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chapter thirteen
TARGET ACQUIRED
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THE DISK SLIDES INTO the DVD player at the press of a button. After hearing the mechanical whir of the machine reading it, Ceres heads into Steve's kitchen to grab their enormous bowl of perfectly buttery popcorn. It's so full that several pieces almost tumble out when she flops onto the sofa.

"So what's this one about?" Steve asks, already reaching for a handful. "It sounds like science fiction."

"A teenage boy and his elderly scientist friend accidentally visit the year 1955 using a time machine," Ceres replies. "It's sci-fi, yeah."

"And it's from the eighties?"

"Came out in the summer of '85. Huge movie. Don't let Ilyas know I'm telling you this, but he loved it. Saw it probably thirteen times."

Steve raises his brows in surprise. "I don't think there's a film I've seen thirteen times."

"It's easier now. You can just pop the DVD in and go." Ceres skips the previews and selects the 'PLAY MOVIE' icon on the main menu. The screen goes black, signaling the start of the film.

They made this a tradition in the months after their friendship began. As Steve's list of things to check out grew, he started feeling overwhelmed by the thought of getting through it himself, so Ceres volunteered to help. She taught him how to type and use Google so he could research things on a computer. For their first Christmas of knowing each other, she bought him a DVD player—the very one they're using now—and a plethora of iconic movies. Some were on his list and some weren't, but she figured he might be interested in them anyway.

Steve hasn't enjoyed everything, but that doesn't deter him. Ceres admires how he gives each thing on his list a fair chance. Even if he hates a movie, he finishes it. TV shows are more difficult—depending on the length, he'll either finish it or watch the most important episodes to get the gist.

Last Christmas, she gifted him an iPod and downloaded most of the songs and albums he had. They had spent the day listening to music, playing board games, and watching Home Alone. Gone are the times when Steve spent most of their interactions with rosy-red cheeks and stammered words. They've grown comfortable with each other. Little by little, she's unearthing more of his pieces.

One of her favorite parts of Steve is the one that references TV and movie lines for months afterward. He only does it to her, and sometimes to himself—she'll catch him mumbling a quote under his breath, unsure if he knows he did it. After their Home Alone marathon, he wouldn't stop saying, "Keep the change, ya filthy animal," thickening his New York accent, making Ceres laugh every time.

It warms her heart to know that some of these pieces of him are reserved for her. She holds them close to her chest and never wants to let go.

"Can I see your list?" she asks as the production credits pop onto the screen.

"Yeah." Steve digs the small notebook out of his pocket and passes it to her.

This is another thing that's special to her—she's allowed to read his notebooks without him putting up a fight. When Ilyas had tried to flip through his last one, Steve had grown flustered and embarrassed, too polite to snatch it back, so Ceres had done it for him. This is the third one he's had since she gave him the idea. The pages are full of different colors of ink depending on what color he had access to at the time, some entries crossed out as he's completed them, the pages crinkled from use.

"This is good progress," she says. Noticing the newest addition, she adds, "Maybe we can listen to the Troubleman soundtrack later."

"Sam recommended that," Steve informs her.

"I don't think I've ever listened to it all the way through. It'll be an experience for both of us—and Ilyas, if he ever decides to grace us with his presence."

He's been elusive ever since their arrival in DC, coming and going as he pleases like a cat, never staying for too long. Half the time he's not even here overnight. Ceres has the air mattress to herself then, which is great because she can sprawl out however she wants without worrying that he'll push her in her sleep. What her friend does with his free time, she isn't sure, and Ilyas isn't keen on sharing. She doesn't worry, though; it's not like he can die, and he never needs medical attention, so she figures he's probably exploring or hooking up with people.

This has led to Steve and Ceres spending a lot of time alone. They commute to the Triskelion together in the mornings, have dinner, watch movies, do laundry, go on runs. It's different than it was in New York. Then, he was going on missions with the STRIKE team. She had two jobs and a separate place to live. Now, they're under the same roof, working at the same place, and... Ceres is both comfortable and sure it's driving her mad.

Certain, unexpected intimacies come with sharing an apartment. After rooming with Ilyas for so long, they're things she'd forgotten about. Steve when he first wakes up in the morning, his hair unkempt and eyes sleepy. When they both have to shower so he emerges from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and steam curling the ends of his wet hair. Learning each other's routines, getting used to how each person loads the dishwasher, their scents mingling the longer they share this space that didn't seem so small when they arrived, but has started to feel more cramped than ever as the days pass.

Ceres is both at ease and on edge around Steve. She's completely herself around him, and yet every nerve is aware of his location compared to hers. When they're both bustling around the kitchen, she knows how many steps away he is. Her breath catches when he slides past her on his way to the bedroom. Even now, she's hyper-aware of them sitting a couch cushion apart, nothing but the plastic bowl between them.

