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Thinker, Planner, Soldier, Spy
As it turns out, Rogers isn’t a bad fighter.
Unlike most men Maria has encountered in a floor fight, he doesn’t grab for her bottom or her breasts, he doesn’t call her cute or tell her she’s a sweetheart. He brings his best to the bout, and doesn’t underestimate her.
It’s no less than she’d expect from the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Although he’s more direct than she expected in attack, with less of the feinting and faking that she’s encountered in the Strike teams. His attack signals are straightforward, but controlled – a couple of times, he even manages to surprise her, although she manages to deflect his blows in time. And when he loses, he’s good-natured about it, putting up his hands in defeat and letting her climb off him. “I really don’t get out enough any more.”
Maria slings a towel around her neck and tosses him his canteen which he catches one-handed before rolling to his feet. “You have agents to go into the field.”
“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I should let myself go soft.”
Considering his frame – long and lean and easy - she’s not sure if he’s joking or fishing for compliments – or neither. She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to say, and so far he hasn’t seemed like the kind of man who would expect praise – although, given his physique and stature, she imagines he gets more than his fair share of admiration.
Rather than comment, she simply drinks the water from her canteen, knowing that when this bout is done, she’ll need to grab an energy bar before her shower – something to leaven the hunger pangs before dinner.
“How’s the apartment? The neighbours aren’t giving you trouble?”
“Not yet. Should they?” She glances over at him. “I imagine they were screened before it was offered to me.”
“It’s standard procedure,” he informs her, pushing a hand through hair darkened by sweat. “And no, nothing came up on any of the residents.”
“What would have happened if something had come up?”
“I guess it would depend on the something.” He tilts his head at her. “Why? Is one of them giving you trouble?”
Maria considers the easy greeting her neighbour gave her the other morning, holding the door of the apartment block open for her in a courtesy she’d learned not to expect anymore. He’d met her gaze the way a black man back home would never have dared to do for fear of being lynched and simply said, How you doin’? In return, Maria had smiled her thanks and thought that if there were things she missed from the old days, there were other things she was glad to see had passed away.
“Not trouble exactly.”
“Ah.” This time, the twist of his mouth is rueful and amused. “Well, you’re on your own for that, I’m afraid.”
She kind of guessed that already.
--
As it turns out, Rogers isn’t a bad fighter.
Unlike most men Maria has encountered in a floor fight, he doesn’t grab for her bottom or her breasts, he doesn’t call her cute or tell her she’s a sweetheart. He brings his best to the bout, and doesn’t underestimate her.
It’s no less than she’d expect from the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Although he’s more direct than she expected in attack, with less of the feinting and faking that she’s encountered in the Strike teams. His attack signals are straightforward, but controlled – a couple of times, he even manages to surprise her, although she manages to deflect his blows in time. And when he loses, he’s good-natured about it, putting up his hands in defeat and letting her climb off him. “I really don’t get out enough any more.”
Maria slings a towel around her neck and tosses him his canteen which he catches one-handed before rolling to his feet. “You have agents to go into the field.”
“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I should let myself go soft.”
Considering his frame – long and lean and easy - she’s not sure if he’s joking or fishing for compliments – or neither. She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to say, and so far he hasn’t seemed like the kind of man who would expect praise – although, given his physique and stature, she imagines he gets more than his fair share of admiration.
Rather than comment, she simply drinks the water from her canteen, knowing that when this bout is done, she’ll need to grab an energy bar before her shower – something to leaven the hunger pangs before dinner.
“How’s the apartment? The neighbours aren’t giving you trouble?”
“Not yet. Should they?” She glances over at him. “I imagine they were screened before it was offered to me.”
“It’s standard procedure,” he informs her, pushing a hand through hair darkened by sweat. “And no, nothing came up on any of the residents.”
“What would have happened if something had come up?”
“I guess it would depend on the something.” He tilts his head at her. “Why? Is one of them giving you trouble?”
Maria considers the easy greeting her neighbour gave her the other morning, holding the door of the apartment block open for her in a courtesy she’d learned not to expect anymore. He’d met her gaze the way a black man back home would never have dared to do for fear of being lynched and simply said, How you doin’? In return, Maria had smiled her thanks and thought that if there were things she missed from the old days, there were other things she was glad to see had passed away.
“Not trouble exactly.”
“Ah.” This time, the twist of his mouth is rueful and amused. “Well, you’re on your own for that, I’m afraid.”
She kind of guessed that already.
--