Chapter 49

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Waking up a cold morning with comforting warmth pressed against him was something Harry would never grow used to. It felt strangely novel and exciting, to be shielded from the chilling December air by the heat of a soft blanket and an even softer midget.

It just made his disappointment all the more immeasurable when it all came to an end with a knock on his door.

For a moment he simply laid there—hoping for the knocker to believe him asleep and leave—the clashing of warmth against the cold being simply too…unusual to give up easily. It described exactly what he'd read 'Romance' to be: a feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life. And he really didn't want this weirdly romantic feeling to disappear away so soon...

The knocking continued.

His thoughts turned to his last winter. He had been doing the same thing he was doing now; running missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. Except, he didn't have a family waiting for him—no matter how much May, Hill, and Kara tried, and Steve and Natasha were often too busy to nanny him—neither did he have the luxury of a comfortable bed…or a warm body to share it with.

'Maybe this time I'll actually get the chance to see what all the fuzz behind Christmas is as well…'

The knocking continued.

Finally, he turned to the door with a scowl. "I heard you the first time!"

Groaning with disappointment and irritation, Harry peeled the midget and the blanket off of him, shivering a tiny bit at the sudden chill before his resistances kicked in and his body adjusted to the new temperature.

Sighing, he trudged his way to the door, and—unlatching the lock—received his guest with a pointed frown.

"What?" Harry snapped.

"Sir!" The man barely stopped himself from rapping his knuckles against his forehead—yes, that's how short he was currently, Shut up—quickly recovering from his initial surprise. "Your presence is requested in the briefing room. Director Ares' orders."

The agent held out a small slip.

Frowning, Harry swiped it, taking a quick glance.

'7:00 am sharp. Don't be late.'

Harry crushed the note and pinned the man under a practiced glare. "Do you know what time it is?"

Discomfort clear on his face, the male Agent squirmed for a second before taking his words literally and moving a shaky hand under his sight. "It's ahh...a few minutes from six-thirty. Sir."

Harry suppressed his surprise. 'I overslept?'

A single night of fun and the midget was already starting to infect him.

Humming, he looked the man up and down curiously, quickly noting a clear similarity to his previous guide. 'Is Ares purposely assigning me young and inexperienced Agents, or am I being overly paranoid?'

Doesn't matter. He had more important things to do now, like…

"Where's Daisy?"

The agent blinked. "Daisy, sir?"

Harry frowned. "The agent assigned to me last night."

"Oh, you mean Agent Skye? She hasn't left her room yet, citing sudden health issues, so I've been assigned as your guide for today."

'Yeah, right.' Harry grouched sulkily. 'She's probably too scared to meet me now.'

He felt a surprising amount of disappointment for a woman he'd barely met a few hours ago.

...Probably because she was the first true woman he'd successfully seduced.

'Had it gone the right way, it would've been her heat that I woke up to this morning. Preferably with my head buried in her breasts.'

Not that he didn't like the Midget's heat...it just didn't arouse him the way Daisy—or Skye, as she was known—would no doubt have.

"Though I assure you I can take care of any matter you require." The agent broke past his brooding silence, before suddenly growing bashful. "I, uhh…passed the S.H.I.E.L.D academy with flying colors, if I do say so myself."

Harry glanced up, a little surprised. "Academy?"

"The…S.H.I.E.L.D Academy?" The agent hesitantly probed. "Sir?"

Harry gave him an extra-blank stare. "No clue. But I'm sure you're about to clue me in."

"Oh! Well, never mind then." He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Now if you can follow me, sir…?"

Harry pinned the fidgeting agent under a suspicious eye.

Usually, the discomforting silence was enough for younger agents to cough up anything hidden behind their flimsy cover—mostly due to Harry's reputation than a lack of nerves—but the agent in front of him suddenly seemed to change under his gaze instinctively, standing straighter and firmer.

"The Academy is a reserved subject, sir." He announced solemnly. "I'm afraid I cannot say more on that."

…In the rare case a young agent does find their backbone, Harry's extra-steely glare comes in handy…

"I'm a level seven S.H.I.E.L.D Agent."

Along with a reminder of his status.

The agent visibly winced. "Ahh, well…in that case, may I describe it along the way?"

