Author's Note: The next installment in my little BlackHawk series. I'm really hoping that this one will be longer, so yay for the poeple who commented on the length of the previous stories. Updates will be sporadic. Lyrics are from Lana Del Rey's "Radio" (be honest, who actually listens to the songs mentioned in these stories?) and I, as always, do not own the Avengers.
No one even knows how hard life was
I don't even think about it now because
I've finally found you
Two hundred and fourteen. That was the number of days Natasha Romanoff – most feared contract assassin of the 21st century – had been aboard the SHIELD Helicarrier. Two hundred and fourteen days of sparring with rookies so far below her level it was laughable. Two hundred and fourteen days of listening to rumors and hushed conversations that cut off the minute she entered a room. Two hundred and fourteen days of being assessed, watched, of trying to prove herself to idiots that wouldn't have caught her if she didn't want to be caught.
She was, to put it lightly, going a bit stir-crazy. Emphasis on the crazy.
How else could she explain the inexplicable softening in attitude towards that тупица Clint Barton? To think that she, who had lived among wolves and been raised in their ways (figuratively, of course), now spent her down time watching crappy action movies and swilling beer with SHIELD's finest! Well, it was almost incomprehensible. If her sisters from the Red Room could see her now, no doubt they'd be repulsed by her weakness.
Part of the problem was she just couldn't get away from Barton. She lived on a freaking spaceship, for heaven's sake. The Helicarrier – one of SHIELD's proudest moments in innovation, apparently – hadn't been docked since she'd arrived onboard. How they continued to provide fresh fruits and vegetables, she had no idea. When did they stop to refuel? Where did they get their food? How long could they conceivably fly without landing? Surely 8 months was starting to push its limits.
She was relieved when, on the two hundred and fourteenth day of her self-imposed incarceration (self-imposed because, despite flying at a constant altitude of 50,000 feet, she could find a way to leave if she wanted), Fury called her into his office for the first time since her arrival.
"Congratulations, Agent Romanoff. You are officially employed by the U.S. government." Fury was looking out the window in his office, intensely studying the clouds by the looks of it, and he addressed her without turning around.
She raised an eyebrow (and really, the action lost some potency when no one was looking, but it was an old habit) and asked disdainfully, "And the past 8 months I've been what, exactly? A fugitive seeking asylum?"
Fury turned to glare at her, and Natasha once again wondered how a man with only half as many eyes as she managed to look twice as intimidating. Probably the eye patch added to the menace.
"You've been an experiment. A wild card. We weren't sure if you were worth the trouble to keep. But all your trainers have reported favorably on both your skills and your dedication. So now it's official: you're an agent of SHIELD, with the full benefits and monetary compensation that entails, as well as the reputation. We don't kill 'cause it's fun here – keep that in mind. And don't fuck this up. See Agent Coulson regarding your new identification card and passkey. Dismissed."
Natasha turned to the door, apathetic about this announcement. From the moment she'd accepted Barton's offer, she'd considered herself a SHIELD agent, or else she wouldn't have stuck around this long. The fact that it was now official weighed lightly on her mind – she'd had little want or need for pomp-and-circumstance formalities in her life. At the door, she turned, unable to withhold her curiosity.
"Director Fury," she began and when he raised an eyebrow (even that was more daunting when he did it – perhaps she should invest in an eye patch) she added, "Sir. I was simply wondering if all agents are confined to the Helicarrier for the duration of their employment?"
Fury frowned at her, moving away from the window to take a seat at his desk. He nodded at Natasha to sit in one of the chairs opposite, which she did with minor hesitation. Let it be known that the Black Widow didn't bend completely to anyone's will.
"I was planning on giving you the spiel in a week or so, Agent, but since you've asked, I'll get it out of the way now. Living arrangements at SHIELD: you basically have three options. You can choose to prolong your 'confinement' on the Helicarrier – now that you're an active field agent, you'll be given larger quarters instead of the temporary bunk you stay in now. The Helicarrier docks every three months, at which point you'll have the option of staying aboard or leaving. Most agents live here in shifts, spending a quarter of a year here and the rest of the year on the docking base."
"Every three months, sir?" interjected Natasha quickly. If she found out they'd secretly been docking while she was asleep and denying her the chance to touch solid ground…
"Special circumstances, Agent Romanoff," explained Fury impatiently. "The council decided it would be most…prudent to keep the Helicarrier in the air until such time as you had reached full agent status. We're scheduled to land a week from Tuesday."
Natasha did the math in her head. Only 11 more days in this rat cage and she was free, free, free!
"Anyway," the Director continued, sounded slightly miffed at the interruption, "your second option is to live on one of SHIELD's twenty bases located throughout the continental United States. The main headquarters of SHIELD is in New York. Not DC," he added, seeing the question on her lips, "because we're not the Secret Service, or the Pentagon, or affiliated with either in any way. We're here to protect the whole country, not just the government.
"Your final option is to live off base – with the condition that your lodging is located within a 25 mile radius from the base. The living quarters are paid for with your own money, of course, subtracted from your paycheck, but purchased through SHIELD to retain anonymity. We'd be a pretty poor secret government agency if our agents could be found in the yellow pages, after all."
Natasha nodded slowly, savoring the wonderful sense of liberty stealing over her. Her own house! Or, more likely, her own apartment. Still, it was a place to herself, that she didn't need to share. Only…
"I have some security concerns with living off base, sir."
Fury waved away her doubts with a dismissive gesture. "Any and all necessary safety precautions are provided by SHIELD, from security systems to home surveillance equipment. Not one of our agents has ever experienced a break-in."
Natasha's mind was settled. Her own space – it was something she'd longed for since the day she left the Red Room. Still, she had to ask one last question.
"Are most of the agents currently on the Helicarrier residents, sir?"
She was asking about Barton just as much as she was asking about Fury and Hill and Coulson and Sitwell. Fury gave her an appraising glance before answering. "No. Most trainees here will be transferred to a base upon landing. The Helicarrier is, first and foremost, an aircraft carrier. All field agents are based out of land locations, except in cases of absolute emergency. Myself, Agents Hill, Coulson, and Barton, for example, all live in New York. Barton and Coulson live off base, Hill and I do not. Sitwell lives on base in Chicago."
Natasha nodded again, standing to go. "I'll need your decision in the next three days, Agent," Fury called as she left without being dismissed (because there was a streak of rebellion inside her they would never crush).
Natasha turned at the door, her face impassive except for her gleaming eyes. "No need. I've made up my mind. I want my own place."
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