Andrew Fielding

Agentheugh

Agentsterling

No no no stop I am not worthy!

“I-I’ve just got good news that I thought you might want to hear.”

She settled herself onto his couch, patting the cushion beside her. “So…I guess that you are home. And I didn’t mean to bother you, but…”

"Good news, huh? My favourite kind. And will you stop apologising? You know you're always welcome 'round here. You're family, you know that." He beamed, nudging her with his shoulder playfully before picking up the mug he'd set down and taking a thoughtful sip. Thankfully, however, he'd put it back down and swallowed the mouthful before she'd announced this good news of hers.

Wide-eyed for a moment, taking in firstly that she was expecting a child, and secondly that she was naming it after him, Andrew's face went through a series of surprised and happy expressions before eventually he just had to laugh delightedly and throw an arm around her.

"Hope, that's...I don't know what to say. I'd be honoured, that's...wow. When did this happen, anyway?!" He said, still laughing through his surprise. "Who's the lucky father? Does he know you've decided on such a thoroughly boring name for your kid?"

December, 1939. The vast hangar was cold and dim, despite it being noon. The sun hadn’t been seen through the English clouds for a number of weeks, and every inch of Duxford airfield and its hangars was thick with dimness that hung in the air and clung to every passer-by. The initial thrills of war were beginning to wear off, and people were gradually coming to recognise that perhaps this wouldn’t be quite as easy as the posters said. They were settling in for the long run.

Which was one of the reasons that Dr Bruce Banner was currently being introduced to a gorgeous Mark 1 Spitfire by a rather nervous-looking Corporal by the name of George Turnell, his Manchunian accent standing out at the Southern airfield like a tank might in between the planes.

“And Group Captain Fielding should be along any minute.” Turnell explained, rocking on the balls of his feet a little anxiously as Banner set down his bag, pulling his long coat tighter around him. He was never the type to feel particularly confident at the best of times, and being surrounded by immaculately-turned-out servicemen milling around and eyeing him a little suspiciously, as their training taught them, made him a little nervous- to say the least. He didn’t like the way they reminded him of his work back in America, and he especially didn’t like the way their gazes made his stomach (and the beast in his mind) stir warily.

“Thank you.” Bruce nodded, running inquisitive fingers over the plane’s wing and trying to stop his eyes darting to exits on impulse. Before the war, his disposition could be explained by a nervous temperament, but when they were at war? He was far too likely to be taken for a German spy if he made it too obvious. And people trying to take him down always ended poorly. “She’s beautiful.” He commented, inspecting her body, hunkering down to check her wheels.

Running a base that had seen the flights of a great many Spits and Hurricanes and not so many landings, Andrew knew that to be far from true. The RAF, more than anybody, knew just how costly this was going to be, and with every report of pilot action he had to draft up for Regiment, that point was becoming more and more clear to Andrew as time went on.

So, of course, hearing that Dr Bruce Banner had arrived on base as expected, and was waiting in the hangar to discuss the implementation of newer, more effective in-flight weaponry, was a very welcome interruption. Dismissing the young aircraftsman who had informed him with a swift salute, Andrew collated the papers in front of him quickly and made his way over to meet the renowned scientist, straightening his uniform and making sure to remember his cap.

Finding Dr Banner with Corporal Turnell, who promptly saluted him upon his arrival, Andrew nodded with a smile and quickly dismissed Turnell's salute with one of his own. He looked from the doctor to Milly and then back again, his smile broadening as he recognised the admiration in his eyes and appreciated it. Banner was younger, handsomer than the briefing had suggested, although perhaps a touch nervous, which Andrew found rather humbling. Addressing the comment he'd managed to eavesdrop, the pilot chuckled.

A …half-demon.  She took a long moment to study him, his steady humour and bravado gone entirely as he gulped his tea.  She considered him for what was probably much longer than comfortable for either of them…and she took up the teapot and refilled both of their cups deliberately as she found her words. 

“Andrew.  I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that …that’s a terrifying prospect, having tea with a demonic creature.  But…I will say that I’ve had coffee with some gods, shared tea with The Trickster, and I’m dating a wonderful man who has a metal skeleton.  I…find that my level of surprise shrinks with each new wonderful and crazy experience that I have here.” 

Yes, I'm sure she's not the least bit alarmed, Andrew. Completely normal thing, you just told her. Idiot. 'I took a chance.' Right. And you're usually so good at coping with those.

Ignoring Fenrir's last words, Andrew reluctantly looked up to meet Hazel's eyes again, smiling bashfully and nodding in understanding as she explained her trepidation at hearing his confession. He shrugged, lifting his newly-refilled cup as a sort of silent apology, before smiling genuinely and taking a sip.

"I'd, uh, I'd like to put your mind at ease by letting you know that I'd never hurt you, or anybody, here at SHIELD. Either directly or indirectly. The demon and I, we have a..." He struggled for a word that wouldn't exacerbate the already astoundingly difficult situation, "...an understanding, really. He wouldn't, he won't, that is to say..."

He laughed a little at himself, shaking his head before giving the young woman another apologetic but grateful glance. "I just fly the planes." He grinned, laughing again and throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "If any heavy lifting or dirty work needs doing, then, well, Fury's more interested in him." He patted his chest gently, looking out onto the deck of the Helicarrier to distract himself briefly and collect his thoughts.