(Better three months late than never, right? I went with the second prompt.)
It wasn't so different from any evening taking care of her little brother when her parents weren't home, Lizzie Sousa told herself as she made sandwiches at the kitchen counter. She was fifteen, after all: plenty old enough to make sure that Danny Jr. -- presently watching TV in the living room -- got fed and put to bed okay. She was really much too old to need a babysitter, but Mum had said that a friend from work would come over to look after them, and when Mum said that kind of thing, she meant the sort of friends who carried guns and it wasn't the kind of thing that a person could negotiate about.
"I'm so sorry your father and I have to go out of town in such a hurry," Mum had said over the phone. "We'll make it up to you both when we get back. It's only the job, darling."
At least she didn't promise it would be the last time. Mum never lied about that kind of thing, like some grownups did. Lizzie had grown up knowing that, and also knowing that there would always be some other crisis, some other reason why one or both of her parents had to miss a bedtime or a birthday or a piano recital.
It was usually the Jarvises who stayed with them when their parents were out of town, but Uncle Edwin and Aunt Ana were out of the country with her mom's friend Mr. Stark. So Mum had arranged for someone else -- or, more like, ordered one of the people who worked for her to come over and stay with them overnight just in case of Russian spies or whatever Mum was worried about lately. Lizzie hoped it was a nice friend and not some stuffy middle-aged grown-up like most of her parents' friends.
"Hey, Lizard!" Danny called from the living room over the sound of galloping hoofbeats and cowboy music.
"Don't call me that!"
"Somebody's at the door. I'm gonna answer it."
"No!" Lizzie shouted back. She dropped the knife she was using to cut off the crusts and hurried into the living room, where Danny was picking himself up from his place on the living room floor with his nose a foot from the family TV and grabbing his cap gun. "No, no, no. Mum said you are never, ever to answer the door without an adult present."
"You're not an adult," Danny retorted.
"I'm the closest thing you've got, so sit down," she said with all the authority in her voice that she could muster.
Danny scowled, but he plunked himself down in front of the TV.
The knock at the front door -- completely unheard the first time, over the sound of the TV and her own bustling around the kitchen -- came again, brisk and efficient. Lizzie took a deep breath and went over to the door.
"Password!" she called through the door.
A male voice, sounding slightly amused, answered her. "What do you get one time today, three times tomorrow, and never in the future?"
"The letter 'o'," she answered back. Danny had gotten a book of riddles for Christmas a couple of years ago, and all the family passwords had been riddles ever since.
"That's right. You sound sharp. Can I come in?"
"Are you the friend of my mom's who was supposed to come over to babysit?"
"That's me."
Lizzie unlocked the door and opened it.
He wasn't old and stuffy-looking. Actually he was only kind of old, like just barely an adult. And he was ... cute. Not cute like the cute boys at school, but a different kind of cute. Lizzie stared at him, wide-eyed and briefly dazzled.
"Hello there," he said, flashing a grin at her. "You must be Elizabeth. Can I come in?"
Lizzie cleared her throat, got hold of herself, and held out a hand. "ID."
"You're definitely your mom's kid," he remarked. He held up his hands to show they were empty and then reached carefully into his jacket pocket.
Lizzie felt someone bump her leg and aimed an annoyed kick at Danny Jr. as he tried to peek around her. "Go turn down the TV," she hissed at him, feeling suddenly embarrassed about Danny's cowboy show blaring at top volume in the living room.
Her mom's friend held out a SHIELD ID. Lizzie took it and held it up to the light to check for the signs of faded or mis-registered ink that her mom had showed her could be signs of a forgery. "Okay," she said, "this looks real, but is that really your real name?"
"As God is my witness," he said, taking the ID back.
"Fury?"
"Not my fault. Blame my dad," he said dryly.
"Do you have a gun?" Danny asked, popping up at her side.
"Danny!"
"Yeah, I have a gun," Agent Fury said, twitching back his jacket to show that he was wearing a holster. "Can I come in, or do you want me to stand out on the porch 'til the neighbors start asking questions?"
Lizzie couldn't think of any other questions to ask him herself, so she stood back and let him come in. "I'm making sandwiches," she said. "They're cheese and roast beef. Do you, um ... want one?"
"Well, that's hospitable of you. Sure."
And that was how they ended up sitting around on the living room floor eating sandwiches off Mum's good plates with the TV playing softly in the background and Danny peppering Agent Fury ("You kids can call me Nick if you want") with questions about SHIELD missions ("Classified."), whether he'd ever used his gun ("Sure."), when ("Classified.") and so forth.
