Chances

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty: Dresses

"The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make a mistake." -Elbert Hubbard.

-

 "Agent Potts, you are to report back to your room immediately after training," Agent Coulson instructs me.

 "Roger that, anything else?" I ask.

 "No, have a good day," He replies before ending the call.

 "What, did you get into trouble?" Rian snickers as he unwraps his hands.

 "I hope not," I chuckle as I too free my hands from its protective padding, "I've only been up here for two weeks and just became an official agent yesterday; I'd hate to be kicked off now."

 "Well, you're done for today. I can't risk you injuring yourself tonight; you have to be well rested and in top shape for tomorrow," Rian states as he tosses his gloves and wrap to the side of the boxing ring.

 "Understood," I nod once.

 "Be safe out there, kid," He throws one arm around my shoulders, "I kind of don't want you to die."

 "Kind of?" I raise my eyebrows as I back up towards the edge of the ring.

 "But if you punch 'em like you punch me, I think you'll be okay," He shrugs as he picks up his water bottle.

  "Thanks, Rian," I chuckle, ducking under the rope at the same time.

 "I'm giving you tomorrow and the next day off, but I'm expecting you back in here at seven o' clock in the morning of the day after," Rian points his finger at me as he sets his bottle down, "Not a second late."

 "Wouldn't be anywhere else," I smile with exaggerated eagerness. Rian begins to pick up the equipment we used today as I collect my things. Once I have my bag, I exit the gym.

 I do not pass any familiar faces on my walk to my room. I wipe the sweat off of my forehead with a towel before opening my room door. I see a rack of four dresses- fancy, formal dresses. I also notice a note stuck onto the rack. I pluck it away and read it.

 'Choose one of these gowns to wear for tomorrow night. It is necessary to blend in and not to raise suspicion. That is an order.'

 "Fun for me," I toss the note aside and begin to browse my options.

 All of dresses are rich colors, like of those you would expect to see at a soiree. The first one that catches my eye is a knee length navy blue dress with lace sleeves and neckline. I lock my door to make sure no one will barge in before I slip the gown on. It's an adorable dress but the dark blue makes my legs look extra pale in comparison. I sigh before trying on a grey dress with only one strap crossing over the shoulder. This dress just okay; the grey feels extremely bland for such an exquisite event. I avoid trying on the strapless garment. I know my body and know that strapless with most definitely not flatter me; I am not dainty enough to pull of such a style. Plus, I do not desire to spend all night tugging the dress up.

 I am intrigued and excited by the royal red dress left hanging on the rack. It has a gentile v-neck made out of a rich fabric, with intricate silver beading adorning the bust. The shiny top stops right about my waist, where the matte, soft, maroon silk begins and does not end until it reaches my feet. It meets my criteria of fit and style. I am in love with it until I realize one thing.

 How in the world am I going to fight in such a dress?

 I'm angered by this thought. Does Director Fury seriously expect me to be enclosed in my suit in this ridiculous thing? Blending in is not worth hindering my abilities for combat. The thought of possibly being in my Iron Man suit fighting while wearing this dress scares me to a point of anger.