It's worse when they both reach into it at the same time. Their buttery fingers slide against each other, and you would have thought they'd done something indecent from how they both jolt away, heat searing across their faces.

"Sorry—"

"I just—"

"You first."

"Okay." Ceres grabs three pieces and pops them into her mouth, trying to turn her attention back to Marty McFly, even though her subconscious keeps drifting back to Steve. At least she's seen this film before. But maybe that makes it worse. Instead of a foreign plot to grasp her attention, her mind can safely wander without worrying she'll miss something, a new kind of torture she's not used to.

These heart flutters, warm cheeks, and butterflies in her stomach... they're things she hasn't felt in a long time.

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BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Each bullet pierces the target 20 yards from where Ceres stands, her feet planted firmly to account for the kickback of the pistol in her hands. Gunpowder burns her nostrils after so long at the shooting range. It feels like she's spent half the day here, her arm muscles screaming from use.

"Good," Rumlow comments. "For someone who said it's been a while, you look pretty at ease with a gun in your hand."

Ceres ejects the empty magazine, shrugging. "I guess it's like riding a bike—once you learn and spend forty years doing it, you never really forget how."

Rumlow's mouth lifts in an amused smile. "I've seen parts of your file—Ravel's too. Not sure if I would've believed in the whole immortality thing otherwise."

She's not surprised that he briefed himself on both her and Ilyas; as the STRIKE team coordinator, he has to know who he's working with, especially when two of the newcomers to the facility were previously working with another set of superheroes. She hasn't looked at her file, so she has no idea what information is available to someone of Rumlow's rank.

Pretty much everything that was on Charles's official records, Nick Fury knows.

They both turn at the sound of footsteps. Ilyas appears, sliding knives into the sheaths in his suit. His dark waves are tousled from fighting. "Your turn, Cer."

"Sorry," she says to Rumlow, handing him the pistol.

"Not a problem. That was your last round, anyway. Good job today."

"Thanks." She smiles at him over her shoulder as she leaves. When she passes Ilyas, he pats her on the shoulder for good luck.

Ceres quickly exits the range before she can hear him start complaining. As newcomers who have also been out of commission for over a decade, they've undergone vigorous training to get their minds and bodies in tip-top shape. Back in SHIELD's New York branch, she and Ilyas had been tested in basic combat, intelligence, and the strength of their powers. They brushed up on languages and undercover work. Ceres had a headache by the end of each day.

Their training regimens had been designed by Maria Hill. When they aren't preparing for missions, they're working like dogs to perfect themselves.

This brings Ceres to her next task: moving target practice. Agent Hill greets her with a wave when she walks into the training room. Her dark hair is pulled back into a neat bun at the base of her head, highlighting her sharp features and no-nonsense expression.

"Agent Dahal," Hill says with a nod.

Ceres still isn't used to that title, but she returns the gesture all the same. "Agent Hill. You're supervising me this time?"

"Yes, since the targets couldn't withstand your powers last time and Agent Ravel almost broke them all, I wanted to ensure our new ones worked for myself," she says. "These have been specially designed to stay intact when in contact with explosives, which your powers basically are."

She gestures for Ceres to enter the training simulator. The room is secure, keeping anyone on the outside safe from whatever weapon is used against each target. After Hill presses a few buttons, a scanner runs down Ceres's body, calculating her measurements for the drill.

"Try to hit each target as quickly as you can," Hill instructs from over the intercom. "While you do, the simulator will shoot lasers at you—they're just light, so they won't hurt. Avoid them as much as possible. If you get hit, it'll start a count of your strikes. Got it?"

Ceres nods. "Got it."

"Good. Three... two... one..."

The session starts immediately, a target popping up in the center of the room. It survives the blast Ceres sends its way, but she barely has time to be grateful that it didn't burst into flame before she has to roll to avoid a laser aimed at her midsection.

It starts relatively slow and gets gradually faster as time goes on. Soon, Ceres is moving on instinct rather than calculation, dodging shots and hitting targets like it's a dance. Each dodge and hit is fluid, one motion gliding into the next. Duck, blast blast blast, dodge dodge, roll, blast.

"Time!" Hill calls.

Ceres stops, her chest heaving with every breath. Two and a half minutes seems like forever when you're in constant motion. She exits the simulator and brushes a few flyaway strands out of her face, wishing her hair could remain as slick and perfect as Hill's does when it's tied back. Her unkempt waves always seem to find a way out.

"You did good," Hill reports, pointing to the statistics on the monitor. It had measured Ceres's response time from when a target appeared to when she hit it, whether any lasers struck her, and her accuracy. She's pleased to notice that she avoided each shot. Her accuracy was 98 percent. "Two accuracy points were knocked off because you hit the edge of a few targets as they zigzagged. But in all, great job."

