AN: And here it is! A lot of people have been asking for this story back, and I am very pleased to oblige. Hope you all enjoy it!

Fair warning - this story does have an "M" rating, for mentions of and scenes depicting attempted suicide, and non-descriptive non-con. Warnings are posted above the chapters that contain those things, so please, please do not read that if you are sensitive to the subject matter. Thank you!

- Mac

Chapter One

I'm just a step away
I'm just a breath away
Losin' my faith today
Fallin' off the edge today

- Hero, Skillet

I could feel the adrenaline pumping through me, pounding in my ears, making my heart beat like a drum in my chest. Sweat covered my entire body and soaked my shirt so badly that I could feel it clinging to my skin. With a grimace, I tightened my grip on the handle and sat back on my left leg, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

All at once, I exploded forward, using the adrenaline that had been building up inside of me to spur me forward. My blade flashed as I lunged at an imaginary opponent, then again as I whirled to the side, attacking someone else who wasn't real. I continued like this for sometime, my form growing sloppier and sloppier with every stroke.

I didn't care.

Anger rose up inside of me, giving me a strength and drive I didn't know I possessed. With a cry, I slashed at the air, then flipped the blade in my hand and drove it backwards, impaling an enemy that wasn't there. The pounding in my head overpowered all of my other senses. There were only three things: my blade, my anger, and the things I was angry at.

That high school diploma that would get me no where.

The people I could have saved, but didn't.

The heartlessness of those I was required to follow.

The man who had ruined my life because I had had the nerve to stand up for the pariah.

All the dreams that would never come true.

.34 seconds.

When the last one entered my mind, I completely lost it. A wave of rage swept over my mind, and I whirled around, letting out a roar of raw emotion as I stabbed outwards. The mirror my blade collided with shattered, and shards of broken glass fell to the floor.

There was still a piece of glass hanging there, dangling, dangerously close to falling, to spiraling down to where it would finally break. I looked into it's dirtied surface.

What I saw disgusted me, repelled me - but it didn't surprise me. The thing looking back at me had bright blue eyes lit up with fury. They could have burned a whole through someone's soul, and would have felt no remorse. Dark circles encased them, and the hollowed out cheeks and shadow that darkened half of its face gave it a demonic look.

Still, the sadness was evident if you looked further, if you saw the way the corner of its lips dipped downwards, how the eyes stared out but didn't care what they saw, how the tears that escaped were born from more than just rage.

That thing, it wasn't a monster - not yet. The humiliation kept it on the brink of humanity.

Kept me on the brink of humanity.

Suddenly, my lips curled up harshly, and I lunged out at that last piece, extending my blade with the full intent of shattering it like the others.

Instead, I missed. The tip of my blade impaled itself just centimeters away from the sharp edges of the broken piece of glass.

If I had to guess, I'd say that it was .34 centimeters away from it's intended target. A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

"Missed it by that much."

I froze, my insides growing cold. A string of curses ran through my mind, but I held my tongue and kept my cool. This was all about appearance. Drawing myself up to full height, I made my face stony and turned around as slowly as I pleased. I was in control here.

Despite the fact that the person standing behind me startled me more than a little, I managed to keep a straight, blank face. Instead of letting my mouth fall open, I just raised an eyebrow at the black man in the long black trench coat. And the eyepatch. I definitely raised an eyebrow at the eyepatch. Thick scars ran underneath it, and there was no doubt in my mind that the accessory was more of a necessity than a fashion choice. The slight bump near his hip set me on edge; that was a gun if I'd ever seen one.

And I had.

Folding my arms across my chest and narrowing my eyes, I jutted my chin outward and mustered up as much authority as I could. "Gym's closed," I informed him, my deeper than usual as I attempted to appear confident, like I owned the place.

A knowing smile crept across his face. "Then why are you here?"

I matched his little grin, my eyes cutting across the room and to the shoddily boarded up window that I had crawled through. Then, I brought my blade up and pretended to examine it, all while trying to ignore the wild heartbeat that came with getting caught. My grip on its handle was so tight that my knuckles had turned white, yet the tip of the saber dangled languidly, as if I was relaxed. Once I'd calmed down a bit, I looked back up at the one-eyed man. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm here because you're here, Ms. Crippen." He tilted his head downward so that he could fix me with a piercing stare.

