Chapter 5
The fight was quickly forgotten as you were swept into a whirlwind of "first day at work" tasks. Pictures were taken, badges were made, pass codes and security clearances handed out, and guns assigned. The only thing left was meeting the agent who you would be answering to directly.
"I wonder if he's someone we've heard of before. Some big time guy," Everett pondered aloud.
"Might be a she," you responded.
"Might be a hot she," Clint added.
You gave him a look that said, "Really?"
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "I think I'd kind of like taking orders from a hot older woman."
"That takes my mind places it never wanted to go, Hawk," you replied.
"You're welcome for that mental image, baby."
"If you're quite done now we'll get started."
In the doorway stood a man, probably in his forties, African-American, wearing an all black outfit, the highlight of which was a long coat that you were pretty sure whipped behind him dramatically when he walked. He had a formidable presence that made you glad you weren't playing for the opposing team. In other words, he was a grade A, one hundred percent, down to the bone badass.
"I'm Agent Nick Fury," he said, entering the room. As you watched him, your first thought was, "Score, totally nailed it on the coat theory."
"And you're Agent Y/n," he said, throwing a file onto the table and staring straight at you. At this point, you were positive the man could see directly into people's souls...and possibly reach in and rip them out with his bare hands if he wanted to.
"Agent Clint Barton," a second file joined the first. "And Agent Everett Ross," file number three joined its friends.
"You're my responsibility, so don't screw shit up."
"We'll be working directly with you, sir?" you heard Clint ask beside you.
"Hell no," Fury answered. "I don't have time to babysit. You'll answer to somebody else who will answer to me. Coulson, get in here!"
You wanted to turn and give Clint that "I told you so" look. You wanted to rub his face in the fact that you were right and he was wrong. But you also liked living and you weren't sure Fury would tolerate any sort of interruption, no matter how small.
Coulson entered the room, still wearing the same smile as earlier. How the hell he could seem so relaxed standing in his boss's presence was a mystery to you.
"They're yours," Fury said. "Now get to work." And just like that, he was gone.
After a few moments of silence you asked, "Is he always like that?"
"No, some days he can be downright scary. He's in a good mood today."
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"Welcome to our own personal Command Center," Coulson said as he held open the glass door to what looked to be nothing more than a vacated office. "I know it's not much, but if we prove ourselves then we can move up and play with the big boys."
"It won't be a problem," Clint said.
Everett had been almost painfully quiet since your meeting with Fury. You didn't know whether he was in awe or scared shitless. You made a mental note to ask him later in private.
Clint, on the other hand, seemed totally unaffected. Of course, he wasn't the type to be intimidated, and Fury was just the sort of man that would command the archer's respect with ease.
"So I'll be honest with you about how this works," Coulson started. "We get the assignments that the higher up teams don't want. The ones that they don't think merit their talent and expertise. Some of them will be dumb; some of them will be dangerous. Either way, we get the job done and get out. That's all that matters. Understood?"
All of you nodded silently.
"Ok, go ahead and knock off for the day. We'll start going through potentials first thing in the morning. Y/n, do you mind if I speak to Ross and Barton privately for a moment?"
"Um, of course not."
Even though waiting for them outside the room would have sufficed, you felt awkward just standing around so you gave into the urge to make a hasty retreat downstairs. It was only a few minutes before they caught up with you, however.
"What was that about?" you asked, unable to read their expressions.
"Tell you later. Let's go," Clint said.
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The three of you stopped at a local burger place for dinner on the way home. The meal was excellent, but oddly silent.
"So..." you began finally, "what was that thing with Coulson about?"
"Nothing really," Clint said. "He wanted to apologize in case he stepped on our toes earlier."
Then he got a wicked smirk on his face before adding, "Said he never met a girl who got visibly hot and bothered by his card collection before. He just couldn't help himself."
"He did not!" you yelled, throwing a fry at Clint's head which he deftly grabbed midair and popped into his mouth.
"Ok, so I ad libbed the last part. The point is he made good. We shook hands. I think he's alright."
