After everything that happened with Snape the Disturbingly Hot Alien, I was really hoping for a little bit of peace and quiet.
I should have known that was too much to ask.
She uses so many shampoos.
Anyway, that's not relevant. The point is, I was riding the bus home from school, staring down at my phone to avoid the gazes of the people around me. My long, frizzy hair was stuffed beneath my favorite pink hoodie, which, thankfully, had been washed since New York. I almost always wore it; it had become something of a comfort blanket for me.
The other comfort blanket I possessed was a taser. I had bought it almost the minute Loki and Thor left for Asgard, unwilling to be caught without a weapon again. Ever since, I'd carried it around in the front pocket of my hoodie, just in case I ever ran into trouble. And judging by the lecherous looks cast my way from a man standing at the front of the train, I may need it sooner than I thought.
As I stared at a piece of chewing gum stuck to the arm of my seat, the train screeched to a halt and the doors slid open. To my immense relief, the man I had seen staring at me left the subway with one final creepy glance in my direction. People poured in, and I stood up to offer my seat to a young, visibly pregnant person. Before they could sit down, however, an old man that looked like one of those natural mummies I'd seen on National Geographic plopped down in the seat.
I didn't know what to do. I couldn't exactly tell him to get up, but the pregnant person looked tired. I cast an awkward look at them, and they smiled reassuringly back at me.
I noticed a round pin on their backpack that read "SHE/HER." So that cleared things up a bit.
As the subway began to move again, I grabbed one of the stirrup-shaped loops of fabric dangling from the ceiling. The momentum of the train threw me forward, but I leaned back against the motion.
The pregnant woman grinned at me, but I avoided her eyes. I just stared down at my phone, scrolling through Instagram until finally, the train reached my stop. I lugged my overstuffed green backpack out those doors and hightailed it straight back to Cath's apartment.
I reached the entrance to Waterline Square Luxury Rentals and spun three times around the revolving glass doors, drawing some strange looks from passersby. I took the elevator to the third floor, doing my best to ignore the musty smell coming from the interior of the elevator, until finally a ding! sounded out. The doors slid open and I exited the elevator.
Now comes the hard part. Despite being a mechanical engineering major, I didn't have much of a head for numbers. I could never remember whether it was room 302 or 312.
Well, I decided to try my luck. I arbitrarily chose 302 since it was closer to the elevator, and knocked on the door with false confidence. To my relief, a familiar face answered the door.
"Ah, hallo, Elizabeth!" Bruno said, waving me inside.
As it turns out, the gala was not the last I would see of the kind-faced man Cath had shared her dances with. Apparently, Cath had given him her phone number, and they had gotten back in touch after the battle of New York.
Despite the language barrier, the two had really hit it off. Bruno, as he was called, was slowly becoming more fluent in English, and, painstakingly, Cath was learning German.
Cath appeared behind him, her pale hair spun up in a messy bun. Her eyes were crinkled at the edges in the way only a truly happy person's could be, and Bruno put his hand on her arm, staring at her with obvious adoration.
"Hey, Beth. I'm heading to the bookstore with Bruno. I'll be back around dinnertime, so try to entertain yourself until then. Okay? Okay. Bye!" she practically chanted as she rushed around me, straight out the door.
Bruno shot me a confused but sincere smile and followed her out. The door shut behind them with a soft click, and I stared at it for a solid two seconds, wondering what had just happened.
I walked to the battered, chocolate brown couch opposite the TV, and I plopped down on it. I grabbed the remote, but before I could turn the TV on, I caught sight of a flicker of shadow out of the corner of my eye.
I stiffened. My mind now completely alert, I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and gripped my taser.
You're fine, Beth. It was just a shadow. But what if it wasn't? What if Loki had escaped and come back for me, or some other hostile force was here to harm me?
I walked to the door, casting guarded looks behind me as I did so. I followed my gut to the entrance to my bedroom, one shoulder out in front of me and a defensive scowl ready on my face.
I entered the room and shut the door behind me, revealing a man standing behind it.