"That so?" My voice was up an octave. I could feel the blank mask I'd been wearing starting to sleep as panic set in. Oh, God, he was here because of me? A million, horrible theories for why he would want me popped into my head, and I subconsciously began calculating the odds of me throwing myself out of that window to freedom without getting shot.

The odds were never in my favor.

Glancing back to the man, I cocked my head to the side and gave him a disarming smile. "And you knew I was here because you've been... following me? Stalking is just a tad illegal, you know."

"As is breaking and entering," he replied smoothly, drawing his brows together.

I grinned and spread my arms out wide, gesturing to the room around us. "You're in here, too."

"But unlike you, Ms. Crippen, I don't have a criminal record."

I tensed. The anger I'd been suppressing rose up again, and I squeezed my eyes shut, taking in deep breaths as I clenched the handle of my saber, twisting it like a stress reliever. Footsteps echoed in my ears, telling me that the man was on the move. He circled me, like a lion would do to it's prey. Slowly, the anger dissipated and was replaced by a nervousness that gnawed at my stomach.

"I imagine that it's hard," he continued in his deep voice, "being you. No college education. A dishonorable discharge from the U.S. Army." At that, my eyes snapped open, and I fixed him with a glare, but he ignored it. "And now you've just missed qualifying for the National Fencing Championship. You were too slow. What was the exact number? Oh, yeah. Thirty-four hundredths of a second too slow. You don't come any closer than that."

He stopped directly in front of me and smiled humorlessly again. "Missed it by that much."

"What do you want?" I hissed, flicking my saber outwards as a warning. This man... he had me scared. Those things he'd talked about, well, anyone could have found that out pretty easily. But this guy had followed me here, and I could tell just by the look in his eye, that he knew more. He knew my hopes, my fears, my strengths, my weakness. He knew everything about me, and wouldn't hesitate to use his knowledge to his advantage. I was a cornered animal, and there was no escape right now. My eyes flashed to where his gun rested on his hip.

He followed my gaze, then let out a chuckle when he looked back to me. "I'm not going to hurt you, Ms. Crippen." A pause later, he continued, "I'm Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD."

My eyes widened. Now that was a name I recognized. More than once (countless times, actually), I'd overheard superiors ranting about this guy. Did I know any specifics? No, not really. There was one thing I knew for sure, though: Fury had an enemy in General Ross.

I licked my lips as I thought that over. An enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?

"I've heard of you," I replied nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders. "But, uh, that doesn't really answer my question, now does it?" I titled my head to the side; a challenge and a way to test the waters in one gesture.

Based on the little snort Fury gave, he knew exactly what I was doing. "I'm here to recruit you." Before my mouth could even drop in shock, he launched into an explanation. "Ever since Ross had you discharged, SHIELD has been keeping tabs on you. Don't look surprised; we keep tabs on anyone who's even mildly interesting. My point is, you've impressed a great deal of people with what you can do with that little weapon there. We'd like you to join."

Something was right; it wasn't that he was lying, but there was something he wasn't mentioning. Besides, it didn't make sense. "From what I've gathered," I replied, "SHIELD only takes the best. The elite." I waved my saber in the air. "I didn't even qualify to qualify to be part of the elite. Besides, swords are a bit old fashioned, wouldn't you say? I mean, what's one of the world's top intelligence agencies want with a fencer?"

When Fury didn't say anything, I prompted, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Last year, there was an attack on a small town in New Mexico. The people who fought in that battle... well, let's just say they didn't whip out pistols. They came armed with spears and swords and axes, and other things our agents didn't know how to counter. You're essentially a swordsman, Ms. Crippen. You know how to fight other swordsmen. This medieval-esque combat would be something you could handle."

Fury made to reach into the inside of his jacket, and panic forced me into action. My heart whirled as I lifted my saber, preparing to fight. Yes, I had brought a pointy stick to a gun fight, but all that mattered to me was that I had some sort of defense. Bunching up my leg muscles, I braced myself and waited for Fury to draw his gun.

