Chapter Text
What is the world coming to when goddamn aliens give me sympathetic looks about paperwork? It was boggling. Infuriating. Maybe, a smidge validating. Nick Fury resisted the urge to swear and check over his shoulder in case Murphy was lurking.
Not that this Senju Tobirama was their typical extraterrestrial, oh no, guy had to come from a separate dimension in addition to being from a different planet. Thank god Strange actually did his job when it comes to dimensional intrusions... is what he would like to be saying. Said dimensional intrusion sat before him instead, agreeably filling out paperwork. He was leaving a lot of blanks, admittedly, and the interpreter, Agent Speranza, was having a hell of a time getting things translated when Senju kept latching onto new words with frightening speed, but otherwise he didn’t need to be chained to a desk to do paperwork like certain other people Nick could name.
Why was he doing paperwork, you might ask? Because the contrary alien requested a visitor’s visa as soon as they established coherent communication. Who even does that when they land in a different dimension? Not anyone Shield’s dealt with, that’s for damn sure. Plus, even if the writing was presently gibberish the Shield linguists would still appreciate having a sample, and Speranza’s verbal and written translations would go a long way with them.
What he left blank was just as interesting as what he did admit freely, it had to be said. Pointed silence on the technology level but the quick, surreptitious glances around led Nick to suspect the society Senju hailed from was below Earth’s average technological level. Just a hunch. He certainly hadn’t arrived by technological means as normal humans recognized it if the interested oohs and ahhs Strange made indicated anything. Well, Nick amended, oohs and ahhs in Strange-speak.
Senju also radiated the same unknown energy that characterized his arrival to their scans yet Strange adamantly insisted wasn’t magic as he recognized it. Given the aliens they’ve run into it was… concerning, to say the least.
Almost enough to make a guy curious to see what would happen if Senju had resisted arrest, Nick mused, only almost though. People who came quietly were miles preferable to the alternative, considering.
“So, Senju, what’s it going to take to get you back where you should be?” Nick demanded once the pencil stilled longer the ten seconds, Speranza echoing him in Japanese, the language they’d determined was closest to whatever Senju spoke.
Senju glanced up through his lashes with those eerie red eyes of his, most of his focus seemingly on his paperwork. He rattled something off, curt and expectant, and Speranza squinted incredulously in response, making a query of his own. Senju rolled his eyes and snapped something back, deeply sarcastic in tone.
“Speranza.” Nick said impatiently.
“Sir,” Speranza acknowledged, “he says he needs ink, some kind of paper, and a sturdy room to — test backwards? Or, no, hang on, gah, he’s simplifying his language a lot, I think he’s saying reverse engineering. He needs ink, paper, and a sturdy room to reverse engineer the accident that landed him here.”
“Ink and paper,: Nick repeated flatly.
“That’s what he says, sir,” Speranza confirmed.
“I didn’t take him for a theorist,” Nick said dryly. With muscles like those, and the micro twitches that hinted at reflexes Nick was dying to see in action — albeit from a distance — he was pinging so many hand-to-hand combat alerts it wasn’t funny.
It was never funny when an unknown pinged dangerous! in his mind.
“Um, one moment.” Speranza turned back to Senju and made a tentative query. Senju replied with a phrase even Nick had learned by heart now. I don’t understand. Speranza squinted and rephrased. Senju tilted his head and said something carefully. “I think he’s saying, and I definitely don’t have all the nuances here, but I think he’s saying that his — power? Magic? — is rooted in drawn symbols.” Speranza squinted harder.
“I see.” Nick leaned back in his chair, considering the man filling out the last page. Now, Nick may not be on the up and up with every form of magic but that definitely sounded like less than the whole story to him. Then again, as Speranza said, they were losing a lot in translation.
Senju finished the last form and set it aside neatly with the rest of it. He looked up, mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Do you need this in triplicate?”
And of course the english the alien picked up quickest had to do with bureaucracy. Nick could only marvel at the universe sometimes.