In the split second before I jumped into action, I filed away several observations. First, the man wore a long, black trench coat that dropped to his ankles. Second, he was black, bald and had a rather serious, tight-lipped expression. Oh, and he wore an eye patch.
I sucked in a sharp breath and stuck my hand into my pocket. The second my fingers wrapped around the handle, I pulled it out and pressed the trigger. The two probes shut out of the end, hair-thin wires trailing behind them. They landed on the man's coat, but it must have been nonconductive, because he didn't collapse.
"Nice reflexes," the bald man said.
I stepped back and away from him. "Yeah, thanks," I said breathlessly. "Now who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"
I held the taser up threateningly, this time aimed at his face. Without smiling, the man sat down on my couch and crossed his legs.
"I'm Director Fury of SHIELD. I'm here on a recommendation from Tony Stark."
I furrowed my brows. "Alloy Man?"
Director Fury huffed a short sound that might have been a laugh. "Sure. He told me you have a knack for mechanics. That true?"
I nodded. Some of my tension began to melt away, but I wasn't stupid enough to let down my guard yet.
"Yep. I'm a mechanical engineering major at Cornell, but I'm pretty sure the real reason he talked to you about me is because I was kidnapped by Loki." I folded by arms. I wasn't about to take any of his shit.
"Also true," said Director Fury with a tilt of his head.
"Okay," I said flatly.
"Why do you think I'm here?" Director Fury asked.
"Ummm..." I thought for a long moment. "Stark said something about giving me a call. Probably not for his merry band of superheroes, so maybe he wants me to help iron out some of the kinks in his suit? Hah, iron out. Get it?"
Director Fury just looked at me. I felt like he was boring a hole through me with his death stare.
I sighed. "Okay... so why am I here?"
"You're here because Stark won't stop bugging me until I bring you to see him. He thinks you can be useful. I on the other hand think that one sarcastic ball of angst is enough, but maybe he wants some company."
I laughed. Fury didn't.
"O...kay... well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your very generous offer," I said warily.
He held my gaze for a long moment. I flashed back to another time I had said no without thinking simply to be contrary.
"That's not the point. Why don't we leave it up to Beth?" Agent Romanoff suggested in a matter-of-fact tone. I balked- why did she have to put the pressure on me?
Oh, right, because I'm the one he wants to talk to.
"U-uh, no! Thanks, I'm good!" I blurted with a tremble in my voice that I cursed myself for. I was uncomfortable, put on the spot, and I wanted the attention to go away, so I said the first thing my fight-or-flight brain came up with.
But I kind of wanted to hear what he had to say...
Loki shrugged, a smug tilt to his shoulders, and reached for the other end of the Tesseract containment device without being prompted. Thor shot him an odd look and began to twist the handle- and my curiosity overcame me.
"Aaaawaitasecond!" I jumped forward and held up my hands, hating myself.
Dragged back to the present, I looked Director Fury directly in the eye. "Why does he want to see me, anyway?"
"Like you said, he was impressed by how you handled getting kidnapped by Loki. He's also interested in your technical know-how. Ms. Olsen," he said, his one eye piercing into my soul, "I'm here to offer you a job at SHIELD.
...
Of course I accepted. What did you expect?
What I didn't expect was the hood that was promptly shoved over my head the second I climbed into the sleek black car Director Fury had waiting for us.
In the same instant, I felt a hand reach into my pocket and take my taser. I wanted to thrash and flail, but some tiny part in the back of my mind kept me under some semblance of control. Basically, instead of kicking my legs and screaming for help, which is what I would have done if I didn't know what was going on, I sat there and complained.
"Um, excuse me, this is extremely rude. If you didn't want me to see where you were taking me, you could have just used a blindfold or, God forbid, trusted me to cover my own eyes! Honestly, this is not a great way of welcoming someone to your creepy secret government organization. I'm half tempted to call the whole thing off right now!"
