James left Stark Tower and drove home. He found Natasha in the living room watching TV; Mindy was nowhere to be seen.
A muffled shout came from a bedroom. "You reported it, right? Is the ring going to the precinct or headquarters?"
"Headquarters. When do we go?" Natasha's voice replied, impatient.
"I won't be going. You can go ahead and bring it yourself. Though it would be best for you to wear it, I will teach you how to use it for your own safety."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James drove Natasha away and felt an immediate sense of relief. The outfit she was wearing when she left clearly wasn't the one he'd bought her. That meant she went shopping for her own clothes, probably the first thing she did after leaving his house. "Women"
He could already imagine her muttering something about "old-fashioned taste."
By nightfall, the house was calm again. Dinner gathered everyone around the table: Carlos, Hannah, Mindy, and Anny who was presently engaged in an epic battle with her bowl of cat food.
"Brother," Mindy said suddenly between bites, "can we go to Disneyland?"
James looked up from his plate, amused. "Disneyland? Sure, we can do that. As long as I have nothing to do. Is there anywhere else you'd like to go?"
"I don't know…" Mindy frowned in thought. "Some of my classmates are going during the holidays, so I want to go too. But I haven't thought of other places yet."
Her expression was so earnest that Carlos chuckled under his breath. Even Hannah couldn't help but smile.
Across the table, Anny looked up briefly, tail twitching, before returning to the much more important mission of devouring dinner.
"Okay," James said finally. "We'll start with Disneyland, then see where else we feel like going. A trip, with no schedule — just the two of us and wherever the road takes us."
Mindy's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
She grinned so widely that Carlos muttered, "You've just committed yourself, boss."
James only smirked. "I've dealt with many things in this short life. I can handle a twelve-year-old with a travel list."
The next morning, James's phone buzzed.
"Boss," Phillip's voice came through the line. "Your assistant has been chosen. When should she report?"
Phillip's efficiency was both useful and unsettling; he had a way of anticipating orders like an AI in human skin wearing a suit.
"As soon as she can," James said after a moment. "Send her straight to my house. I'm taking Mindy out soon, and there'll be a lot to organize."
"Understood, boss."
When he hung up, James turned back toward the living room. Mindy was sitting cross-legged in front of an open suitcase, surrounded by what could only be described as textile chaos.
"Brother, which clothes should I bring?" she asked helplessly.
He looked at the explosion of purple, denim, and hoodies. "Wait until my assistant gets here. Let her help you pack. Or Hannah can help when she's back tonight."
"Oh, okay." Mindy paused, thinking, then added, "Can we bring Anny too?"
That one gave him pause. Taking a cat through airports would be chaos. Then again, with Tony's jet, there wouldn't be any airports. "Sure," he said finally, "but I'll make a call first."
He dialed Stark directly. "Sup Tony, you using your private jet?"
"Nope. Crew's been idle for weeks. Pepper's been flying on the smaller company one. You need it?"
"Yeah. I'm taking Mindy on a trip for the summer. Easier with a private plane."
"Oh, that's great. Go ahead and take it. Have fun! Try not to blow anything up this time."
James hung up with a quiet laugh. Borrowing Stark's aircraft was the easy part.
He was about to call the flight crew when the doorbell rang. That was fast. Phillip's definition of "efficient" apparently meant "teleportation."
He opened the door — and froze.
The woman standing there made him blink twice. For a moment, he thought he was staring at a ghost.
She had that same sharp symmetry — cheekbones cut from discipline, eyes that measured everything, and a calm that belonged to killers who never bragged about it. It hit him like déjà vu. She didn't just look familiar — she looked exactly like Evelyn Salt, only younger, polished, and blonde instead of black-haired.
"Are you Mr. James Gibson?" she asked evenly.
Her voice was controlled, trained, the kind used to issuing orders while pretending to take them.
"Yes," he said slowly. "So… you're my new assistant?"
"Yes, sir. My name is Evelyn Salt. I'll be your personal assistant from today." She extended a hand, smile poised, eyes unreadable.
James stared for a brief moment before making a mental request. "Cortana, search the name."