“Yes,” Nick said, because he did. “Yes, I do.”
Anything to put off the headache of explaining vaccinations and why they needed a pint of his blood.
Three weeks later, identification paperwork secured, a working theory of how life worked on this strange planet, and two new languages under his belt, Tobirama was released from Sword custody — having been transferred over from Shield since acclimatizing extraterrestrials wasn’t actually their job — with a duffel bag of culturally acceptable clothes, toiletries, and the address of an apartment Sword had arranged for him.
Washington D.C., as they called this city, was very strange.
Very different from his quickly growing beloved Konoha whose foundations were first laid with more of an eye towards utilitarian practicality and the strength to withstand a siege. Not a single building he can see looked to have been erected with defense in mind, he can’t even guess as to their purpose with their overly elaborate — to his mind — facades.
Kind of pretty though, he could admit. It was new, which made it exciting. The best kind.
The apartment Sword secured for his use was some distance out from the city proper, enough so that he’d been recommended to take ‘public transportation’ by Agent Speranza — who’d been permanently assigned to him for reasons that he’s pretty sure boil down to ‘he didn’t die arresting the scary alien and had several successful conversations in which he also didn’t die.’ Which was a bit insulting to be perfectly honest. Tobirama had been perfectly civil from the get-go.
He wasn’t sure he liked public transportation anyway; far too crowded for his tastes. He’d have to see about acquiring one of those bicycles Sword told him about, they seemed a much more efficient way of getting around.
The apartment itself was nicer than he expected. Working bathroom, working kitchen, the living room was spacious enough for the couch bed at night and some mild exercise during the day which was nice. The windows made him twitch, obviously needing to be trapped to hell and back, but he never expected different, honestly. Everything would have to be trapped to hell and back.
Still, it was soothing to have a place all to himself after being on his best behavior for a shady organization trying to study him as much as he was studying them.
Said place was more than likely ‘bugged’ to the gills, if he got the lingo right, which was only sensible of them. It presented an interesting thought exercise while he put his things in the closet. How did one search a residence for tampering when almost everything about the technology was alien to him?
Were he anywhere other than where he was, so far away from anything that might hurt his brother’s village, he might be more unsettled than he was.
He can’t find it in himself to fear. Newness was exciting, a challenge.
And, well, evidence says this is where the technology of his own world was headed. What better opportunity to get ahead of the curve?
‘Job searching’ was a curious skill to acquire. Strictly speaking, he was working off what smaller clans had mentioned in passing; the Senju had been established in their field long enough that jobs came to them, not the other way around. Still, it was nice to acquire another skill. Learning was good for the brain, jolted it out of old patterns, opened up new lines of thought. Tobirama loved doing that.
Plenty new about this office, for instance, with it’s strange metals and plastics and fabrics that were somehow plastic too. It might be nice to someone used to the materials, he was still accustomed to more...overtly organic materials. Plenty of interesting pictures on the walls though, many of which depicted dirty, smiling people standing around unearthed dirt, the comparative paleness of bone peeking through. How odd.
A rustle of paper interrupts his introspection. Director Chaudhary makes a frustrated sound, pushing a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. She levels a flat look over the page. “You realize this resume is completely suspect, right?”
“Everything there is correct,” Tobirama said blandly, spreading his hands in a gesture of ‘what you see is what you get.’
“You’re listed as an extraterrestrial. By Shield.” She said flatly, glancing between him and the page as if hoping it’ll turn suddenly sane when she wasn’t looking.
“That is correct.”
“And you listed your last occupation as ‘mercenary/assassin’, no possible leads for references.” Her voice went an increment flatter. Tobirama mentally applauded the finesse of her ability to convey intolerance for bullshit and a willingness to let someone have it for a perceived possession of it with her voice alone.
“That is also correct.”
“What the hell would the museum even do with a mercenary slash assassin?” She finally burst, slapping the resume on the desk. “Do you even have the training to deal with people non-lethally? Can you subdue? Can you de-escalate? Do you prioritize civilians in the line of fire?”