"…And I'm guessing you are to lead me along 'this way'?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well." Harry dragged the agent back before he could run off, waving him down. "Stand your position. I shall join you in a couple of minutes."

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It was rare for Harry to stand so intimately alongside a group of individuals.

"Our last direct contact with the target was well over three months ago when Agent Oksana used Red Dust to free her from Dreykov's mind-control."

Rarer still to touch shoulders but not palm a knife in preparation for the ass-kicking that was sure to follow.

"Since then, she has made her way from Morocco to Hungary, making sure to keep well under the radar."

Yet, as he stood at a touching distance from Natasha at one side and Ares from another—leaning over a round glass table completely buried under a plethora of papers and files—he didn't quite feel the need to grip his weapons and start blasting people.

Probably because both their statuses reported their growing affections towards him—having crossed 70 on the literal affection meter.

"Had she not been as thorough, I have no doubt her position would've already been compromised. Well…it has still been compromised, but not through any fault of hers…" Ares droned on.

Their focus was primarily on the holographic image of one, Yelena Belova, which hovered over the small, flat tablet-like screen lying on the middle of the table.

Harry's eyes flickered around, lending an absent ear to catch any new info from Ares' words, while his attention drifted across the room.

The place for their mission briefing was much smaller than the white room of the previous day—not that he minded the color; the white reminded him too much of his home in Hydra. There were five of them in total, all standing around the table grimly—with Oksana being the only new face—confirming for him the exact amount of secrecy this mission seemed to warrant.

Not that Harry saw any point in secrecy anymore. What was the point of being subtle when your enemies were already well aware of your coming?

Still, it wasn't something he could complain about. Neither did he particularly care…especially not when he was about to negotiate for a better deal and squeeze S.H.I.E.L.D's money bag as tightly as he can.

Unfortunately, that would only come after the briefing was over, and until then...he would need to stand quietly like a good little boy, all hungry and sad and wishing to go back to the comfort of his soft, warm bed.

An elbow to the rib broke him out of his silent despair, and a bag of chips presented itself under his nose.

'Well…at least someone here cares for me.'

Not enough though, for when he tried to take the bag, a hand came out and struck his fingers off.

"Just one." Natasha growled, eyes still fixed on Ares.

He shot her a disgusted grimace…and then levitated a handful of chips out anyway.

She sighed but kept quiet.

'Smart girl.'

"The target is currently holed up in a classified hideout in Budapest; one of the few locations that is hostile to S.H.I.E.L.D..." Ares stopped, glancing up pointedly at Natasha and the bag of chips before a bemused smile tugged on his lips. "...due to some past mishaps involving our agents—both of whom are currently present here and banned from ever laying feet in Hungary."

Harry elbowed the woman beside him, a smirk on his face.

"Shut it." She muttered under her breath.

This was slightly more interesting than the subject of their current meeting; most of which Harry had already educated himself upon—with his own knowledge, flashes of Sagely wisdom, and well-thought-out theories—after he'd received the mission file the first time in the Headmistress' office.

"I doubt that the WSC would be kind enough to get us in legally," Steve continued after a small pause. "Which is why we've made some...different arrangements. You'll be flying in the best Stealth aircraft to have ever been produced, which should deliver you well inside the enemy territory in less than two hours."

Harry blinked. "What? Like a bigger version of the F-22 Raptor or something?"

Steve smirked, looking almost like Dumbledore with that infuriatingly mysterious glint in his eyes. "...Or something."

Harry grunted, a little peeved.

"I know." Natasha patted his shoulder comfortingly. "He's a child like that. Thinks of himself as some mysterious super spy. Most of us just humor him and nod along."

"Your Main Objective," Steve raised his voice to drown out their little exchange. "is to retrieve the container of Red Dust from the target and, if possible, bring her in for further questioning."

Harry glanced down at the file under him, another image of Yelena Belova staring back at him.

"Your secondary objective is to capture any Widow you may encounter on your mission. We have reasons to believe they are all being mind-controlled by an old enemy…taking them alive would be preferable. It'll be difficult, I know. Perhaps too difficult. So if you think odds aren't in your favor at any point, I want you to prioritize your lives over all else."

