towards the Triskelion. My lower eyelids felt like they were drooping as I made my way through the early morning traffic. I'd hoped to return to work well-rested and recuperated, but my nightmares had seriously messed up my sleep. Parking, I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail before making my way through the S.H.I.E.L.D. building to the gym where I stretched, then went to work on the ovular running track. If I couldn't sleep, I'd use my time to get myself back into the routine of an agent, which, unfortunately, included working out and weapons training.

It wasn't too long before I severely regretted my decision to start running. I was panting and sweating like a dog in Arizona after a half hour. I should've exercised while visiting my grandparents. I really should have. Slowing down to a walk, I tried to steady my breath again, mumbling "Я действительно ненавижу бегать." (I really hate running) under my breath. My lips curled at the Russian before I looked around the room. Training like this didn't feel right without the red-headed Russian super spy. If it felt like a month since I'd been in this building, how much longer had it been since I'd seen my friends? My heart hammered mercilessly in my chest and I could feel my rapid heartbeat throbbing through my legs as I eventually made my way to the women's locker room to pretty myself up and get ready for work. A half hour later I was feeling pristine in a grey sweater, nice, dark-wash skinny jeans and brown ankle boots. I'd tied my hair into a neat bun and lined my eyes with black liner. Time to get back to business. Apparently, even though I'd been off on a mission then on a holiday break, S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't been taking a break. As soon as I turned on my work computer I was astounded at the amount of emails and translation requests I'd received during my absence. Groaning, I set about answering them, getting back into the swing of things as I pulled out German dictionaries and looked up French slang that I was unfamiliar with. My work sucked me in until, hours later; there was a knock on my office door. Dragging my mind from my world of swirling languages, I looked up at the door. "Yes?" The door swung open as soon as I spoke the word and Agent Jenkins marched in, her arms full of folders as usual, her countenance completely unchanged since I'd last seen her. "Agent Copper." "Hey! Long time no see!" I stood up from my rolling chair and offered my hand to her in greetings, but she simply looked at my hand, then readjusted her folders, opening one to reveal the report I'd taken from Pepper Potts. "I was going over your report before we closed out this mission. Your timeline here seems a bit fuzzy. I'd like it to be clarified before this is filed away." Straight to the point as usual. I leaned over my desk to see what she was pointing at, "Oh right. The best I could do there was estimate how long I'd been unconscious. I'm not entirely sure what time it was when Aldridge Killian broke in to Miss Potts, Maya, and my hotel room that night and I don't know what time it was when I woke up in the laboratory, so my timeline is a bit skewed there." "We referenced your report to when the hotel employees found the murdered bellhop. I suppose that's as good of a timeline as we are going to get." Tabitha sighed, scrabbling awkwardly with her full hands to grab a pen before scribbling down a note. Once she was done, she fumbled around again, dropping her papers on my desk to search for something before pulling out a sheet of paper that seemed to be a photocopy of a handwritten note smeared in red droplets that I instantly assumed to be blood. "One other thing. We just had this picture sent to us over a secure line from one of our correspondents on the Chitauri weapon case. He was found shot with this shoved in his pocket. We need a translation as soon as possible so that we can respond accordingly. I took the paper from her, scanning over the strange jumble of words that appeared to be some kind of Spanish at first glance, and then I realized it was something completely different, maybe Italian... "I'll get right on that. Where was the correspondent found?" "Germany." My eyebrows raised in surprise before furrowing in confusion since the letter was definitely not in German. This was going to be tricky. "Hm." Agent Jenkins left swiftly after she delivered the paper to me, leaving me to dissect the letter for its meaning. My supposition that the letter was in Italian proved to be correct, but after an hour of scrounging through Italian grammar and online dictionaries I found myself to be completely confused. The worlds, though I translated them correctly, didn't make any sense. The sentences were so jumbled up and nonsensible that no meaning could be made from them. Well, maybe I could make some sort of meaning of it if I arranged the words differently, but each attempt came up with different sentences that all could have been a possible translation, but who was to say which one was the actual meaning of the letter? For hours I immersed myself in my work trying to figure out Italian grammar and see where my understanding was going wrong. It wasn't until the world had gone dark outside my office's window that something occurred to me. Yes, the words were Italian; however, the correspondent and the letter were in Germany when his unfortunate death occurred. Maybe... just maybe... Running with my new theory I pulled up German dictionaries, and to my relief, within half an hour the letter was completely translated! Whoever the correspondent had been, he'd been smart using Italian words with German grammar to encode his message so his information wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. As soon as I had the translation and read what the man had meant to keep secret I almost choked on my breath. The correspondent had located a sector of baddies who had worked for Loki willingly during the Battle of New York located in Germany. I rushed translation up to Agent Jenkins' office, hardly taking the time to close my office door after me as I scurried through the hallways. I was not going to let that trail go cold because it took me so long to figure out the letter! Jenkins took it from there, almost calmly accepting and reading the letter before thanking me and sending me away. My heart was still hammering in my chest from my sprint as I made my way back to my office, underwhelmed at Agent Jenkins' reaction to the news that had my mind racing. So many of those who had been associated with Loki's attempt to take over earth had simply disappeared after the tragic battle that had nearly decimated Manhattan Island! Upon reaching my office I suddenly realized how late it was. I'd been nonstop working to play catch-up and translating all day and now it was several hours after my normal work hours... and I still had to grocery shop before heading home. My mind wasn't on the foodstuffs that I was buying as I meandered up and down grocery store aisles, nor was it on the slippery, slushy roads as I made my way through the traffic back to my apartment building. It was on my memories of the hundreds of men and women who had willingly worked in Loki's underground headquarters. Some had been captured in the resulting battle, but most had disappeared and now I'd had a hand in tracking down some of those villains who's helped bring on the devastating disaster. They'd soon come to justice, I was sure.