"You cool with him too, Ev?" you asked.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah...sure...fine."
"Ok, then."
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"May I come in?" you asked, knocking on the door to Everett's room.
"Yeah, sure."
He was sitting at his forever tidy desk doing...well, it looked like nothing. There wasn't a book or anything in sight, which meant he was deep in thought.
Walking over and hopping on his bed you said, "You've been weird all day. You were weird at work and you were weird at dinner and you've been weird since we got home. Are you ok?"
"Yeah...great...really," he mumbled.
"The only time you string together a series of one word answers is when something is bothering you, so you might as well just go ahead and tell me what it is."
All you got was silence so you decided to change tactics. "What did you think of Fury?"
"Scary bastard, seems very capable though."
"And Coulson?"
That got you a minute jaw clench and more silence.
"So Coulson is the problem then? You don't like him for some reason?"
He opened his mouth to say something, visibly changed his mind, and closed it back.
"We're not going to get anywhere fast here, are we?"
"What are you going to do if he asks you out?" he suddenly blurted out at you.
"He's not going to ask me out."
"That wasn't the question."
"Ok, well he seems like a nice, decent guy who I obviously have at least a couple of common interests with. If he was just some working stiff from the accounting department that I bumped into a few times at the water cooler, then I'd probably say yes and see how it went. But I'm not going to date my boss, or team leader, or whatever the hell he is. And I think he's a reasonable guy who will understand that."
"Alright," he said with a small smile.
"Why in the world was that bothering you?"
He cleared his throat before simply saying, "We worry about you. Clint and I."
"Yeah, too much. Now come give me a hug."
Then you hopped up and met him halfway in an embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. He was at the height that you always hugged him around the neck and rested your chin on his shoulder. When you were pressed close to him, it reminded you how much his body had filled out since you met. He was still slim built, and you knew he'd never have Clint's muscles, but he didn't have that skinny, awkward, teenage boy frame anymore. When you leaned back to let go, you noticed something strange.
"What?" he asked, obviously referring to the confused look on your face.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"No! Wait, is what what you think it is?"
"Oh my god, it is. You've got a little gray hair right there in the front."
"Oh. Wait, no I don't! I'm too young for a gray hair!" he said rushing to the bathroom to look in the mirror.
"You know some guys go prematurely gray pretty early, Ev."
"I am not going to go prematurely gray!"
"You look good in gray. Having it up top would just round out the look. Make you seem very distinguished."
"I said I am not going to go gray!"
"Keep telling yourself that, sweetie," you said as you left him alone to examine each strand.
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"You get it all sorted out?" Clint yelled as he heard you walk down the hall.
"Yeah, I've got him looking for a gray hair. He's good as new. What the hell are you doing?"
Clint was sitting on the couch reading the stocks page of the newspaper, which wouldn't seem like such a strange sight, but you knew your Clint.
"Am I going to walk back down the hall and find Ev reading 'Guns and Ammo'?"
"If it makes you feel any better," he said, dropping the first page and revealing another one underneath, "it's just the comics and the obituaries."
"You do realize that's a warped combo, right?" you asked, dropping down on the couch beside him.
"I find them entertaining. When someone dies, suddenly everyone makes them sound like a saint. For once I'd like to read an honest one."
"Most people don't want to honor their deceased family members and friends by saying 'I loved him more than anyone, but god he could be a real asshole.'"
"It's truthful though. Promise me if I die you'll do right by me. 'He was my best friend, but not a day went by that I didn't want to throat punch him for something stupid.'"
"Don't joke like that, Clint."
"Oh come on, you and I both know I say and do a lot of stupid shit that pisses you off."
"That's not what I meant," you said, really looking at him now. "Don't joke about dying. You are my best friend. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
"I guess I'll just have to live forever then. But only if you do too, partner. Agreed?"
"Agreed" you said, resting your head on his shoulder. "Now read to me."
"Ok, Timothy Banks, 86-"
"Not an obituary, you dumbass. Read the comics."