There's times when weird things happen, like your dumb cat with no thumbs opening the door or finding your old car keys on your dining room table after them being lost for years.

Having your best friend possessed, shooting a greasy alien, and meeting a 91-year-old young looking man is just a whole new level. Coming from an agent that specializes in the realm of things deemed 'odd', that's saying something.

I walk in step beside Natasha towards the incoming jet, performing complementary welcome duty. Apparently, my connections to Barton makes me too personally involved in the issue to be assigned to the team tasked with finding him. So now, the two of us we're pretending to be useful until the time arose to do something.

"You see anything else that you didn't put in the report?" Romanoff's bob of red hair sways my way when she turns to ask. Several marching pilots cross through our intended path and we briefly stop.

I shake my head, raising my voice over the howling wind as we head towards the main landing platform, "No, I put it all in there. The scepter touched his chest and he became an entirely different person."

Her gaze left me to contemplate the answer, still processing the idea of Barton being under the control of what appeared to be a crazed legend from story books. We came closer to the main tarmac, watching the incoming quinjet descend onto the tarmac.

I angle my head in the aircraft's direction, bringing attention to SHIELD's newest guest, "They call this guy in to help with finding the Tesseract?"

"Fury thinks this whole alien thing will go south fast. If worse comes to worse, he'll launch the Initiative. That means we'll need every asset close by." Nat explained, lifting her shoulders to a shrug. Her mouth curved into a knowing grin, "How much do you bet Coulson is letting out his inner fanboy?"

I jut both eyebrows up, knowing my superior officer for long enough to know his forlorn admiration for Captain America. Phil actually meeting the guy? He was probably tripping over himself, "I'd say he's already embarrassed himself several times over."

"What about you?" She inquires while the jet lands on the platform and begins to power down, "You've studied this guy, right?"

Though I didn't have many plans beyond being an agent, one of the few was eventually getting a bachelor's degree in historical warfare. One of my interests was primarily in researching major battles during the Second World War, and the old Captain and Howling Commandos happened to be in nearly every crucial engagement across Europe during the HYDRA campaign. So yes, meeting the hero of that time definitively intrigued me, but it was quite logical to have reservations.

"Yeah, but something tells me a white guy from the forties isn't too interested in talking to a racially ambiguous woman a rank above him." I comment offhandedly, looking on the realistic side, "Sure, it's a great opportunity, but I'm not overly hopeful."

Natasha nods in understanding, looking to say something more before the doors to the quinjet open. Coulson steps out onto the ramp first, regularly outfitted in his usual pressed suit. As soon as he exits onto the tarmac, he's followed by a good-looking, broad-shouldered man that's easily over six feet tall, whom I assume is Steve Rogers.

Romanoff walks up in a confident stride and I follow at her side when she greets them, "Agent Coulson, Captain Rogers."

Phil's formality doesn't dwindle, taking turns shaking both of our hands, "Agent Romanoff, Agent Firman."

"They need you on the bridge." I motion in the headquarters' general direction, relaying the orders I was given several minutes ago. My senior officer dismisses himself cordially and follows me back across the platform, leaving Natasha to perform hospitalities. Once out of earshot, I toss a glance over my shoulder to make sure neither hear my next teasing remarks.

I focus back on Phil, "How many times did you creep him out?"

Coulson looks at me accusatorially, eyebrows furrowing together as he appears to think of something to say back to me. When nothing comes to mind and he realizes I won't buy anything but the truth, he falters, "Maybe once or twice. Couldn't have been that bad."

"How bad is 'that bad'?"

"I may have alluded to watching him while he was frozen." There's a sheepish smile that finds its way onto the face of an otherwise competent, accomplished agent, "Or just flat out said it."

I can't hide my own amused smirk, finding some much needed levity from Coulson's awkward encounter with his childhood hero.

We make our way towards the water tight door leading inside. A few other agents go before me while I step aside to let them pass. My shoulder reignites the slight burning sensation as it touches the metal frame of the wall I lean against to make room for the others to go by. I make a note to grab some painkillers from the medbay later.

I step onto the bridge, quickly overseeing many agents at work. Black screens are busy with various information and pictures, but one computer appears to be playing some game, the man at it darting his eyes around to see if anyone notices. Not a great idea, when he should be trying to find Loki and Barton.