The Director looked up, rubbing a hand over his tired face hesitantly. "Just…try, alright? These women never had control over their lives…now they've lost control over their mind and body as well. Knock them out, bind them, and place them in a secured position, S.H.I.E.L.D will do the rest. Evac will be there in four hours from the moment your feet touch the Hungarian ground."

Beside him, the retired Black Widow Oksana cleared her throat, giving a pointed look to Ares.

Steve grimaced, giving the woman a pursed nod. "Should it prove necessary, you may use the Red Dust to free them from their shackles. It has already been proven effective before, so unless the target has messed with them in some way, you can trust the package."

"I do think it would be better this way." Oksana interjected. "They won't fight you if you give them their freedom. They might even help you subjugate the others."

"Just make sure to retrieve at least one syringe back." Ares sighed, before straightening up. "So in reverse order of priority; rescue the Black Widows, bring in Yelena Belova, retrieve a sample of Red dust, but above all else…keep yourselves safe; and that's an order."

"Yes, sir." The three agents replied.

For a moment, his old age seemed to disappear under a proud smile as he stared at them. It was gone in the blink of an eye, and the old man Steve showed his full age as he slumped down on a stool. "Right. Well...enough of that, let's talk about something fun, but just as important."

Yelena Belova's image was suddenly replaced by their faces and bio.

"I don't think it needs telling that the three of you are quite different from normal S.H.I.E.L.D agents. You're brought together due to your numerous formidable skills, making for a very unique group of individuals."

Their bio was quickly replaced by their known fields of expertise, along with noteworthy achievements. Harry was a tiny bit surprised to see his infiltration of Agent 33's home being shown as a highlight of his career.

"You were all given more than enough information to know each other's field of expertise, but papers can only tell so much. I would normally force you to work as a team for at least a month before letting you handle this mission, but we're in a bit of a time crunch as you'll be leaving in three hours. Make it count."

They stayed silent, their eyes fixed on the rolling list of expertise each had under their belt. He didn't know about the other two, but he hadn't bothered reading about his teammates' abilities yet. So it did come as a minor surprise to see Hawkeye having the titles like 'Master Martial artist', 'Staff, sword, knife Mastery', 'Master Acrobat', 'Master Assassin', 'Master Spy', 'Expert Tactician', 'Expert Engineer'...

The list went on a while longer and was every bit as extensive as Natasha and himself—though admittedly, his entire array of Magical skills were bunched up under a single 'Magic User' tab, which simply wasn't fair. He would've surely won the challenge otherwise.

"Go on then." Ares clapped his hands. "Anything more you want your team to know? Some new equipment to change the tide of battle? New skills you might've picked up in the last six months?"

"…Well." Barton cleared his throat, his iconic smile—a cross between a smirk and grimace—flashing on his face. "Since you asked…"

He held up a coin between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Oh, not this again..." Natasha muttered beside Harry.

"I call this…" He started dramatically as if the audience were hanging on his every word. "The snap of doom."

He snapped his fingers, and the coin was launched across the room like a bullet, skipping on the table like a flat stone on water, to continue its journey forward…until a hand shot out and caught it.

Ares didn't look away from Barton as he brought his fingers to the eye-level, the coin clutched between them. "That was…"

"Impressive?" Hawkeye prodded.

"Useless." Natasha quipped.

"Underwhelming." Oksana added.

"And certainly not what I meant." Ares delivered the killing blow, and Hawkeye visibly wilted, turning to Harry for the last drop of solace.

Unfortunately for him, the only thing he found were two disappointed emerald orbs that cast silent judgment.

"It's a very nice trick though." Steve rushed to reassure him. "Could come in handy in specific situations. But I was hoping for more…practical skills. Something that might provide a tactical advantage on the field."

Hawkeye shrugged, snatching his coin back. "I've made a new trick arrow."

"Just make sure it doesn't destroy the building." Ares sighed, finally settling his wandering eyes on him. "Moving on…anything to share, Harry?"

All four eyes turned to him.

For a moment, Harry mulled over the idea that the whole silly exchange might've been crafted solely for this purpose, to fish after his abilities…

But one look at Barton's mildly offended face made him simply not care. Not like he could hide everything from them anyway; he would have to come up with an appropriate explanation for his Inventory, potions, and other visible abilities if he wanted to keep using them in front of his teammates. Most could be explained as magic, but potions that instantly healed him would surely raise some eyebrows.

