Steve sat up with a start, having fallen asleep on the couch again. He wasn't sure what time of day it was because the windows revealed a storm pounding the street outside. The sky was dark and the angry clouds lay low over the city. Rain poured off roofs and filled gutters, overflowing into drains and grates in the paving. Dirty rivulets of fast moving runoff chased each other down the street and around bends until they reached the finish line at the drainage grates.
He sat up and rubbed the shrinking lump on the back of his head, still bruised from its collision with the coffee table. He yawned and in doing so, caught a look at his watch. Only 6:30am, he thought. Looked far too dreary to be a spring morning, but Paris was different from New York; he had to remember that.
As he got ready for the morning's tasks, he ran through the file in his mind. He would have to find the answers to his questions before he could continue too far into the mission. He was in the process of making the bed when he stopped suddenly. Why did Fury even want this girl protected if she wasn't part of SHIELD anymore? From what he could gather, the 'too much' that she knew didn't have to do with SHIELD. So who considered her enough of a threat to hunt her down? And when would they reach her?
He finished the morning's chores and turned on the radio for some noise as he sat to think. Most of the stations broadcasted in French but a few fuzzy stations came through in English. He wasn't really paying the announcer any attention until he heard something that ripped his thoughts away from their previous work. "...including a solo performance from Mademoiselle Cousteau. The matinée will be held at one in the afternoon two weeks from today at the theater on..."
Steve didn't have to hear where it would be held; he already knew. At least now he knew he had about two weeks to persuade Antoinette he was telling the truth. The performance would be the perfect time to take her out. In the backstage chaos, it wouldn't be hard to poison her or lure her away for an ambush. And during her solo, she'd be an easy sniper target. Two weeks. He had two weeks. Sounded easy enough, but talking to this girl was like trying to deactivate a bomb. The slightest wrong move made her blow up.
The clock rolled around to eight and the clouds began to clear. A chalky blue sky was almost entirely freed of clouds, and what few remained were fluffy and white. The puddles in the sidewalks reflected the peaceful sky. The steady drip drip of water leaving gutters accompanied his footsteps as he began his walk toward the theater once again.
The air was warm and humid, but the breeze cut like a newly sharpened kitchen knife. He pulled his bomber jacket closer around his body as he walked. When he passed a cafe, he remembered he hadn't had breakfast at the apartment. The tempting aromas of hot coffee and fresh bakery creations were enough to lure him toward the neatly arranged open-air tables.
Maybe twenty people sat intermittently among the tables in twos or threes and few sat alone. He cast his eyes over the tables to find a seat when his gaze landed on the last person he had expected. Thinking quickly, he strode over and slid into the empty seat across the table.
Antoinette's head was down, reading what looked to be a page of the newspaper when Steve slid in across from her. Without looking up, she said, "I'll give you thirty seconds to find a different table or leave the café entirely."
"Good morning to you too," he retorted.
"Twenty seconds," she answered, refusing to face him.
"I'm not leaving, however nice that offer may sound," Steve replied, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms.
"I wasn't offering. I was demanding that you leave me alone."
"I can't do that," he said, watching her posture stiffen every time he denied her.
"And why not?"
"Because you're in danger."
"I am always in danger. We live in a world of danger. If you intend to frighten me, you'll 'ave to do better," she answered.
"Someone wants to have you killed for something you know. What do you know that's so important?"
She propped her elbows on the table and leaned part way across the table toward him. "Oh, but if I told you that, they'd 'ave to kill you too. Hm, maybe I should tell you. Then when they killed you, I'd be free of you at last."
Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Do you know who they are that want you killed?"
"I might," she answered sitting back in her chair.
"But you won't tell me." Steve sat back as well, noticing a waitress heading for their table.
"Exactement," Antoinette answered with a small smirk.
The waitress arrived at their table and turned to Antoinette first to take her order. They spoke in quick French to each other before the waitress scrawled something on her notepad and turned to Steve.
"Black coffee, hot?" he asked, wondering if she spoke English. When she simply continued to stare at him, he assumed she didn't understand. He looked to Antoinette for help.
She smiled a little in pitying amusement before telling the waitress his order in French. The waitress replied to Antoinette, "Americain?"
