" so many assume. so little know "
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in which a bad mouthed agent is assigned to help the walking talking patriarchal symbol of what is right and what is wrong. and in the process of it all, learns how much she needed the desk duty
BOOK ONE | St...
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WASHINGTON D.C. america
____________________________
CORTEZ
OUR EARLY lunch went surprisingly well. The strange man out of time seemed to like the foreign food I forced him to try; unwillingly at first, might I add. He was more than skeptical to try any part of what was on his plate, aside from the fried rice that accompanied our meals.
But finally, finally, he came to the ground breaking conclusion that hey, I wasn't trying to kill him with fish, and actually tried the smallest part of a California roll. And surprise, surprise, Mr. Rogers actually liked it.
As if I would give him bad food; that was one thing I took very seriously.
After paying the bill with the company card, something I know that will irritate Fury in the most joyous of ways, Steve and I made our way back out of the restaurant and into the cold early afternoon air.
Two hours we had now spent in each other's company, and I was practically itching to get away from him.
"So what are we going to do now?" Steve asked me when we got back into the car.
"Well, you've been lucky enough to be given an apartment across from mine. A lot of our agents live there, actually. So I'm going to take you there and we are going to see what we've got to work with. Plus, I really need a shower." As I started the car and pulled out into the busy street. "You know what those are, right? Showers?"
"Yes, yes, I know what they are." Steve said; clearly annoyed with my words. It made me smile.
"Just wanted to make sure."
We rode to Colombia Heights in silence. My music was playing loudly through the stereo, undoubted and joyously giving Mr. Rogers a headache. My fingers tapped to the beat of the drums innocently on the steering wheel as I navigated through the highway, weaving in and out of cars at a speed that had Steve gripping tightly to the door handle.
I had thought we would make it to Colombia before he started to talk, but I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.
"What was the Vietnam war about?" Was one of the first questions he graced me with.
"What do I look like? A history textbook?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and pressing my lips into a flat line. "Communism, basically. And it was a bad one. Nobody wanted it."
"Nobody ever wants war."
"You're telling me. A billion dollar industry." I hummed, using my blinker to turn down the ramp.
"What about Korea?"
"Pretty much the same thing. The government invested a lot of money and lives into trying to stop the spread of communism."