“Of course,” Tobirama assured her. “That’s where the mercenary part came in. I’ve taken jobs protecting a number of non-combatants over the years, as an escort, as a bodyguard, and as one guard of many for a residence. Collateral damage is unprofessional and merits a loss of confidence from the clients.”
The glare she shot him could have stripped flesh from bone as keenly as any Wind country sand storm. Tobirama decided he liked her.
He leaned forward in his chair, regarding her earnestly. “Director. If I may be candid… Are you saying this museum has no use for someone of my skill set? Forgive me, but… I have seen enough in the news to indicate that might not be the case.”
Director Chaudhary steeples her fingers thoughtfully, gaze sharp. Finally, she says, musingly, “The Smithsonian has seen five supervillain class intruders within the last two years alone. Each causing untold amounts of damage to exhibits and archives they thought worthless in the course of stealing some artifact they thought would grant them power of some kind. Artifacts we keep safe. Artifacts we have not gotten back from whichever shadowy agency got ahold of them in the aftermath of stopping said supervillain.” Director Chaudhary, in this moment, reminds Tobirama of nothing so much as a general devising some keen stratagem to thoroughly stymie an enemy, a Nara contemplating a shogi board.
“So I cannot, in complete honesty, say the museum doesn’t have a use for you, Mr. Senju,” she concluded. “I, for one, would dearly like to see this museum secured from superpowered intruders without having to rely on certain others who would feel just as free to make off with our treasures without apology, or remorse.” She leveled him with a stern look. “You have a six month trial period. After that, we’ll see.”
“Thank you,” Tobirama said in all honesty. “I’m looking forward to it.” A beat. Then the curiosity overcomes. “Can you tell me what those people are doing in those pictures? It looks fascinating.”
Director Chaudhary made a complicated face. “Does your...home country not practice any form of archaeology?”
Tobirama shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t recognize the word so probably not. Is it something to do with history? We’ve only recently made peace between multiple warring factions. Up till a couple years ago, it wasn’t safe to so directly poke around at history if it meant contradicting propaganda that fed the war.”
Director Chaudhary’s complicated expression deepened. “We have so much work to do to get you up to speed.”
The Smithsonian is, quite frankly, beyond Tobirama’s wildest imagination.
Treasures beyond compare and design on display beside bones, beside ancient, broken pottery, besides carefully spread, crumbling texts, beside answers to questions Tobirama has never even thought to ask. Every glance around is a breathless whirlwind. Even after a week the sheer breadth of knowledge on careless display, the amount people are just allowed to peruse freely, still makes him have to find a quiet corner and take deep breaths.
This building is his responsibility now. His to safeguard from threats and thieves too powerful for the average person.
It’s the greatest challenge he’s taken in— ever, possibly.
The seemingly most efficient method would be to rig the entire building in a seal-based security system with escalating levels of security. Several small but crucial hitches interfered however; no one here was trained in chakra, not even remotely. And secondly, this building wasn’t a fortress with restricted personnel, which was one of the stranger things Tobirama struggled to wrap his head around. Professors, students, interns, security, archivists, managers, tour guides, janitorial staff and more rotated in and rotated out on a semi-regular basis. Even if Tobirama keyed everyone into the security any new arrivals would be shit out of luck, Tobirama won’t be here long enough to make a chakra-based, seal-based security system viable as a long term solution, not unless he took students and—
Call him crazy, but he wasn’t so sure that was a good idea just yet.
And this was only one building! The Smithsonian comprised of seventeen buildings in Washington D.C., plus outliers in other states. Shadow clones wouldn’t come close to allowing him to effectively cover everything by himself at all hours he was on the clock.
So, the next plan is to lay hiraishin seals at key areas and rely on camera surveillance security like the rest of his coworkers. Unsatisfactory but doable. In the meantime, he’d need to figure out something better.