I heard nothing, so I kept talking. "Hey scary bald guy, do you do this to all your new recruits? No wonder you're desperate enough to recruit me if you do this to everyone. 'Hey, you wanna be part of our secret superhero government club?' 'Sure, sign me up!' (shoves a freaking sack over their head) 'um, actually, nevermind, you guys are weird.' Seriously, how do you have anyone working for you?"
Nothing.
"I mean, how did you even get Alloy Man to work with you? He doesn't seem like the type to tolerate this stuff. He seems more like the type to throw things and scream like a child if you even attempt to pull this kind of stuff with him. Speaking of which, why would he want me to work for the government? From what I pried out of him last time we talked, I thought he-"
"We're here."
I shut up instantly. I heard the car door open, and light flooded through the coarse fabric of the sack. The windows must have been tinted, I tell myself. Ooh, mysterious.
Rough hands pull me out of the car and set me on my own two feet, all the while I complained loudly about the rough treatment. I thought the bag would be removed, but it stayed on my head as I was marched up a short flight of steps and past a hissing, most likely automated door.
Several pairs of feet started walking alongside me and my captor employer. I heard the click of boots on a tiled floor and the bustle of voices filled the air as I was taken to an unknown location.
Suddenly, we stopped.
"Who's this?" a young voice inquired, sounding annoyed.
"That's none of your concern, Agent Lander," replied the voice of Director Fury.
An annoyed huff split the air, and the sound of footsteps retreated, albeit rather stompily. I smiled inside the sack. Evidently not everyone here had the Secret Agent Persona down pat.
As much as I tried to block it, the possibility entered my mind that they might have taken me there to kill me. They had no reason to, so it was extremely unlikely, but this rough treatment was strange and frightening to me.
Finally, we rounded a corner and paused.
"Identity confirmation required," a robotic voice broke the relative silence.
"Fury, Nicholas J," came the voice of the Director.
Another automated door hissed open, and I was pulled inside and deposited into a chair. The bag was pulled harshly off my face.
I blinked in the harsh white light. Director Fury stood over me, looking ominous. I looked around the room to see Mr. Stark standing in a corner, looking indignant.
"Fury! Is this any way to treat a potential employee?" he demanded.
I stood up and looked around warily.
Mr. Stark, Fury, and I were the only people in a large room that looked like the interrogation rooms I'd seen on cop shows. But if this was an interrogation room, that meant the large mirror that stretched nearly the length of the wall was a one-way mirror.
Of course it was.
I returned my gaze to Mr. Stark, who returns my stare, his face unreadable.
"Hey, Cinderella," he said, suave and nonchalant.
I rolled my eyes. "You're never going to call me my actual name, are you?" I asked.
Mr. Stark replied, "Oh, I use your name all the time. I just like to *spice it up* a little bit."
I gave him a look. Mr. Stark pressed his lips together and held my gaze, annoyingly unperturbed.
"Sooooooo..." I drew the word out, "why am I here?"
"Ugh, did Eye Patch not explain?" Stark scoffed.
I shook my head with an expectant glare at Director Fury. "He told me you wanted to recruit me to SHIELD; you thought I could be useful, and he thinks we're both massive balls of teenage angst. That's pretty much it," I announced, folding my arms.
Mr. Stark looked outraged. "That is not what I said! I told Furry," -I snorted at the nickname- "that I wanted to work with you as a consultant-slash-mechanic at Stark Industries, NOT as a lackey for his super secret spy club."
I looked accusingly at Fury, who didn't look even the slightest bit guilty. "Miss Olsen, Mr. Stark is known for being a loose cannon. His company had no structure or accountability until Pepper Potts took over as CEO. His engineering process is random and destructive, and he has a penchant for making things that blow up."
"Sounds great. I'm in!" I said with a grin.
Fury sighed. "Fine. You're to report back weekly with a detailed analysis of your projects and any new experiments you come up with."
"Now hang on a second," Mr. Stark cried. "She's not going to be some sort of SHIELD spy!"
"Yeah!" I agree loudly.
Fury developed a small twinkle in his eye, but the rest of his face remained utterly unamused.
"Sure."