He opened the SUV door. "Now get in. We're heading back to New York. You start your training tomorrow. Times Square HQ. Bright and early."
James sighed. "This is the most flying I've done in a single day."
Fury chuckled as the doors shut. "Get used to it, Intern."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was past 8 p.m. when James finally made it home. Six hours on a plane had drained him. He washed up, fell onto bed, and let gravity claim him as the sandman came to visit.
"Cortana, training starts tomorrow. I'll leave it to you again. How much of that data have you sorted now?" he asked aloud, eyes closed.
[Two-millionth of total internet content processed. Satisfied?] Cortana's reply flashed in his HUD.
James groaned. "At this rate, I'll be sixty before you hit a decent upgrade cycle."
[Limited biological power output. I'm prioritizing your health over background processing.]
He nodded to himself. "Fair enough. We'll visit the New York SHIELD Division tomorrow. Maybe they've got something good—a better power source, or maybe we get a chance to get close to the tesseract. Or maybe, I should just steal Stark's arc reactor?"
[The Tesseract and Stark's new element reactor are in different energy classes. Physical contact is required to determine compatibility.]
"Figures. One step at a time I guess," James muttered. Then sleep took him.
The next morning, James woke with more energy than usual. Today, he'd finally step foot into SHIELD's New York branch—a place he'd been itching to visit. It meant training, progress, and maybe a few new toys.
"Morning. Heading to SHIELD today," he said, passing Carlos at the breakfast table.
"Good. Learn everything you can. Assassins and agents aren't the same thing." Carlos sipped his coffee, unbothered by anything.
"You hiring anyone for the flower shop yet?" James asked between bites of toast.
"Yeah, got some. Gotta leave time for fishing, right?"
James chuckled. "We should buy a small boat or perhaps a yacht. Might as well enjoy life if we're gonna pretend we're retired."
After eating, James made a stop at the armory. He holstered his two pistols—his custom Beretta 92S (Imanishi 17) and the Safari Matchmaster once carried by Fox—then changed into a tailored suit, slim-fit, dark grey. He slid into the Audi R8, enjoying the feel of the wheel and the confidence it brings.
Driving through Midtown Manhattan in a sports car wasn't as fun as it looked. Stoplights, taxis, and jaywalkers—it was a slow crawl.
"Sports cars are just a show in New York," he muttered.
[It's not the Autobahn, your rev-happy speed fantasy is just a waste here.] Cortana replied flatly.
James smirked. Cortana was the perfect blend of useful and dry humor.
He finally pulled up near Times Square, where a sleek glass-and-steel high-rise stood. From the outside, it looked like just another corporate office building. Business attire, laptops, and coffee cups. No sign that the world's most secret intelligence agency operated inside.
He stepped out, straightened his suit, and walked to the front entrance.
That's when chaos erupted.
Inside the lobby, people scattered as a blond man in a white t-shirt burst through the doors, sprinting straight at him. Army boots, faded dog tags, Vintage WWII-era fatigues, and an eagle emblem on his white t-shirts chest. Familiar… too familiar.
Before James could react, the man barreled toward him.
James stepped forward instinctively, caught the man's arm mid-charge, rotated his body to guide the man's charge, and executed a clean over-the-shoulder throw without even breaking a sweat.
Thud. The blond man slammed into the marble floor. James pinned him, knee on his back, twisting his arm as he pressed on the nerves so he couldn't summon any strength.
Behind them, half a dozen SHIELD agents skidded into the lobby, weapons drawn but frozen at the sight.
Black SUVs screeched to a stop outside.
Then came the familiar voice: "Agent James?"
He turned to see Nick Fury stepping out of one of the vehicles.
"Director?" James blinked. "Uh, is this guy a target? Because if so, your security response is kind of late. Also, I don't have handcuffs."
The man beneath him tensed and began to struggle—strong, too strong. James almost lost his grip.
"Alright, good job, but let him up. He's not a prisoner," Fury said, approaching.
James stood and took a step back. The blond man got to his feet, glaring at him.
"Cortana," James whispered, "Who is that?"
[Captain America.]
James blinked. Captain America. Of course! The final scene from The First Avenger. The guy had just been thawed.
The man didn't say anything. Just kept scanning the room, eyes darting, tense.
"What are you looking at me for?" James muttered. "You tried to ram me. I just reacted."
"Take it easy, GI Joe," Fury said. "We thought it'd be better to ease you back into things."
"Ease on what?" the Captain asked, confused.
"You've been asleep, Cap… for seventy years."
Silence.
The weight of the truth hit like a freight train. Captain America—man out of time—looked around, lost in disbelief.
"You alright?" Fury asked gently.
"I'm fine. Just… missed a date." His voice cracked a little. James could see it—the pain of seventy years lost in a blink.
"She's still alive," Fury offered quietly. "You can see her… when you're ready."
He turned to James. "Walk with us. Your training starts today."
Inside, James was met by a striking woman in a fitted navy blazer. Sharp eyes, dark hair, with a quiet sense of control.
"Agent James, this is Maria Hill," Fury said. "She'll be overseeing your registration and coordinating your training. It'll last about three months. Daily sessions, two days off per week. Your prior mission's been logged—it'll count toward your record."
Maria Hill. James recognized her immediately—played by Cobie Smulders in his old life, and definitely prettier in person. Less Hollywood, and more battlefield executive vibe.
"Welcome," she said, offering a clipboard. "Let's get you processed."
"Nice to meet you," James replied, still stealing a glance at her face.
He was ready to start. Training, leveling up, and inching closer to the Tesseract. He didn't care if it meant being called an intern agent. He was in the room now—and that was all that mattered.