[Result: Evelyn Salt. Shared name with a fictional intelligence officer from Salt — but this one's real. Age twenty-five. CIA field administration branch, New York division.]
James held her hand, returning the handshake — firm, deliberate, just long enough to gauge her reaction. "Pleasure's mine. I'm relieved Phillip found someone competent. So, Miss Salt, what are your specialties? My schedule gets… unpredictable."
Her smile didn't falter. "I'm trained in logistics, finance, and operations support. I'm also a licensed pilot and fluent in Korean, Mandarin, and many other languages."
He raised an eyebrow. "Impressive résumé for a personal assistant."
"Phillip said you required someone adaptable."
"Adaptable," James repeated lightly. "I like that."
He didn't invite her in immediately. It was a subtle test — the kind you couldn't run in an interview. Her composure didn't waver. She waited, expression calm, until Mindy's voice broke the moment.
"Brother, what are you doing? Is she your assistant?"
He released Evelyn's hand. "Yeah. She just arrived."
[Analysis: Her vitals spiked briefly when questioned. Elevated microstress pattern, 0.8 seconds.]
James gaved a mental node to the assessment.
He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. "Come in. You can start with a simple assignment — help my sister pack for our trip. She's indecisive."
"Of course, sir." Evelyn smiled, walking past him. Even her stride was smooth — not stiff, not too casual. She knew she was being evaluated.
Mindy instantly took her hand. "Come on! I need help choosing which hoodie to bring."
As they disappeared down the hallway, James leaned against the wall. "[Cortana], dig deeper."
[Searching Database. She's registered with the CIA admin under a clean civilian identity. Background consistent, but embedded surveillance clearance present. Purpose: internal observation on S.H.I.E.L.D.-affiliated operatives.]
"Observation?"
[Confirmed. You've been exposed. The incident with Gilson Marbury was flagged. There was a CIA informant on site. Combine that with Romanov's presence and the Agency concluded you're a S.H.I.E.L.D. asset.]
James's jaw tightened. "Perfect. Another alphabet agency playing detective."
[Further motive: The CIA seeks data on S.H.I.E.L.D. infrastructure. They're dissatisfied with inter-agency power balance, particularly over alien artifact control.]
He exhaled slowly, walking toward the living room. "Power and politics. Always the same."
[Correction: Resource competition. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s access to extraterrestrial assets gives them global leverage. Domestic agencies resent exclusion.]
James smirked faintly. "Spoken like a true strategist."
[I am a strategist.]
He chuckled quietly. "Well, and more."
He sat down on the couch, stretching his legs out. Evelyn's laughter echoed faintly from Mindy's room — sounding genuine, not forced. She was good at her cover. But there was something in her tone, a faint edge beneath the charm. James recognized it instantly: the awareness of someone trained to assess targets while pretending not to.
He'd seen that before — in mirrors.
Hannah returned home around sunset, surprised to find a new woman organizing Mindy's luggage. The introductions went smooth. Evelyn had a gift for blending in. She cooked dinner, helped clean up, then discreetly excused herself to make "a few notes for tomorrow."
After she disappeared down the hall, Mindy leaned toward James and whispered, "Brother, she's really pretty. But she looks… scary too."
"You've got good instincts," James said softly. "Trust them."
Later that night, in the quiet of his room, he stood by the window, city lights reflecting off the glass. "[Cortana], you're sure she's CIA?"
[Certain. Surveillance tags on her phone link to a CIA encrypted network. No attempt to access your systems yet.]
"Yet," he repeated. "That's the keyword."
[Recommendation: Maintain professional proximity. Feed her controlled information consistent with your cover.]
He nodded. "Understood."
Down the hallway, Mindy was humming to herself, and the world felt, for a rare moment, normal. Still, James couldn't shake the irony. He'd spent years surviving covert factions, and now, even his assistant was a planted operative.
He poured a glass of water, staring into the reflection. "Welcome to the team, Agent Salt."
[Yes, Welcome (¬‿¬).]
He smirked faintly. "Relax, Cortana. We'll see who's really doing the investigating."