Lizzie let Danny stay up an extra hour past his bedtime. Agent Fury promised he wouldn't tell.
no subject
It wasn't so different from any evening taking care of her little brother when her parents weren't home, Lizzie Sousa told herself as she made sandwiches at the kitchen counter. She was fifteen, after all: plenty old enough to make sure that Danny Jr. -- presently watching TV in the living room -- got fed and put to bed okay. She was really much too old to need a babysitter, but Mum had said that a friend from work would come over to look after them, and when Mum said that kind of thing, she meant the sort of friends who carried guns and it wasn't the kind of thing that a person could negotiate about.
"I'm so sorry your father and I have to go out of town in such a hurry," Mum had said over the phone. "We'll make it up to you both when we get back. It's only the job, darling."
At least she didn't promise it would be the last time. Mum never lied about that kind of thing, like some grownups did. Lizzie had grown up knowing that, and also knowing that there would always be some other crisis, some other reason why one or both of her parents had to miss a bedtime or a birthday or a piano recital.
It was usually the Jarvises who stayed with them when their parents were out of town, but Uncle Edwin and Aunt Ana were out of the country with her mom's friend Mr. Stark. So Mum had arranged for someone else -- or, more like, ordered one of the people who worked for her to come over and stay with them overnight just in case of Russian spies or whatever Mum was worried about lately. Lizzie hoped it was a nice friend and not some stuffy middle-aged grown-up like most of her parents' friends.
"Hey, Lizard!" Danny called from the living room over the sound of galloping hoofbeats and cowboy music.
"Don't call me that!"
"Somebody's at the door. I'm gonna answer it."
"No!" Lizzie shouted back. She dropped the knife she was using to cut off the crusts and hurried into the living room, where Danny was picking himself up from his place on the living room floor with his nose a foot from the family TV and grabbing his cap gun. "No, no, no. Mum said you are never, ever to answer the door without an adult present."
"You're not an adult," Danny retorted.
"I'm the closest thing you've got, so sit down," she said with all the authority in her voice that she could muster.
Danny scowled, but he plunked himself down in front of the TV.
The knock at the front door -- completely unheard the first time, over the sound of the TV and her own bustling around the kitchen -- came again, brisk and efficient. Lizzie took a deep breath and went over to the door.
"Password!" she called through the door.
A male voice, sounding slightly amused, answered her. "What do you get one time today, three times tomorrow, and never in the future?"
"The letter 'o'," she answered back. Danny had gotten a book of riddles for Christmas a couple of years ago, and all the family passwords had been riddles ever since.
"That's right. You sound sharp. Can I come in?"
"Are you the friend of my mom's who was supposed to come over to babysit?"
"That's me."
Lizzie unlocked the door and opened it.
He wasn't old and stuffy-looking. Actually he was only kind of old, like just barely an adult. And he was ... cute. Not cute like the cute boys at school, but a different kind of cute. Lizzie stared at him, wide-eyed and briefly dazzled.
"Hello there," he said, flashing a grin at her. "You must be Elizabeth. Can I come in?"
Lizzie cleared her throat, got hold of herself, and held out a hand. "ID."
"You're definitely your mom's kid," he remarked. He held up his hands to show they were empty and then reached carefully into his jacket pocket.
Lizzie felt someone bump her leg and aimed an annoyed kick at Danny Jr. as he tried to peek around her. "Go turn down the TV," she hissed at him, feeling suddenly embarrassed about Danny's cowboy show blaring at top volume in the living room.
Her mom's friend held out a SHIELD ID. Lizzie took it and held it up to the light to check for the signs of faded or mis-registered ink that her mom had showed her could be signs of a forgery. "Okay," she said, "this looks real, but is that really your real name?"
"As God is my witness," he said, taking the ID back.
"Fury?"
"Not my fault. Blame my dad," he said dryly.
"Do you have a gun?" Danny asked, popping up at her side.
"Danny!"
"Yeah, I have a gun," Agent Fury said, twitching back his jacket to show that he was wearing a holster. "Can I come in, or do you want me to stand out on the porch 'til the neighbors start asking questions?"
Lizzie couldn't think of any other questions to ask him herself, so she stood back and let him come in. "I'm making sandwiches," she said. "They're cheese and roast beef. Do you, um ... want one?"
"Well, that's hospitable of you. Sure."
And that was how they ended up sitting around on the living room floor eating sandwiches off Mum's good plates with the TV playing softly in the background and Danny peppering Agent Fury ("You kids can call me Nick if you want") with questions about SHIELD missions ("Classified."), whether he'd ever used his gun ("Sure."), when ("Classified.") and so forth.
Lizzie let Danny stay up an extra hour past his bedtime. Agent Fury promised he wouldn't tell.