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"OH," you groaned, trudging into Fury's office and flinging your jacket onto the floor as you dropped your fatigued body onto the leather sofa, "you would not believe the week I've had."
Your godfather appeared in your line of sight, seemingly upside down as he stood in front of your head that was dangling over the armrest.
"If we're talkin' bout 'big weeks', I'm willing to bet my one good eye that mine takes the cake," he scoffed with an arch of his brow. "And it's not over yet."
Making shooing motions with his hands, he guided you off of the sofa, much to your displeasure.
"Hey, no, I'm tired," you argued, trying to swat his hands away so that you could resume resting.
"So am I. Do you hear me complaining?"
With a monumental sigh, you angrily grabbed your jacket and headed for the exit with Fury behind you.
"So what am I meant to be doing again?" you asked, pushing your hair back as you started down the hallway.
"Playing babysitter," Fury responded, reaching forward to call for the elevator; he let you enter first when the doors opened before stepping in and pressing the floor number.
"Mm," you pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes, "and why me, again? Surely there are other agents more than willing to step into that role."
"As true as that is," Fury looked at you out of the corner of his eye, "I thought you'd appreciate the distraction."
You couldn't argue with that. As hectic as the last couple of months had been, and regardless of all the challenges that came with it, you had to admit that it had forced you to push Brendon out of your mind, and slowly but surely, you were starting to heal.
And since that was the case, taking on another mission would only help the cause, wouldn't it?
"How old is he, again?" you queried, stepping out of the elevator and following your godfather as he led the way down the desolate corridor.
"Ninety."
"Oh, this is gonna be fun."
A few hours later.
"You sure this is gonna work?" you asked, sceptically glancing into the cornered off area you were about to step into.
"I hope so."
"That's not very reassuring, Uncle Nick."
"Just stick to what we practiced. It'll be fine."
Inhaling deeply, you made sure that the comm in your ear was hidden from plain view, and then proceeded to enter the room.
Your sudden appearance startled the super-soldier, propelling him further into a confused haze as he stood up from the bed he'd woken up on.
Plastering a warm smile on your face, you took a few slow steps forward, mentally assessing him. His muscles were incredibly tense, his eyes wild, and you could tell that he was on edge; any sudden movement from you could be perceived as a threat towards him, so you remained still so as to avoid any outbursts.
"Morning," you greeted, then glanced at the petite watch on your wrist and corrected yourself, "or should I say, afternoon."
"Where am I?" he asked, forgetting his manners; all he cared about was being made aware of what the hell was going on - the last thing he remembered was flying a plane into the ocean.
"You're in a recovery room in New York City," you lied, sticking to the cover story that Fury had given to you.
Fury thought it best to ease the soldier into his new surroundings, hence the room was decked out in furniture from the 1940s, and you were clad in old-timely clothing.
The soldier didn't respond, allowing the sound from the radio on the dresser to flood the room. He perked up at the sound, turning his head to look at the device as he listened carefully to the words.
He frowned as the familiarity of what he was hearing sunk in, and then slowly turned to look at you in distrust, spine stiffening.
"Where am I really?" he asked again, tone of his voice hardening.
You chuckled shortly, feigning innocence. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"That game," he said, referring to the one being reported on the radio, "It's from May 1941. I know 'cause I was there."
Your face fell, and he advanced on you slowly and threateningly.
"Now I'm gonna ask you again - where am I?"
You pressed the small distress button in your hand. "Captain Rogers," you whispered but he cut you off.
"Who are you?!"
A team of agents burst through the door, ready to assist you should the captain lash out. He recoiled at the sight of them, but soon reacted, tossing all of them through the makeshift wall of the 'room', sending them sprawling across the concrete floor of the empty warehouse.
He leaped through the opening, taking a moment to survey his surroundings for something that would tell him where he was. All he saw was walls, so he made a break for the exit.
"Captain Rogers, wait!" you yelled after him.
The skirt you were wearing made it difficult to leap through the wall as he did, and you sighed in frustration, heading for the door.
Pressing one finger to your comm, you called his escape in. "All agents, code 13. I repeat - all agents, code 13."
Your voice sounded throughout the entire building, alerting all S.H.I.E.L.D employees. The captain entered the main hallway as it did, and all of the agents made a break for him. He tore through them with ease, however, knocking them down and running for the main exit.
He was racing down the street mere seconds later, his super-speed carrying him all the way. It was insanely different to the 40s New York that he knew, but his mind was racing too much for him to notice.
He came to a halt in the middle of Times Square, turning his head in all directions as he tried to figure out where he was. Before he could run again, SUVs surrounded him from all sides, blocking any escape routes.
"At ease, soldier," The Director called out as he made his way forward, with you next to him.
The soldier just stared at the two of you, chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.
"Look, I'm sorry for that little show back there," Fury apologised, "We thought it best to break it to you slowly."
"Break what?"
"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."
The soldier took the news relatively well - remaining silent as he frowned and took another look at his environs.
"You gonna be okay?" you asked cautiously.
"Yeah," he nodded, "yeah, I just... I had a date."