Antoinette seemed amused. "Oui."
The woman nodded and left them alone at the table once more.
"So, I believe you were leaving?" she said.
"No, I'm pretty sure I was staying," he retorted.
"Fine. Stay," she answered with a shrug.
The waitress returned with their drinks and Steve thanked the waitress with a smile and dip of his head. He blew on his coffee before taking a swallow. It wasn't the usual drip brew he was used to. It was nutty and strong, but he liked it.
Antoinette simply glared at him from across the table. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to stare inside his being, search out everything he was thinking, and turn him inside out like a sock.
"Who are you?" she asked at length.
He would be honest with her, to an extent. If she wasn't going to be open with him, there was no reason he should tell her everything up front. Just enough for her to trust him. "I'm a member of SHIELD, what else do you need to know?"
"Non, I know that already."
"Then what do you want to know?" he asked calmly.
"I want to know who you are, where you are from, and most importantly- why you are doing this," she told him, once again leaning toward him across the table. She held her little espresso cup with both hands, her fingers elegantly extended and yet relaxed, the trait of a ballet dancer if ever he had seen one. Who knew it was possible to make holding a teacup graceful?
"I told you who I am. Where I'm from is complicated and quite irrelevant. As to why I'm doing this- I was asked to."
"And you just do as you are told without a single question asked?"
"Well, yes, kind of."
"I cannot believe you Américains!" she said, slamming the flat palms of her hands on the table at the word 'believe' and pushing herself back in her chair.
A gunshot rang through the air and the wooden table between them was splintered by a bullet at the precise spot where her face had been moments before. Her jaw hung open slightly and her eyes widened in surprise. Immediately, Steve leapt into action; he overturned the table so it could act as a barrier for them. Frozen in shock, Antoinette stood beside the table, looking entirely dumbfounded. He grabbed her arm just above the elbow and pulled her down behind the table.
The customers in the cafe created general chaos as they screamed and bolted for the exit. Another bullet glanced off the top edge of the table and ricocheted against the wrought iron fence they'd been sitting beside. As Antoinette's head popped up to see where the bullet had come from, another gunshot rang out. By instinct, he pushed her head down with a command of "Stay low!" She nodded, not questioning his judgement.
As she cowered willingly behind the table, Steve stood and looked around. Two men he didn't recognize were sprinting toward the spot where he stood, shoving their way through the crowd and mass mayhem. He stepped forward and intercepted the first man, landing an easy hit to the man's gut before slinging him against the iron fence railing. The man's body slid limply to the ground. The second man was a tougher opponent. He countered Steve's first hit and returned with several punches of his own, leaving Steve with a bloody nose before he could knock the man unconscious.
As he turned to grab Antoinette so they could run for it, he heard a muffled gasp and scooped the second assailant's gun off the ground. By muscle memory, he had it pointed at exactly the right spot when he had faced his target fully. A third man was holding Antoinette at gunpoint, the hand with the gun pressed to her temple, the free hand holding her arms tightly by her sides.
"Whoa. Hold on," he said, slowly lowering his gun. The man pointed his gun at Steve, and lightning quick, Steve brought his gun back up. "Let her go, and I won't shoot," he said, trying to keep his voice level.
"Ah," the man sneered. "You're out of time, soldier. She's ours now." His gruff voice carried an accent Steve didn't recognize.
"The last person to tell me I was out of time ended up sitting in a cage 30,000 feet in the air for two days."
"But that wasn't your doing, soldier. I know," the man answered, beginning to slowly take a step backwards. "Put the gun down and walk away and maybe we'll spare the girl."
Steve nodded, slowly bending to the ground and setting the gun in the grass. As he stood, he slipped his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and switched it to his right hand. He'd never been any good at throwing knives, but he would have to do it. He had one shot.
Before the man could react, Steve brought the knife up and threw it, praying that Antoinette would know enough to duck. The knife embedded itself in the man's neck. He shoved Antoinette away from himself and ripped the blade from his flesh. As she hit the ground, he pointed his gun at her once more.