Something intent based, maybe? Oh, but those are so finicky and prone to false alarms. People didn’t stay focused on the present all the time, thoughts strayed or caught on anger or grudges or remembered hostility. A single spike in the array might land a poor bystander in a very bad time. Tobirama supposed you could dial back the sensitivity but that left more room for people to sneak through, which. No. Scrap the whole idea.
A knock on the door interrupted his musings. He cleared his throat before calling, “Yes?”
“Hey man, you okay in there?”
“Yes?” Tobirama said, a tad confused now. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Uh, look, man, far be it from me to question a dude’s need for a moment of peace and quiet but, uh. I kinda need a mop. And you locked the door.”
“Oh.” Tobirama leapt from his bucket-cum-impromptu chair to unlock the door, opening to round-faced woman with dark hair, wearing a jumpsuit. “Apologies.”
She squinted at him. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m...a new hire.” Tobirama remembered to offer his hand. “Sen— excuse me, Tobirama Senju.”
“Stacey Nguyen.” She shouldered him aside to collect a mop and bucket after a cursory shake. “You a recent immigrant? That’s cool. My family’s been here three generations. My name’s not really Stacey but I get sick of people mispronouncing my name all the time, so I just tell people to call me Stacey.” Tobirama ended up ushered out of the closet with the mop bucket. “Anyway, you didn’t give me a real answer; are you okay?”
“I’m fine, it’s just…” Tobirama waved off the rest of the sentence in lieu of answering. It seemed to be enough for her by the sudden look of sympathy.
“Oh yeah, this place is big and overwhelming at first. A real sensory overload, you know? I’m lucky, I’m usually down in the labs where we don’t have to deal with pedestrians.” She glanced down at the mop. “Oh! I’m not really a janitor! Not that there’s anything wrong with being one either! Some idiot, naming no names — Brandon — spilled some chemicals and our usual guy who takes care of that is out with the flu so we figured we’d be responsible adults and clean our own messes for once, and since I’m both an intern and have a degree in said chemicals I’m the unlucky straw-drawer who gets to clean it up. Uniform’s for safety. Hey, you wanna come with?”
Tobirama blinked, stunned by the deluge. “Pardon?”
“Do you wanna come down to the lab where it’s quiet?” Stacey repeated patiently. “We’re geeking out over a big dino skull we’re carving out of rock. It’s fun.”
“That sounds incredibly restful, actually. Count me in,” Tobirama said, intrigued.
“Right this way then!” Stacey cheered. “Oh, but take a deep breath. We’ve gotta brave the crush of the Captain America exhibit. That shit’s packed. ”
“Ugh.” Tobirama wrinkled his nose. Americans had a sense of personal space almost as expansive as shinobi and yet, they insisted on packing themselves close in public spaces.
“I know. ”
There must have been some kind of new presentation going on, the crowd was all a-tizzy, pressing close with far more enthusiasm than normal. Not that the Captain America exhibit wasn’t usually busy, those ‘supers’ tended to favor some weirdly tight clothing for people who see regular battle and someone had rendered the good Captain in loving detail in multiple poses, but this busy seemed different from yesterday’s busy.
“—can see, there are still burn lines from where a bullet just narrowly grazed it. Now, that was in—”
Actually… Tobirama went on tiptoe and did his best to squint over the crowd. What he saw made his blood boil. Some illiterate moron. Was touching. The exhibits! And the security guards were letting him!
Time to earn his paycheck.
Tobirama excused himself with a terse, “a moment,” and shouldered his way through the crowd, flashing his museum employee badge at anyone who looked liable to shoulder him back with an unspoken dare in his eyes.
Of course, then the illiterate moron in question turned out to be the good captain himself.
Well then.
Tobirama had received an entire binder on him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Tobirama demanded flatly. The good captain froze in the act of unlocking a glass case with a key he most assuredly wasn’t allowed to have, much less use.
Rogers turned to him with the most earnest puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen on anyone outside manipulative small children. And Hashirama. Tobirama knows in an instant this is a dangerous man, deserving of the numerous warnings in his file. He narrows his gaze right back and crosses his arms for good measure, conveying exactly how convincing he finds the innocent act.