Ceres grins. "Thank you."

"And the targets held up. Were you hitting them with as much force as you could?"

She shakes her head. Using no restraint on her powers frightens her even after having them for so long, and part of her worries that she'll burn a hole through the wall if she doesn't keep them in check.

"Maybe we'll try that next time," Hill says. "For now, you're done for the day, and so is Agent Ravel if he's finished at the range."

Ceres says her goodbyes to Agent Hill and makes her way back to the shooting range. SHIELD has two floors dedicated to various aspects of physical training, not including the extensive gym that has a separate floor. After the formation of the Avengers, they'd started crafting new areas to accommodate powers. Hence equipment that can withstand Steve's strength and Ceres's sunlight.

She hears Ilyas's gunfire before she even enters the room. He stands at the same distance she had, holding his pistol with perfect form, needing no correction from Rumlow. The team coordinator watches him fire each shot with his thick arms crossed over his chest. Each bullet hits the center of the target, almost ripping through the same hole.

Once the magazine empties and he's left with nothing but clicks, Ilyas lowers his arms with a sigh. "Can't we move to something harder?"

"This is Agent Hill's training schedule," Rumlow replies, taking the empty gun from him. "She doesn't have you guys moving to the fifty-yard mark until next week."

"But this isn't even challenging." Ilyas sweeps his arm out toward the target. "Look. How can you get more accurate than that? She's holding us back."

"Yeah, it's not like the X-Men around here, huh?" Rumlow asks wryly. "At SHIELD, we got a hierarchy. And you just became official agents a few months ago, yet you've got more privileges than most get after three years thanks to your credentials. Better to be satisfied with that, yeah?"

His tone is challenging, daring Ilyas to fight back. Ceres holds her breath. Ilyas normally would jump into an argument, but he must not feel like this one's worth it, because he lets his jaw tick before muttering, "Whatever."

Ceres sighs in relief. She doesn't want him ruining this new, good thing they have. She's sure that Charles told Fury he'd be a handful, but just because Ilyas was an X-Men doesn't mean he can mouth off whenever he wants. He may have been allowed to before, but Rumlow is right—there's a ladder here. Cause too much trouble and he could be either kicked down a rung or booted out entirely.

Rumlow's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, catching Ceres's attention. She turns around to see Steve standing near the entrance. He's dressed in uniform as he always is here, his shield the same width as his broad shoulders. His proportions never cease to amaze her. She's always known he was broad, but seeing him geared up makes him appear larger than life.

"You guys done?" he asks.

"Yeah," Ceres replies. "Just give us a minute."

She moves to help Rumlow clear the station, but Ilyas pointedly does not. He yawns and stretches his arms over his head. "You kids have fun. I'll be out and about."

No surprise there, Ceres thinks dryly. She ignores his refusal to help and begins putting the pistols back in the case against the wall.

"Rogers, huh?" Rumlow asks, using his key card to lock the small armory.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, come on." He jerks his head back at the super soldier. "He shows up to collect you every day. Rumor has it you even live together."

Ceres frowns. "We live together because he's letting us use his apartment. Fury wanted us here faster than we could find our own place."

"Right." Rumlow doesn't sound convinced.

"I didn't join SHIELD just to get interrogated about my love life," she tells him, her voice clipped. She doesn't know Rumlow very well, and the last thing she needs is rumors spreading. "We're friends. End of story."

Ceres turns and leaves, noticing that Ilyas has already disappeared. Steve follows her out the door.

"How'd training go today?" he asks.

"Fine," she replies. "My arms will be sore tomorrow, but that's all in a day's work. How was your day?"

She knows that the mission has been eating him up ever since they got back. Even though a medical team had extracted the glass and bullet from her body so Ilyas could seal her wounds, he was still worried about her, glancing down at her leg as if he expected to see blood blossoming against her clothes. Like Ilyas, he has problems with SHIELD's hierarchy.

His jaw clenches in annoyance as they approach the elevator. Steve presses the button for the floor with the locker rooms. As the doors slide shut, he shakes his head. "I'll tell you later."

Ceres nods. Her eyes drift to the camera watching their every move, listening to their every word. She knows that surveillance is essential for people's safety, especially in an intelligence agency, but knowing she's always being watched is unsettling.

"Do you mind if we take a little detour before heading back?" Steve asks.

She raises her brows. "Where did you have in mind?"

__________

a/n:

i saw this text post and it's literally ilyas if he visited ceres during her shift at the bar:

i hope you all have been doing well! the recent politics in the united states have me feeling.... well.... not great, so i hope that if you're also feeling overwhelmed, this fic can provide a bit of solace and warmth. my books are always here to comfort you if you need an escape <3

— kristyn

( word count: 3.0k )