1965-03-23 - Heirloom Lost
Summary: Steve Rogers runs into Jennifer Walters, who offers to help the Captain locate an heirloom lost during his time under the ice.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
jennifer-walters steve-rogers 

"No, Agent Michaels, I -don't- have to provide you with that information." The woman's voice is a somewhat surprising one for the lobby of SHIELD's headquarters. Women are not rare, but they don't exactly make up the bulk of the command staff. And there's a whipcrack of absolute authority in her words, a strong and commanding alto with no hint of modesty.

Also, Jen Walters stands at least six inches over the tallest of agents— and she's wearing low heels, to boot. She adjusts the glasses that sit on her nose, stylish half-rims that are somewhat delicate compared to her sleek, green features.

She shifts her weight to the other foot, brushing a hand along her pinstriped suit and skirt that is a touch shorter than regulations might allow. The look she gives the agent is a severe one.

"If you want my client's statement, then you'll have to provide a detailed request to the County Municipal Courts requesting it, through the prosecutor's office. Until then— good day," she tells the agent, adjusting her glasses carefully and giving him a flat look over the lenses.

"This isn't over, Walters," the agent snarls— but he quickly backs away all the same, trying not to look like he's beating a retreat from the green-skinned giant.

Jen shakes her head and sets her briefcase on a counter, digging for pen and paper and writing a few notes down. She's obligated to stoop a little— the neat bun of her hair would make her look like a stenographer in court but there's not a desk in the world built for someone of her height.

"Hey." The newcomer's voice has a similar authoritative pitch and the word is thrown almost as a weapon itself towards Agent Michaels. "Show some respect."

Walking over, brows furrowed, is one of the staples of SHIELD personnel. He's not dressed as one necessarily; blue jeans over combat boots and a vintage leather bomber jacket, complete with shearling collar, give him the look of a civilian — the better to blend in when the world knows your face even overseas.

"Is there an issue?" Steve Rogers asks as he approaches, blue eyes narrowing in on the SHIELD agent specifically.

The Agent balks a little when Steve Rogers approaches. He glances swiftly from Jen to Steve, then backs up even more. "No. No /sir/," he amends. "Just, uh… just getting … back to some stuff." He checks a skulky glare at Jen and turns on his heel, quick-stepping away.

Jen glances at Steve, then gives him a second once-over (while he's watching the other agent go, of course). "No issue here, Captain. But it's nice to get rescued all the same," Jen says, flashing a smile full of pearly whites. "Your agent was just having a little disagreemnt over disposition of legal affairs. Fortunately for my client" she clickers her pen shut and puts it away "I don't report to SHIELD's chain of command. I'm Jen Walters," she says, offering Steve a handshake.

After making sure that Agent is beating his retreat — and noting precisely whom he is — Steve looks back to Jen. Her handshake is taken and returned with a polite amount of pressure as he replies,

"Nice to meet you, Miss Walters. I'd apologize for Agent Michaels, but he'll be doing it himself if I have my way." His eyes do look her over, impossible as it is to resist the action, and he gives her a little nod after his hand disappear back into the pockets of his bomber. "Respectfully though, m'am, you don't appear the type to need rescuing. You had him on the run without my assistance."

"'Ma'am' is my mother, and she wouldn't take that from anyone except at church groups. Jennifer, please, Jen if we're being informal," the green giantees informs Steve. "It's nice to meet you too, Captain Rogers. It's not every day I get to bump into a living legend. I should hang around SHIELD more often," she says, with another dimple-cheeked grin.

She snaps shut her briefcase, but doesn't make an immediate motion to leave. "You look like you're coming off duty, soldier. Or is it casual day here at the offices?"

Steve shifts in place, a small smile on his face, as he watches the green-skinned woman gather up her papers once more.

"Jennifer then," he accedes. "I'm not in often, today for mail, actually. Some of the post gets routed here. If you'll give me a second, please?" Presuming permission is granted, the Captain walks over to the main desk in the large and airy lobby. Not but a minute and the receptionist there hands a small pile of envelopes across the desk, accompanied by a larger manila envelope. Even as he's walking back over, he opens the envelope and pulls out the letter within. A pause, not but ten feet from Jen, as he quickly reads through it, and the disgusted scoff can't be missed.

Jen is fairly polite, but she's nosy enough and brassy enough to watch Steve as he goes through his mail and the contents thereof. His expression of disdain elicits a smirk, and she smiles breezily at him when he closes the distance once more. "Aww, turn that frown upside down," she says, chivvying Cap. "What's got your bonnet bugged?" she inquires, peeping downwards at the folio with an unbashed attempt to glean some information from the envelope.

The address on the envelope is from a high-end auction and appraisal company located in New York proper. But has the Captain simply been out-bid on an item? Or is it something else entirely?