“Excuse me, sir, I was just showing these good people—” And Tobirama cuts him off right there. That is exactly Hashirama’s Determined To Persuade You To See It My Way tone, and Tobirama is sadly less immune than he would hope to be after growing up with it. Damn his soft spot.
“You were touching the exhibits is what you were doing.” Tobirama held out a hand expectantly. “Key.”
The good captain had the gall to look confused. Innocently.
Tobirama was on to him.
“Is it really that big a deal?” Rogers asked, fiddling with the key almost forlornly. “It is my stuff, after all. It won’t fall apart if I show it off a little.”
“You can show it off just fine in its case, ” Tobirama said, rolling his eyes. Did he look like he was hired yesterday? “You think just because it used to be in your possession you can just flaut museum display rules? Think again. Hand the key over, and consider getting permission from the museum first the next time you want to lecture on your past missions.”
Somehow, the big eyes get bigger. A pout even gets thrown in. “The paperwork takes forever to get approved.”
“Then you’re an idiot who can’t schedule on top of handsy,” Tobirama retorted. “The key.”
Rogers sighs a forlorn sigh fit for a theatre stage, handing over the key with the air of one too beaten down to protest their soul being wrenched out of their very hands.
Tobirama is not impressed.
“And the other one.”
This time the look he gets is considering rather than merely put upon. Rogers wasn’t expecting to him call him on his bullshit that much. “I don’t have another key.”
Okay, that is a bald-faced lie. Tobirama knows for a fact Rogers has to have another key, he gave up the visible one with too little fight. Or— maybe he was telling the truth about not having a key and what he actually has is a set of lockpicks. Smart, but not smart enough.
Tobirama tapped a foot, pursed his mouth, then nodded, decided. “So be it. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Sir.” Have to remember politeness, it was policy. Tobirama was very mindful of policy.
The crowd made collective noises of disappointment and outrage, offended on behalf of their idol, yet notably didn’t leave. Any show’s a good show, Tobirama thought sardonically. Now, was Rogers going to make trouble for him?
Rogers did not make trouble for him. Going agreeably enough when Tobirama escorted him to the exit.
“It was really nice to meet you,” Rogers said, gaze far too contemplative to match his polite smile. Tobirama is once more viscerally reminded of Hashirama.
“I’m sure,” Tobirama grunts. He made sure Rogers actually left properly, walking away from the building, before he felt confident enough to go back about his business.
Rogers would be back.
Tobirama needed to be ready when he did.
But for now, Miss Nguyen was practically bouncing impatiently to show him the labs. Tobirama completely understood.
Libraries were the actual greatest thing about this dimension, after the museum. There were public ones just— all over the place! Getting access to them was so easy! All this knowledge for free, for anyone! Mind boggling. Brilliant. Tobirama would live in them if he wasn’t so attached to the safety of his apartment. As it is, he could only curse the book limit and the check-in deadline for the cunning tactic it is.
This world was so fascinating. Its history was meticulously recorded and speculated all the way back to the dawn of time. And wasn’t that a surprise! Tobirama’d never had more than a cursory interest in astronomy before, more interested in its uses for navigation and timekeeping, sometimes making note of certain celestial alignments that were beneficial for seals. But these people, they didn’t just admire stars, they went to them!
Tobirama was completely, unashamedly envious.
Sadly, because there was so much to know it would take him forever to narrow down subjects by his lonesome. So, being an academic himself, he went straight to the relevant people at the Smithsonian and was appropriately, honestly wide-eyed until they did what academics did best; gushed at an interested audience. Then it was back to the library with his new understanding to read more, accumulate more questions, then back to his coworkers.
It was a very fruitful cycle.
The interns turned out to be very excellent enablers. Something about wowing the resident extraterrestrial seemed to entertain them for ages. They showed him all kinds of things just to see how he’d light up. Stacey ended up sitting him down in front of a computer to watch a video series she called the symphony of science and— Tobirama may have lost two hours watching it over and over again. In his defense, it’s enthralling.