I sighed as I made my way up the apartment stairs with my plastic grocery bags clutched in my fingers, wondering what any of the henchmen who'd been associated with the Battle of New York was doing in Germany. It didn't make sense why they'd transferred across an ocean. What was going down in Germany?

"Maybe I should try to pick up German." I mumbled to myself as I tried to grab my apartment keys out of my back pocket while not dropping any of my bags, which didn't work too well. After retrieving my keys I had to bend down to gather up a loaf of bread that had slipped out of the top of one of my bags. That's when I saw the light shining from underneath the door to the apartment right next to mine. My breath caught in my throat. Why was Steve's light on? Was he...?

Dropping my bags onto the ground next to my door I hurriedly knocked on Steve's door, my hand that wasn't knocking moving instinctually to my waistband where my device was clipped. If this was some sort of burglar or maybe even some secret agent from some villainous organization I was ready. Holding my breath I heard shuffling sounds from inside the lit apartment, then footsteps. There was a click of the door unlocking.

"Hello?" I was greeted by the door swinging open to reveal a tall, muscular blond man. His eyes widened in recognition as a smile that I had become accustomed to broke across his face, "Penny!"

"Steve!" I could hardly believe it! Without a second of hesitation I jumped up, throwing my arms around the super soldier's neck.

He seemed shocked at my outburst of emotion, slowly and awkwardly patting my back before giving me a real hug, "Hey, it's been a while."

"Been a while?" I pulled away from him at his words, giving him a stern look as I crossed my arms in front of my chest, "It's been months! I didn't know if you and the others were dead or alive after that one video conference!"

"Yeah." Steve gave me a sheepish smile, raising one hand to rub the back of his neck. "A lot happened since then."

No kidding.

"Come on over." I demanded grabbing up my grocery bags again and turning my key into the lock of my apartment door, "I'm making dinner. We have a lot to talk about!"

Steve didn't put up a fight. He knew better. Soon he was settled at my kitchen table as I started putting together pasta alfredo with broccoli, zucchini, mushrooms, and chicken. Once the door had been locked, windows closed, and I was sure that we were able to talk freely I turned to him, placing a pot on the stove to boil the pasta. "Okay, spill. Why have we not heard from you in months?"

"We had to cut off all contact after that video call. It was too dangerous to reach out to the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. until we had gotten our men back."

"And the two agents?" I remembered the video feed, how the two men tied to chairs had looked inches from death.

"Both survived the ransom. Your idea of a tracking device came in handy."

Relief filled my chest. Good. I remembered the threat on their lives, how terrible the descriptions of their torture had been. His response didn't answer something though. "Then why were you gone for another two months?"

"We hit on another lead about the Chitauri weapons after all that drama died down. It kept us busy but..." Steve leaned back a bit with a sigh, "It turned out to be a bust."

"What about Rumlow?"

"Rumlow's back. Got knocked around pretty bad, but of course he wouldn't admit to it."

I chuckled, "Stubborn is as stubborn does."

The pair of us then swapped stories about all that had happened to us since we'd last been in the same room together, keeping some of the more confidential details on the down-low. Even though we were talking about aliens, spies, terrorists, and life-threatening situations, it felt almost like we were just two friends talking about our long days at work. I watched Steve's face, noticing how his lower lip was split, probably in one of the brawls he explained to me as we slurped up noodles and munched on garlic bread. It was so good to see him again. In the instant I'd seen his face when he'd opened his door it had felt like that crushing loneliness I'd been dreading returning to had lifted off my chest.

Steve was home and I was home. That's what mattered right now.