"Even though I know
I don't want to know
Yeah I guess I know
I just hate how it sounds"
-"One Thing" by Finger Eleven
The rooms - well, cells - the agents of SHIELD stay in, in their down time (a.k.a. when not training or on a mission) were bleak and boring. The beds were stainless steel and bolted to the floors, and the walls were plain grey concrete. At lights out, the lights just turn off, leaving the barracks in an all encompassing cold that the thin, worn sheet-like blankets couldn't keep out.
Agent 741917 sat on his bed, staring at the door, wanting and wanting for a commanding officer to walk through the door and give him a mission.
When Colonel Nick Furry walked through the grey door, he quite instantly regretted his wants.
Out of the handful of people Agent 741917 has actually talked to, he hated exactly two of them, the kitchen attendant that always forgot he was allergic to kiwi, and Colonel Nick Furry.
"Agent 741917, to attention!" Furry barked, getting into the room, making room for the blond man that was slimmer than Agent 741917, but he supposed probably could have posed as his old brother, or cousin, so his first thought was that maybe he was going undercover with the other man.
"Permission to talk freely?" Agent 741917 asked, because as much as he hated Colonel Nick Furry, he respected him, and he knew the feeling was returned.
"Always, soldier," Furry said, grabbing the other man's soldier and pushing him towards 741917. "This is Storm. You'll be working with him on your next mission." He pushed a folder to 741917 with the word "CONFIDENTIAL" stamped across the front, in large, red, block letters. "Off field,he's your commanding officer. To the appearance to those around you though? You're in charge."
Agent 741917 furrowed his brow. What peculiar orders. "Why so?"
"You're sort of going under cover, but not really. The file will explain it better than I could." Furry looked around the barracks, he seemed displeased, and 741917 discreetly smoothed a wrinkle on his bedspread. "You're going to move," at the soldier's look of confusion, he explained, "You'll probably be having company, to this will not be befitting. You'll be staying with Storm, at an off base apartment."
Storm, still behind Furry, rolled his eyes, and 741917 internally winced. He's seen members of this training squad get yelled at for hours for displaying such behavior, and then get sent off to isolation. But Furry didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he didn't say anything.
"Pack," seeing 741917's opened mouth, he clarified, "Everything. Storm is going to take you shopping for civilian clothes."
Agent 741917 knew what shopping was. Of course he did, Agents of SHIELD needed to be able to blend in at a moments notice.
This, what Storm was doing, wasn't shopping. It was a military mission. It had to be, there was way too much pain for there not to be. The measuring, the carrying, the walking, slowly and tediously, through the isles...All the while being surrounded by people like which 741917 had never seen, as 741917 had never had an under cover mission as a civilian.
The woman were vapid, merely walking around the stores, throwing things at whatever demoralized man was following her around. They were nothing like the strong, independent, fierce, women that 741917 had seen in the field. That 741917 had copulated with.
Then men seemed one of two things (sometimes even a...worrying combination of both). Most of the men seemed, well, homosexual. Not that Steve had a problem with that, but he was quite worried that one of their commanding officers might see, and that they'd be sent to the rebooting cell. The other small portion of men were the demoralized of before, walking behind their female counterparts with dead eyes and sloping shoulders.
In most of the stores they entered, they clerks gave 741917 bad looks, and when he asked Storm (who got appreciating looks from females and males alike, with his low-slung boot-cut artfully ripped and faded jeans, and blue v-neck t-shirt) he said that he wasn't dressed adequately. 741917 found nothing wrong with his SHIELD regulated sweatpants and plain white tee.
"Sir, who regulates what they wear?" 741917 asked, and at Storm's look of, "what are you rambling about?" he continued, "Don't their superiors have anything to say about how they dress in undercover operations?"
"What?" Storm looked genuinely confused.
"Well I have you picking out my civilian clothes, who picks theirs?"
Storm shook his head, and rolled his eyes, "This is a civilian store, 741917, not a military store, these are civilians."
Civilians? 741917 looked around, they looked like civilians, so maybe Storm was right. "Why are we at this store, again?"
"Formal clothes. You'll need them soon. Furry wants you to help him recruit some engineer kid." He walked over to one of the men working at the counter, "I need you to help me, with this guy," here he pointed to 741917, "He needs at least three suits, five dress shirts, and an over coat."
The older man looked at 741917, took in his broad shoulders and long legs. "The more cloth we use the more expensive it is, you know."
Storm looked at him with unimpressed eyes. "I'm aware, just fit him."
They ended up buying him four suits based on varying altitudes of "fancy occasion," as Johnny put it. They'd boughten a navy blue three piece, two sets of matching suit jacket-dress pants combo (one black, with gold pinstripes, the other, again, blue) and a vest (that didn't match the previous three piece, but was still navy blue. 741917 didn't understand, and all Johnny said was that it was a "fashion thing" and to not "worry his little head" about it.) with matching dress pants. Also bought at the suit store were ten dress shirts that matched at least one of the ensembles, if not more. They'd also gotten dress shoes, with silky feeling black socks that weren't silk.
After that they'd gotten everyday clothes, and something Storm had called PJ pants (741917 was told they were to be slept in, and that a shirt was optional, but recommended in the winter). The "everyday clothes" mostly consisted of denim jeans and t-shirts. Storm had insisted on two "hoodies" for when he was running in the morning, and looked fairly cross when 741917 said he didn't get cold.
At Luncheon, Johnny must have noticed his charge looking in the window of the art store across from where they were eating (at a cute little pie shop, that 741917 decided he'd have to come back to), for he had disappeared for a few moment, and came back with a large wooden box (which was really a trunk, but, again, when 741917 insisted as such, Storm got the cross look) filled with paints, charcoals, pastels, sketching pads, pencils, and inking pens.
"So, this is the living room," Storm said, keeping the door wide open so 741917 could pull the bags into the new apartment.
The room was open, with one wall consisting entirely of window, that opened out, into the front street. In the right corner, on the wall of window, was a plasma screen television, with what appeared to be surround sound. Floating, parallel to the television was a large, over stuffed, blue suede couch. Framing the couch was a matching recliner, and, against the wall, a matching love-seat.
"That's my room," Storm said, pointing to the first of the matching doors to the left, "and the other one's yours. That's the kitchen," he pointed towards the section to the right, enclosed in one straight, and one diagonal half-wall. "I took the liberty of deciding the bay window would be where we eat, if that's okay?"
"Okay, let's get something straight," Storm said, exasperation coloring his face, "I may be your commanding officer, but, well, we're roommates, so, I say we should be friends. Call me Johnny."
741917 raised an eyebrow, "Okay...Johnny, I'm gonna go put this stuff in my barracks."
"Room. In your room." St-Johnny got that look he'd (seemingly) randomly gotten on his face while they were shopping. It looked sort of like a mixture of pity and an angered sadness.
741917 shook his head, ridding himself of his previous thoughts, as they were preposterous. There was no reason for Johnny to pity him. He lugged his bags of clothes and other recently bought items to the door that designated his bar-his room.
Now, it's not that he expected something exactly like barracks back at the SHIELD headquarters, it's just that he wasn't expecting something so vastly different.
The plush, dark blue shag rug was much more comforting on his feet than the concrete floor of the old barracks. The light-blue (both matching and off-setting to the carpet) of the wall paint was aesthetically pleasing, as was the contrast of the bright red comforter, on the bed. The bed itself was massive, the likes of which Cap had never seen before. On the wall opposite the bed's wrought iron head board, was again, a massive plasma screen television, next to which was what 741917 assumed was the door to the closet.
He opened the door and dropped the bags in, deciding to take a nap, before they had to leave for the party.