He spends so much of his paycheck on notebooks.
He also spends a good deal of time coding his notes because frustrating the very-bad-at-stealth Shield agents was a good bit of entertainment.
Honestly, he expected better of a covert agency.
Did they think because he’s unfamiliar with their technology that he would somehow have trouble adapting? There were literally a dozen interns who’d happily ramble at length about whatever if he but looked quizzically enough in their direction.
Tobirama is not surprised the day Agent Duminku Speranza turns up on his doorstep, on his day off, with a list of questions. The poor little agents watching him must’ve gotten so frustrated when they couldn’t break in. Or spy on his notes from afar. Or effectively tail him when he decided to go exploring. Tobirama sympathized— not.
“Mr. Senju.” Speranza nodded. “May I come in?” Speranza was a handsome man, he was built sturdy, with broad shoulders, skin like smooth teak wood and piercing dark eyes over a hawkish nose, and kinky curls pulled into neat, practical cornrows.
Tobirama snorts, amused. “Why not. I’ll put tea on.”
The stifled expression Speranza makes is one Tobirama is intimately familiar with, that of a person unsure if his currently civil host has poisoned the spread upon his table just for him. It’s a look his family gives him every time he has them over for dinner and he happens to mention he was feeling ‘adventurous’ in the kitchen that day.
Speranza sits very stiffly on the couch. Tobirama resists the urge to ask if he’s sure he checked it for traps first.
“So how are you, um, adjusting?” Speranza asked after Tobirama shoved a cheap mug full of a citrus blend in his hands. “I hear you went straight to job hunting.”
“Eh, it’s more of the same in a lot of ways.” Tobirama shrugged, conspicuously careless. “People still sleep on beds under roofs, gossip is still currency, and the world still runs on money. The sensationalized weirdos running around in too tight clothing was a surprise, however.” He hid a smile behind the rim of his own mug.
“Is that all that surprises you?” Was it Tobirama’s imagination or were the corners of Speranza’s eyes creasing?
“Some of those outfits are indecently tight.” Tobirama widened his eyes earnestly. “Not at all practical for use in battle. Does this spandex even breathe?”
Speranza stares at him for a long moment before sighing. “Okay. I know you’re playing me.”
“And?”
“Can you at least pretend you’re taking this seriously?”
“Since you asked so nicely… I’ll think about it.” Tobirama suppressed a smile at the annoyed groan that netted him.
“Ugh, fine, you’re one of those. I see how it is,” Speranza grumbled. “While you’re thinking, do you want to know the results of your blood tests?”
“Yes,” Tobirama said evenly. Allowing them — Shield or Sword, apparently it didn’t matter given they’re sister organizations — to take his blood had been… difficult. The logic of their arguments had been irrefutable; the idea of inadvertently spreading a plague was an intensely unsavory one, and it’s not like Tobirama doesn’t know blood is an inadequate medium to gather DNA from anyway. It’s only smart to want viable antibodies on hand in case something made it past the initial screening. “The results?”
“No remnants of illnesses we didn’t already vaccinate the populations for. Whatever kind of world you come from, the bacteria aren’t much different so far as the scientists can determine. A relief for everyone, to be sure,” Speranza started. “Screen tests for major common allergens; all clean. You might still have something obscure we didn’t think to test for, so keep your Sword-issued epi-pen close just in case. Interesting tidbits include; antibodies for three recognizable poisons, and you digest lactose.”
“Lactose?” He didn’t recognize the word. As he’d found out in Sword’s acclimatization course, the English language was actually cobbled together from five or six languages in a distressing hodge podge of contradictory grammar and mish-mashed word roots.
“A natural sugar in milk,” Speranza clarified.
Tobirama’s brows furrowed. “How is that interesting?”