Then again, he was just a contracted agent and didn't actually owe them any explanation.

Though he did feel the need to brag a little—and it may or may not have something to do with being the only one without the 'Multilinguistic' skill under his belt—so he dropped the bomb without any warning. "I can fly."

For a long moment, silence dominated the small room, and then…

Oksana lurched straight. "Fly!? Fly, as in fly fly, or just airplane fly?"

Firework.

"There's no way…" Barton muttered.

"Show us." Natasha urged.

"Well...I can't do it by myself but..."

Harry whipped out his Nimbus in triumph.

The looks he got were all deadpanned.

He was a little disappointed that no one batted an eye at his inventory's bullshit, but he was above such things as pouting.

"You're kidding me." Natasha muttered. "All those stories are actually true? You fly on your brooms in the night, laughing evilly down the neighborhood with a pointy black hat? And stop pouting, we're all very impressed by your magic trick. But it is magic, so expect more bewilderment than awe."

Harry blinked. "How do you know about the Hats?"

"There's no way." Barton sounded incredulous. "The hat's a lie, right? And brooms? Seriously? I can probably run faster and I'll be knocking on my forties' door soon.

Harry scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. This thing can go from 0 to 70 in three seconds, with its highest speed reaching 100 miles per hour."

"And they let children fly on this?" Oksana sounded even more incredulous and a little bit incensed. "Without any protection!? Please tell me that's not true. You're just the special one, right? Please tell me you're a special case."

Harry cocked his head, frowning. "Well...I am special, being one of the youngest Seekers in history. But that is more due to my skills. There is no age restriction for flying."

"Madness."

"You know what? I think that's enough for now." Ares said, rubbing his awfully sweating forehead. "You'll have plenty of time to catch up on the plane…unless someone plans to take a nap. Go get ready, and show yourself here before eleven."

"Dismissed."

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Harry had begun learning something new about himself every day. Ever since his surprising tussle with rage and unstable emotions, he'd been actively going out of his way to trigger his sagely wisdom and unearth the inner turnings of his mind. Most of the time, he would fail—he was no closer to knowing why a woman's bosom and behind induced such an unscratchable itch within his groin—but sometimes he would succeed, as evidenced by his quickly growing understanding of the signs a girl might give if she returned his…interest.

This was not one of those times. No sudden wave of wisdom hit him to divine the reason on why exactly Daisy Johnson—who had once again taken position as his guide—became so hell-bent on stubbornly maintaining the cold detached mask her face currently sported. He'd been worried about her growing fearful, and perhaps receding into her awkward shell once again, but to see her clinging to a stoic silence as she guided him to a different section of the headquarters was…confusing. And a little irritating, forcing him to form his own theories.

And the first one that popped in his mind was…'Does she practice Occlumency?'

A quick look at her status revealed her lack of Mana, disabusing the theory instantly. It was possible for there to be some non-magical version of the skill, though he wasn't convinced.

'Maybe she's received a similar mental training like me and Natasha?' Was the second one.

But this theory was also ripped apart in front of a logical question: why didn't she use it yesterday then, when he was just about to drag her to his bed?

His confusion was further enhanced by the subtle anxious looks she sent his way when she thought he wasn't looking. Different from her emotionless looks, it wasn't the grim acceptance of someone admitting to guilt, or angry accusing eyes that put the blame of last night on him…

It was the look of a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Whatever the reason may be, the fact remained that he was now an unjust victim of her awkward attempts at professionalism, while still being observed like a caged animal prowling the Zoo.

'Well…let's solve this the only way I know.'

By using his mutation to thaw at her 'ice heart' and maybe finish what he'd started yesterday.

[Pheromone Manipulation] Lvl 21

The effects were immediate. As they made their way for one of the numerous dining rooms in the building, Johnson visibly stiffened up, her pace slowing down from the hurried, urgent gait to one of discomfort and reluctance.

One thing he'd come to realize about his ability was that the victims were usually more susceptible the second time, after having acknowledged—or formed—their lust for him. For Daisy, he was no longer that 'unusually attractive kid' but an actual prospect for mating. The guilt was still there of course, as was a dark disgust aimed at herself along with a stark fear of her feelings being discovered…but all of these were being easily suppressed as he used his ability; pushing down on the unneeded Pheromones and pumping in the important ones.

