The drums began low after a twinkling intro of tambourines and bird calls. The soothing chimes drowned to the crescendo of the drums that became accompanied by hums and chants. The alarm was snoozed off by a sleep heavy fist, and seconds of silence passed till it was broken by the creaking of the bed. Black slippers came out from under the bed, giving comfort to the feet that shuffled to the kitchen.

The machine grumbled as it woke up, getting ready to prepare a cup of coffee for its master, who abandoned it to give company to the treadmill. The slippers were traded for running shoes, and the treadmill woke up lazily to the white noise coming from the television. Politicians were being grilled on the government's failures, super heroes saved lives while having no regard for collateral damage. Nobody knew who Justin Bieber was dating now, but has Tony Stark hung up the suit for his secretary? His watch beeped 7am and the treadmill hissed to a halt. The gym shoes rested with the slippers and the sweaty feet walked naked to the shower; washed, dried, and clothed in 7 minutes 30 seconds to the dot.

The bedroom was left like no one had been there for days, the closed door holding its secret. The coffee machine snored in its sleep, its creation poured meticulously from pot to mug, not a drop left or spilled. The travel mug got a lid and stood with the briefcase on the square kitchen table; the man used his free hands to swing on one black suit jacket while 4 others exactly like it hung in the closet. The navy rope went around his neck, tying in a single Windsor knot to keep from slipping off. The mug and the case parted company as he carried each in one hand. The strong black coffee was perfect for first day back.

"Let's go save the world," he told his reflection with a preppy smile, but really he longed to be back on holiday.

It was a magical place.

"Good moooorning, New York City! It's your hosts Duke Savage and Scooters, waking you up at 9 am. It's 85° with CLEAR, well, probably not clear skies. It's New York!"

"Yup Dukey! I'm gonna call it... clear skies with a chance of [rain pour] Super HEROES!! We have a video from the weekend, of Captain Ah-merica running laps round Central Park! Look at that old man go!"

"And my grandfather can't even get off his rocker! Haha, love you pops. And you too, Cap!" Cue the presidential fanfare.

"That's probably not Iron Man today for sure! Mr. Tony Stark's probably sleeping it in after all that partayy-ing last night!" Insert quote from Tony Stark. "Hahaa, we love you Tony! Keep living the dream, Iron man!"

Ba-dum-tuss and boos from the fake audience.

"Speaking of loving Tony Sta-"

The radio shut off mid sentence and the girl groggily woke up from her sleep.

"He's Tony genius philanthropist Stark! Why would you need to find a reason to love him. I mean come on, I'd hack him in a second, if you know what I mean!" A snort laugh was what it took for her to gain her senses.

"Way to go, Poots. You're talking to yourself."

With a yawn, stretch, and a scratch of her head, Poots was off the makeshift bed, stumbling across the floor of her van to the makeshift desk. A newspaper headline came ripped off the wall where hundreds others were pinned, like a theory on a police detective's wall. Or a serial killer's. The page rested next to the computer, which opened from its slumber to reveal a million different programs running at the same time.

She cracked her twined fingers outward, shaking them up to start the day.

"Alright Poots, work time!" She wiggles her fingers over the keyboard, aiming for the letters, but in the next second she snapped the laptop shut and tossed it in her bag, sliding off her chair.

"Nope. Breakfast time!"

Jab! Slide! Double punch! Dodge! Uppercut, elbow, over the shoulders, slammed on the other side! The dummy had no chance against the better man. He imagined his father's face every time he lashed out. Who was the dummy now, dad! He had come so far from his past, and he'd definitely proven himself. Hell, he was second only to Romanov. The young man started another round, but halfway through, his pager beeped, sending him to work. He got a text on his phone a second later, confirming his mission. He ripped the Velcro apart and tossed the wraps at the water boy by the gym showers.

'Merci'

After a quick shower, he put on a waiter's uniform and grabbed his bike jacket on his way out. It was a good day to ride a bike in Paris, too bad he had work to do. An Agent's work is never done.