“Oh, uh, on this planet the lactose intolerant population outnumbers the lactose digesting population,” Speranza shrugged. “I’m told it’s an anthropologically interesting tidbit about you, but I don’t get it either.”
“Huh.” Tobirama mentally sticks that on a list of questions to run by one of the anthropologists at the museum. “So what did you come here to ask?”
Speranza consults his list. “You make any progress on getting yourself home?”
Tobirama sighed. Where to start?
Nick poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need it. “Report.”
“Sir.” Esperanza acknowledged crisply. “He says he’s made headway on rebuilding his original, uh, we had a communication issue here, very technical language, but we eventually figured out that ‘array’ was the closest fit for what he was trying to describe. I understood none of it verbally or visually, but I took plenty of pictures. Should keep the researchers occupied. I also took the opportunity to get a good look at his security system; very odd symbology, very similar to the notes on his array. I got pictures of that too.”
“Very good, Esperanza.” Nick did so like it when an operative was both successful and efficient. “Personal assessment?”
Eperanza pursed his mouth in thought, eventually saying, “He’s distracted by the ooh shiny, Sir.”
Nick allowed a brow to rise.
Esperanza coughed. “He may encode his notes, Sir, but the library books strewn about weren’t. Physics, medicine, geology, natural history, military history, astronomy, law; both American and international, and computers for dummies; his interests run the whole gamut. The fact he listed mercenary and assassin on his resume yet gravitated to a museum says something, I think.”
Oh boy, did it. Finding that out had sent Senju’s watchers into quite the professional tizzy. Nick would sympathize if he didn’t find tizzies goddamn irritating in his agents. It’d been patently obvious from the get-go that Senju was deadly, confirmation was just that, it didn’t somehow make it more real. It was equally obvious that as fascinating as Senju found their world he had zero interest in them long term. He was doing what Nick hoped any dimensionally displaced agent of his would be smart enough to do; namely, establish good relations, collect anything potentially useful, and get back home as quickly as possible.
Sometimes, Nick liked to watch hacked videos from the museum’s camera feed; there was just something about watching Senju have admirably restrained paroxysms of delight every time a museum intern waved a new tidbit under his nose like a cat toy. Made a man prideful to see a visitor so clearly delighted over what the people of Earth had accomplished without being a condescending prick about it like some people he had dossiers on.
Nick wasn’t fool enough to indulge in it himself, mind, but he could see why academics in particular were so vulnerable to it.
“Keep thinking, Esperanza,” Nick ordered. “You’re doing good work. Senju doesn’t seem the type to go out of his way to pick unnecessary fights by all accounts so far, and I want to keep it that way. I suspect the first we do see him fight will be because yet another super powered idiot has decided a museum is an appropriate place to try for a five-fingered discount.” Part of Nick’s job was accurately assessing threats, and sometimes the correct answer is doesn’t intend to be if no one makes them. Nick liked those. No matter how paranoid the WSC could be, sometimes retirees genuinely wanted to be retirees, sometimes trained killers genuinely enjoyed jobs that had nothing to do with their skillset. If their own were allowed to retire or take breaks, so was everyone else.
“Either that, or one of his coworkers will ask him to try to punch Captain Rogers in the face,” Esperanza said dryly.
“If Rogers gets himself punched for pissing off museum employees I will consider it well-deserved,” Nick replied, equally dry, finally deigning to take a sip of perfectly cooled coffee. “And if Rogers gets himself punched for being a menace I will personally order a video made and distributed for office parties. Hell, I’ll even let Stark have it without making him play cat-and-mouse for it.”
“Ouch, Sir, you’d bring Stark into it?” Esperanza winced, imagining the actual future consequences of Stark getting his engine-greasy paws on it.
And yeah, sure, it gave Nick the shivers imagining how big the explosion would be. The rest of him who thought throwing volatile individuals together just to see what happens was a great idea got different shivers imagining how big the explosion would be. Suppressed laughter shivers.
“Not any time soon,” Nick conceded. “Comedic timing will be key.”
“It always is, Sir.”