'Now, the actual convincing part.' Or well, re-convincing part.

"Agent Johnson." He turned to the girl with a charming smile. It was a testament to her skills and experience that she was still standing straight—unlike the putty that he'd made of Cho and Katie. "I'm glad to see you're doing well now. I was told you were too…tired, to tend to me."

Her face set in a stubborn tilt, but he could see her gulping slightly. "J-just an upset stomach. Ahem, nothing to worry about. And it's Skye, sir."

"Really?" He 'frowned', nodding thoughtfully. "So your hostile silence just now…was due to the events of yesterday?"

She whipped her face to him. "What? Hostile?" She laughed awkwardly. "No, sir…how could I be hostile? Nope. Nu-huh. I'm completely not hostile."

She shook her head like a wild puppy, abandoning all attempts at professionalism.

Harry smirked, closing the distance between them to put a hand around her waist. "So you don't mind some closeness, do you…Skye?"

A new, subtler wave of pheromones attacked her, and she went still. "I-I…I think I should…I mean, I-I do! Of course, I do! This is totally not okay."

She didn't move to remove his hand though as they started walking again.

"Do you like it?" He asked, his hand caressing her hips, slowly climbing up her stomach.

"Y-ye…No! Of course not!" She took a deep, calming breath—and all of a sudden a new, stronger emotion, filled with determination, ripped his grip upon her body—before proceeding to finally remove his hand and lean down. "There are cameras here, and other agents are very active in the day. Please sir, I don't want to spend the rest of my life in jail."

She looked to be on the verge of tears then, and her emotions were a whirlwind of contradictions, forcing Harry to reluctantly shut off his mutations and step away from her.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Harry frowned. Upsetting her hadn't been his intention at all. Usually when he engaged in this, the other side enjoyed it just as much as he did, if not more. To see this woman look so harried was…

Disheartening.

She clearly wanted him to keep going, yet at the same time didn't want him to keep going. It would seem understanding women might actually be much harder than he'd thought.

'Perhaps because I'm not her friend yet?'

After all, unlike Cho and Katie, he hadn't had time to assess her feelings. He'd simply decided he wanted her and acted upon his sudden desire.

Which meant…'I'm going too fast.'

On top of that, both of his current girl-friends didn't have any background guilt, shame, or disgust to work off…if anything, they were even more excited to sexually engage with him than he was.

'It seems just looking physically attractive won't cut it with an adult female.'

Which was even more disheartening after the partial success of last night. Then what changed?

'She had time to process it.' A wave of sudden wisdom opened his eyes in understanding. 'Without my mutation to suppress her guilt and reluctance, they won over her mind and firmly pushed her actions accordingly.'

Thus, creating a firm resistance to his pheromones.

'Goddamnit, midget.'

Had he managed to get her in bed yesterday, he could've prevented all of this from happening.

'And now I don't even have the time to do anything about it.' He'd be going on a mission soon.

Just when they came to a stop in front of the third suite, Skye finally turned to him.

"Your family has been waiting for you, sir." She said, recovered enough to be on the point and utterly professional. "The Director said to collect you in two hours."

He gave her a dismissive grunt, his fingers already turned the knob of the door when she suddenly took a quick, hesitant step closer.

"S-sir." She called out tentatively, her voice softer than his steps, leaning down as if to share a grave secret. "What happened yesterday…a-and today…what I did…I really, really apologize. It should never have happened, I don't know what I was thinking. I'll understand if you lodge a complaint to the Director, but this is the only home I've ever known so if you can find it in you to forgive me, I promise you'll have nothing to complain about in the future."

Even with a hint of panic and desperation marring them, her words were rapid and practiced, and he had no doubt that there existed a slip of paper with the exact speech written on it.

'Why is she blaming herself though?' Even with the shower of wisdom, he couldn't understand that.

Shaking his head, he turned the door open. "You don't have to worry about the Director, Agent." Then he glanced at her with a smirk, winking. "You'd do much better worrying about me though."

The last thing he saw before he entered the suite was her head jerking to the ground, with a pretty blush working its way up her neck…

'Maybe not all is lost…'

And then his vision was drowned by a gaggle of redheads.