Steve's training took over and he snatched a platter from the ground without thinking. It was nothing like his shield but it would have to do. Before the the man could pull the trigger, Steve threw the platter, knocking the gun from the man's hand. The attacker had no time to recover himself before Steve sent him to unconsciousness.
For a short moment, nothing moved. Steve could hear his heart pounding a rapid beat in his chest. He spun to look for Antoinette, finding her still in the grass, watching him with wide eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded weakly, appearing on the verge of tears. He opened his mouth to ask another question when the shriek of sirens split the mid morning air. With sirens came curious people, and with curious people came questions- too many questions. Too many questions and not enough answers. They had to leave.
"Here," he said, offering to help her stand. She accepted his help and rose slowly to her feet. "We have to leave, okay?"
She nodded, following him out of the café and down the street. Without thinking, Steve lead them down the streets of Paris as quickly as he could without looking conspicuous. In less than fifteen minutes, they had escaped the sirens.
Scared that she wouldn't be able to keep up the quick pace for much longer, Steve slowed. They had reached a narrow back road he'd come through his first night in Paris. "Wait," Antoinette said. She was looking around, clearly familiar with where they were. "Can we stop at the thêatre? I 'ave a backpack with some things in it. Fresh clothes and the like. I would feel better 'aving it close." Fresh clothes would be good, he realized; her back and legs were flecked with mud and bits of grass from when she'd been thrown to the ground.
He nodded and she started down a street that made two sharp left turns before turning onto the street with the theatre. She entered the grand building and ducked inside the room the girls used to change after practices. Steve waited in the atrium, keeping a sharp eye out for anything that might be suspicious. An eternity of five minutes later, she left the room. She'd changed into a set of clean clothes and was zipping the backpack shut. "Ready?" he asked.
She nodded and they left the theatre. "They would have already checked your apartment and would most likely be watching for when you came back," he said. "And as soon as they can, they'll have men watching the theater as well. Can you think of anywhere you can stay that you don't usually go?"
She shook her head. "Non."
"Alright," he answered. "I know where we can go." She nodded and hiked the backpack higher onto her shoulder, waiting for him to lead.
Steve took a longer route than was truly necessary, but if anyone was tailing them, he wanted to know. When he was sure they were free of followers, he traced the familiar path to his apartment. A glance through a window told him that no one had been here. He let Antoinette in first and locked the door behind them.
Immediately, she sank onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Steve suddenly felt awkward and clumsy, the same feeling he had had many times before the super soldier transformation. As he was debating what he should do, she lifted her face from her hands and let her backpack slide to the floor. He could almost see her collecting the pieces and putting herself back together like a broken vase that had been knocked off a shelf.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You're welcome," he answered.
She tipped her head to the side with a puzzled look before saying, "You 'ave never told me your name."
He realized this was true. Not once had he told her his name. He couldn't give her his real name. It would be too easy for her to Google him and find out the whole truth. So he made something up. "Steve Barnes," he replied simply, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a peg in the hallway.
"So who are you really?" she asked, tone free of suspicion or accusation, simply curious for a truthful answer.
He debated telling her, but thought better of it. "Like I said, I'm a member of SHIELD."
"For 'ow long?"
"Roughly a year."
"What did you do before that?"
"I was a soldier," he answered.
"And the man, he knew that."
He nodded, pulling a chair from the kitchen table into the living room to sit across from her. She kicked off her sandals and pulled her feet onto the couch, tucking her legs up beside her.
"Why did you leave SHIELD?" Steve asked.
"I didn't agree with what they had me doing. I told Fury I wanted a different assignment and 'e refused, so I got a ride with a friend on the next flight off the base," she answered simply.
"How long were you part of SHIELD?"
"Almost four years of active involvement. The rest is complicated."
"Complicated how?" he asked.
"I'd rather not say, s'il te plait." She looked away from him, casting her eyes to the floor, before undoing her braid and using her fingers to comb her hair out. The soft blonde waves fell to her waist and curled at the ends.
"How did SHIELD find you?" he wondered.
She looked up, making him feel as though she were turning him inside out again. "It is a étendu- uh, lengthy- story."
"We've got plenty of time," he replied.
She hesitated so long he wondered if she'd heard him at all. With a sigh, she began her story.