“Dismissed, Agent. I’ll expect your written report.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Rogers was back.
Rogers was back and Tobirama was irritated.
This man clearly takes me for a fool, Tobirama thought, temper mounting. Rogers had come back clearly dressed for public image warfare, wearing soft and softly colored, nondescript clothes, boyishly informal if Tobirama had figured it right, all downturned chin and upturned eyes to enhance the aw shucks, I didn’t mean any harm, mister, factor. Paired against Tobirama’s stern, uncompromising demeanor and authoritative uniform, at first glance anyone might be mistaken for thinking Tobirama the aggressor here.
Which he was.
But Rogers was asking for it.
Tobirama was going to take this little stunt of his, fold the corners down, and shove it up Rogers’ ass. Tobirama was accustomed to maintaining politesse with knives at his back and poison in his cups. Rogers had another thing coming if he thought this was enough. Rogers was going to get a sharp lesson in why Tobirama was the better saboteur.
“Mr. Senju,” Rogers smiled, flashing white teeth like Tobirama couldn’t tell he was preparing to square up, “I didn’t know you were on shift today.”
“What can I say, I’m a workaholic,” Tobirama deadpanned sarcastically. “Dare I ask if you’ve filed the correct paperwork?”
Rogers flicked a glance over Tobirama set stance, folded arms, straight shoulders, shifting his footing and folding his own arms as if in unconscious mimicry. Tobirama didn’t narrow his eyes but it was a close thing. “It’s in the works. For being so adamant about it, the Smithsonian sure makes it awful hard to find, I got the runaround treatment three times just asking about it.”
Gee, I wonder why. Tobirama glanced back at the front desk clerk, a smiling, brunette woman with a fondness for cats and washi tape, who quickly ducked back around to avoid his judgemental gaze. That’s another one compromised. He’ll have to let the director know, and Annette, the curator who oversaw the Captain America exhibit.
As well as Stacey and her team. They were keeping a chart for data collecting purposes that may or may not have anything to do with a drinking game that Tobirama may or may not have been invited to once or twice.
“Well, since you’re here, and I’m here, how about I accompany you? Captain.” Tobirama lifted his chin the barest amount, challenging, mulish, unmistakable to the intended target.
Rogers is slightly too still in the tilt of his head to be quite natural, but he adopts a humble look swiftly enough. “Are you sure?” And if Tobirama didn’t know better that might seem like genuine concern. “I’m sure you’re a busy man; I heard you’re the museum’s sole security guard specializing in enhanced individuals. Seems a little rude to waste your time keeping me company.”
Oh, he’s good. Reevaluating the threat had Tobirama bypassing anger for calculation. On the surface that might have seemed innocent, but dropping the fact Tobirama was hired to deal with enhanced individuals, ‘supers’ if you will, and following it up with an oh so casual remark about Tobirama sticking to Rogers, the only enhanced individual on the premises that anyone knew of… Well, way to imply anti-super prejudice without ever outright implying anything at all. Such a stratagem was almost praise worthy.
Tobirama smiled, knife sharp and barely polite. Rogers quirked a brow.
“Not at all,” Tobirama demurred. “In fact, you might even say you’re making my job easier. A man of your… repute, in a public location is no doubt a frequent target for attack. I’m aware of how it is for public figures—” from both sides of the assassination mission— “and it’d be simply terrible for the museum’s PR if we allowed a celebrity to be harassed on the premises. And anyone, ah, what’s the word, gunning for you will certainly fall under my purview.” Could he get away with mockingly fluttering his lashes? Ah, probably not. He’s tempted though.
Tobirama takes in the subtle flex of Rogers’ jaw as he fails to make a quick enough rejoinder. He’s really tempted.
Rogers eventually rocks back on his heels with a nod. You win, it said.
This time, said the evaluating, careful sidelong glance.
Tobirama returned it with aplomb.
“Shall we?” Tobirama gestured in invitation. Just a little magnanimous. Just a little mocking.
He’d never been very good at resisting temptation.