Clint and I went back to when he was asked to kill Natasha. I was sixteen, my very first mission, practically still a kid. I was so excited, till I learned I'd been assigned to bring back Barton, who had been told to neutralize Natasha. I let Clint to spare her. I hated the idea of killing someone back then, and especially after he begged me to let her live. It was to his advantage as well, because Strike Team Delta, as the three of us were referred to, was his pride and joy. On Natasha's feelings, I had no idea. She was one to keep her thoughts and emotions hidden, but she's secretly proud of us, even though she rather dwells on what we did wrong, not our accomplishments. But then again, when do we screw up?

Us three had been tight ever since. They were my family I never had. As cheesy as it sounds, those two were the closest I'd had to a family in awhile.

I was not one of the most gifted agents when I first started training. Everybody went easy on me because of not just my past, because that was just it; I was weak. I hated it. After the Budapest mission (which involved Natasha almost killing me) Clint decided to make it his personal mission to make me stronger. He only held back a little so I wouldn't come back to my room every night with something broken. After awhile, I got tremendously better. To better for my own good. He was the rough, but caring brother I never had.

Now he was compromised, and someone was playing a video game when he was supposed to finding him.

I approached Director Fury, nods towards one of the regular supervisors. I shift my vision of to Sitwell, a shorter man gradually balding. He speaks quickly upon spotting me.

"Agent Firman, please take your computer and help search."

I find a seat in seconds, one next to a fair blonde who gives me a warm smile before we both return to our work. I needed to find Clint, and that meant finding Loki. I type on the keyboard, searching through possible images of the alien. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cap and Natasha walk in, followed by Banner. I hear muffled chatting and mumbling, but decide to keep on my task, accessing wireless devices.

~~~~~~~~~~

A little while later, a triumphant grin spreads across my lips.

"Sir," I called above several other voices, spinning in my chair to face the director towards the helm, "Match found."

The whole room turned towards me as I go back type, watching two photos be compared, "Sixty-seven percent match. Wait, cross referencing......Seventy percent."

I found them.

"Location?" Coulson asked, coming up behind me peer at the image past my shoulder.

"Stuttgart, Germany. He's not exactly laying low." And we'll use this to our advantage.

I glanced back to Fury, who looks at the Captain.

"Cap, you're up." He directs the order at Rogers, who nods in compliance.

My superior then speaks to the blonde beside me, the girl visibly anxious, "Renning, find Agent Bradley. He'll assist the mission to Germany."

Renning chewed on her lip, such obvious nervousness radiating from her that it's almost painful to watch. She adjusted her glasses, clearing her throat before answering her superior, "Bradley just reported in from his last op two hours ago with a fractured bone in his left arm. Doc's got him on leave for the next few days."

I see an easy chance, taking it before someone else does. I don't interject too forcefully, saying my point with as much curtesy as I can, "Sir, I can go. Not only am I a whole level above Bradley, but I far better equipped to do the job instead of sitting at a computer all day after my task is completed."

Fury doesn't react much to this, but I can hear him sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Me and Nat were sitting next to each other, her flying the quinjet while I searched for Loki's specific location. Rogers was in back, tracing his fingers over his shield. Poor guy, he hadn't seen it in seventy years.

I glanced back to Natasha, computer in my lap as I triple checked are route, "How long till we get there?"

She rolled her eyes at me, "You sound like a kid on a family road trip, but if you really want to know, about a half-hour according to your placement."

More silence as I close up my laptop. I begin to put it in my bag as the jet dips. I'm thrown at Natasha, my shoulder hitting the steering wheel as we veer off. I yelp out as pain makes it's way down my arm, fire searing through the right half of my body. I pull at the steering wheel, putting us back on course.

"What the hell was that." I sneer at her. Regret rushes into her eyes, but is quickly replaced by a steely glare, "The turbulence was stronger here. I lost control for a second."

I laugh coldly, not meaning it to come off so reserved, but my voice dips with venom as the pain stays,"Yeah, turbulence."

She was on edge about Barton. I knew it. But Nat was almost always on task, no matter what. She never let her feelings get in the way. Never, so why now, when he needed us most?

I take a quick breath, "The more focused we are, the faster we get to Clint."

Natasha glares, turning back to the wheel, "It was turbulence."