The sigh isn't forthcoming, but he does explain briefly, "News that I didn't want to hear. I dislike taking it to the next step, but do you know any good lawyers around here?" He glances over at Jen, his concern not having abated one bit.

Jen blinks at Steve, and digs in the flat pocket of her jacket front. It's fitted, but the business cards there are not bent and she offers one to Steve Rogers. "Huh. Guess I'm not as famous as I thought," she remarks wryly, passing it over. "I should hold off hiring that agent, then."

The business card is very high end with crisp ink and a gold-foil embossing of a logo in the corner. It reads: Jennifer Walters, Attorney at Law, and lists a phone number and address in New York. "I don't like to brag, but I haven't lost a case yet," Jen says, modestly. "And I don't settle out of court to keep my record clean. I mostly handle criminal defense, but I could pile on a little civil litigation for an American hero like yourself," she says, batting her lashes at Steve twice.

"Oh, uh." Steve reads the crisp and gilted information on the card handed to him and looks back at Jen with raised brows. "Actually, I have heard about you. Yes, now I remember, Walters." He glances back over to the manila envelope and lifts it in accompaniment to a self-effacing shrug.

"I can't make heads or tails of where to start, but I'm trying to track down a family heirloom. It was my mother's and went missing after…well, after I did." The soldier quirks his mouth in a mildly melancholy manner. "The apartment faced foreclosure and the family's possessions were sold. It's a small brooch, green stones set into gold. Agate, I think." He pulls a second sheet of paper out of the manila envelope and offers it to Jen for her perusal. It's a sketch, well-rendered, of the jewelry in question, life-sized on the pale sketch paper. "It meant the world to her."

Reference: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/5b/f1/1c/5bf11cddda0f229295a4a02ada2d75ed--green-agate-celtic-crosses.jpg

Jen accepts the papers and the image, sucking air through her teeth as her smooth green brow furrows in thought. "Okay. This looks like it could go a few ways," she says, chewing on her inner cheek. She glances back to Cap. "See, there are some processes in place for dispersion of assets after someone passes away. You have to be declared legally dead, for one— we'll have to establish if that was formally declared or if you're technically still 'Missing in Action'. We need to check if the city impounded your property or if it was rendered to the state and sold at auction. Those records /should/ be at City Hall," she remarks, still thinking. "If not, I know a guy who can get them. Where are your pay stubs at from the last ten years? That should clarify some things."

"Pay stubs should be with the Department of Defense, last I checked," Steve replies and frowns deeper for a moment. "I'm definitely not MIA anymore, and…I don't think they ever declared me dead, since they kept searching. Or at least, that's what I was told." He rolls a shoulder as dealing with a tic. "Wish I could be more helpful, Miss Walt — Jennifer," he amends with a small smile.

Jen narrows her eyes, checking Steve's polite withdrawal, and taps a perfectly manicured french tip nail against her front tooth, eyes flickering as she reviews things in her memory.

"Okay. First step is that I'll need you to fill these out," she says, digging in her briefcase. A small sheaf titled 'Attorney Consent Form' is handed to Steve. "Come by my office and I'll go over the nuts and bolts of it with you," she suggests. "Meanwhile, I know a couple private investigators who'd be good to tap for this. They'll scare up the auction records from city hall and if I have to, I'll find the original building supervisor and put the fear of God in him," the leggy giantess says. "Worst case— very worst case— we track down the auction records, find the folks who bought it, and ask really nicely for your stuff back."

She flashes a smile at Steve, bright and reassuring. "I think I can help you out."

It's impossible not to shoot back a grin of relief at the lawyer and Steve appears to have at least some portion of his personal woes lifted from his shoulders by appearances. That clinging sense of heavy-heartedness disappears to be accompanied by an offered handshake once more, the one not occupied by the rest of his mail as well as the new consent forms.

"I'd appreciate all the help I can get. You'd be honoring my mother's memory and there are few more important things in the world to me. Should I call in before arriving or just drop in when I have some free time? I'll have the completed forms with me," he adds.

Jen very gently squeezes Cap's hand back, the gesture more a polite one than the civil handshake previously exchange. It's a good thing, too— her hand feels like a solid block of granite at the slightest tension of her fingers. "Do call ahead— I don't stay in my office unless my secretary is behind on paperwork. I like being out in front of things. Proactivity, y'know." She flashes another grin at Steve. "I'll see you a little later this week, then. Hopefully I'll have some good newsd for you."

Intrigued by the strength found in Jenn's returned handshake, Steve makes note to question the green-skinned giantess more at length — if propriety allows him such a course of discussion.

"Okay, I'll be sure to phone in before arriving, since 'proactive' is the wisest course of action." There's a boyish grin for her in return, one that takes the strain of his fame and responsibility from his face ever so briefly. "Thank you again, Jennifer. I could use some good news after the last few weeks I've had."

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