Last chapter, we met miss Reagan, a plucky, charming young freelance agent and adventurer with her grandfather's trouble magnetism. THe young mutant, who has stealth powers, has yet to show Nicholas that she is in fact one of his last blood relatives. But Reagan, raised (after a fashion) by the Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine, isn't ready to give up on her gruff old man just yet.
Reagan
I looked up into the control room to see that the man was looking down at me. I'd seen pictures of Nicholas Fury before, but I'd never seen him in real life. In a totally not-creepy way, I could see why the Contessa was so attracted. He was all muscle and sinew, tall, in a bodysuit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
His eye looked just like mine, and I assumed the other one did too, only it was hidden beneath a plain black eyepatch.
Also, it was painfully apparent that it sucked to be Nick Fury. His big square shoulders must have held the weight of the world, like Atlas, and the lines carved themselves under and around his eyes. On the top, his hair was brown like mine, but with a little less red, and his skin was tanned, but probably used to look like mine too. Minus the adorable red cheeks.
“Hey, you aren't supposed to be sitting on that.”
I looked at the woman looking at me and smiled. “Hi,” I said.
“Um, hi,” she said back. She looked a little less suspicious. “You're the girl that came with the Contessa, right?”
“Yeah,” I answered, “but I don't think I should tell you my name yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because. The old man and the old lady are up there talking about it right now,” I said, tilting my head up to control. They were arguing now, outright, and I listened, hoping I could hear. “If they don't come to an agreement then my name is irrelevant.”
“Right. . . well I'm --”
“Daisy Johnson? I know. I've heard of you,” I said pleasantly, holding up her file with a grin.
“How did you get that!?” she demanded. I held it out to her and she snatched it.
“I got it out of Fury's office.”
“How did – okay, nevermind. Look, if you don't tell me who you are, right now, they I'm going to have to put you in custody.”
I sighed. “This is why I hate signed agents, they always wanna know who you are and why you're in their secret facilities,” I rambled with a shrug. “If you must know, on the street they call me Cheshire.”
Her mouth popped open, and a few heads popped up from behind the jets in the hangar and turned around from where they were standing – mechanics, agents, and when I looked up to control, I saw Fury staring wide eyed.
“Wait, like, the Cheshire?” I heard, and I looked over to see a guy walking up to me. He was younger, maybe his mid 20s, with the same hair and similar features to Fury. “The same Cheshire that single-handedly took down an underground AIM group – with their own grenade launchers?”
“Well, one of them belonged to Hydra,” I shrugged.
“The same Cheshire that gave Baron Zemo the finger?” asked Daisy.
“I gave him two.”
“The same Cheshire that stole back the stolen Hydra files that were stolen from Leviathan that were stolen from SHIELD that were stolen from Hydra first?”
“Technically they were some Arizona kid's seventh grade science project.”
“But, you're so. . .”
“Young? Short? Pretty?” I joked, earning chuckles from the small group of agents around me. I think I liked it here.
Fury
“No, you're lyin',” I said. The Contessa rolled her eyes, tired of this game.
“Reagan is your granddaughter, Nick, look at her! Look at her face, look at her life, look at her choices – you stubborn old bastard, look at her eyes! She has your eyes. I have tests,” she paused to throw a folder down on the control panel, “to prove it.”
“That kid. . .”
“She's your granddaughter, Fury, and it's time you took care of her. I can't do it anymore. Nor do I have any interest in doing so. She's got too much energy, too much excitement. If there's trouble to be found, she'll find it. Put her to work as an agent. She can take care of herself.”
“ If she's the damn Cheshire, she won't want to be a SHIELD agent. She won't do regulation and she won't do --”
“If I recall correctly, you've got a special protocol for supers, Nicky. Are you going to take her, or not?”
I looked down at the kid again. There was no doubt in my mind that she was my blood – well, no. It was in my head that I fought it, but in my gut, I knew. “I'll take her.”
“Good. She knows all the accounts, I'll send her things along this evening.”
She stomped out the door, her pretty little boots clicking along the floor, down the hall, out of my life again. Good @#$%! riddance.
Leaning on the control panel, I looked down at the girl. The daughter of my daughter. The daughter I hadn't even known existed. Was it right to feel grief for someone I never even knew about?
She was charming, according to the speakers. Charming, pretty, and but not dangerous. She was a high-risk prankster. She liked games. She liked to play. She could never take a life, could never hurt someone beyond a six-week recovery, could never do what it took to really be an agent.
Though I did have to admit – she was ballsy. I knew about the Zemo incident, I knew about the Files, I knew about the AIM splinter cell. She was reckless. She either knew about danger and didn't care, or had no sense of fear.
Maybe she could be useful, at least.
If she'd grown up with the Contessa, then she was probably used to luxury. Used to sleeping on soft silky sheets and eating fancy food. I liked all those things as much as the next guy, but I could live without them. She'd just have to too.
“You'll bunk with Daisy so she can keep an eye on you, got it?” I said, maybe a little too harshly, since she flinched a little, just in her eyes.
“Got it,” she repeated, but I didn't hear any kind of whining in her tone. Not that I expected – she was probably a good actress.
“Breakfast is at 0600, if you don't eat then then you don't eat until 1300 hours at lunch.”
“Got it.”
“Dinner is at 1900 hours.”
She looked confused. “You do know military time, right? Railway time? Continental?”
“Yeah, yeah, it just takes me a minute to figure it out. Sorry.”
I thought about rolling my eyes, but didn't. There was a little tug on my jacket sleeve, and I turned around. “What are you, five? I have a name and I --”
“My name is Reagan,” she said, interrupting me. “Look, I know you don't want me here and, frankly, I know I'm going to be a crap agent, but, I'm going to give it my best shot, alright? And in turn, all I ask is that you call me by name and, y'know, talk to me every once and a while.”
Not unreasonable, not by any stretch of the imagination. She wanted a little attention, no doubt something the Contessa didn't know how to give her. She didn't look afraid, not to anyone who didn't know what they were looking for. But she looked around a lot, taking in the corridor, but looking for exits, weak spots in the walls and doors, and listening for anyone coming by, turning her head when she heard footsteps.
She was like a cat in a new house. She didn't know what to do. I sighed and rubbed the back of my head.
“Look. . . this is. . . I don't know what to make of all this. Can't say for sure what I'm willing to believe. I'm gonna level with you, since I can tell you ain't like a lot of agents out there, secret or not. And you just. . . you don't seem like you want anything. I don't know if I can believe this grandkid story until I see some clear, rock-solid evidence.”
She looked me right in the eye, and smiled, and said, “that's fine. I'm not asking you to believe it. However I am asking when 1900 hours is, because I'm starving.”
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