Instead, he pulled out a manilla folder and offered it to me. I just stared at it, too shocked to even bother to put my saber down. With a raised eyebrow, Fury asked, "Afraid of a little paperwork?"

"I've gotten some fairly nasty paper cuts before," I informed him. My heart still pounding from that And now I'm going to get shot again scare, I slowly lowered my sword and tucked it under my arm. "What is that, exactly?" I jutted my chin out toward the file, eyeing it.

"It's not going to explode, or anything," Fury grumbled. He leaned forward slightly so that the folder was closer to me, like bait to a fish, luring me in. "It's all you need to know about SHIELD."

I snorted. "And by 'all you need to know', you mean 'everything you want to know is classified'?"

"Most likely." There was a pause in which the only sound was that of distant police sirens coming from somewhere outside. Neither of us were fazed. "Do you want it or not?" Fury finally asked with more than a touch of impatience in his tone.

After hesitating slightly for a moment, I finally reached out and took the file from him, surprised at how light it actually was. Instead of immediately opening it, I raised an eyebrow in Fury's direction. "Is that all, sir?" Ugh. Sir. The word tasted stale. It had been a long time since I had had to call someone that, and I had almost forgotten how much I disliked using that title - almost.

"Just read that file and see if you're interested." He whirled around and head towards the staircase. "I'll be in touch."

With that he was gone.

The cool night air instantly chilled my hot, sweaty skin, and I had to stop to get out my jacket. Before slipping it on, I paused to take a look at it; heavy, a bit to large for me, olive green, and army regulation. Its green color had faded to a more dull shade, except for where my stripes had once been. Just looking at the thing made me angry again.

I briefly considered hurling the thing off of the fire escape, but then a gust of wind came and I thought better of it. With a resigned sigh, I put it on. After zipping my duffel back up and putting it over my shoulder, I walked over to the edge of the fire escape. I wrapped my hands around the rusty metal railing, gripping it to help with the nerves. Even though I'd done this about a million times since my return, that feeling of a hundred butterflies going wild in the pit of my stomach never ceased to happen.

Letting out a deep breath, I closed my eyes, bunched up my leg muscles, and propelled myself over the edge, twisting in mid-air as I kept a hold on the railing. My feet landed on one of the rungs below, and I finally released the railing so that I could hold onto the side of the ladder. Wind rushed upwards as I dropped down to the ground below.

When the ladder ran out length and came to a jerking halt, I jumped backwards, a jolt going up through my legs as I hit the pavement and stumbled before I finally regained my balance. Turning my head to look behind me, I glanced up at the fire escape and the boarded up window on the second floor. A grin crossed my face as I wondered how the owners of that little gym would react when they saw the mess I had made.

Not exactly the most polite thing to do, break and run like that, but I honestly didn't think anyone had been in there since the attack.

While I hadn't personally witnessed that battle that had gone on between Ross's troops, what had once been Captain Blonsky, and the Hulk, I had seen lots of news footage. Granted, what had been caught on camera usually had come from cellphones, and the film was shaky and grainy. But with all the damage around Harlem, it wasn't hard to put the pieces together. There was still a giant crater over by my apartment, and telephone poles were knocked down in some areas. The poor clean-up crew hadn't slept in about year now, I imagine.

Shaking my head as I thought about all the angry New Yorkers that still didn't have cable, I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and headed off, not entirely sure where I was going. I didn't really want to go home; just thinking about the silence that awaited me made me shiver. I needed a distraction, something to keep my mind off of everything.

The smell of cinnamon suddenly overwhelmed me, and I instinctively followed my nose, turning to find the source. My eyes widened when I saw it. Oh, dear Lord, a Starbucks. I hadn't had a decent cup of coffee in years, much less a cup from Starbucks. Before I had even registered that I had made the decision to go there, I was digging in my pockets, searching for enough change to buy something, anything. My fist closed around a small wad of bills, and I grinned widely when I realized I had come up with eight dollars. That was enough for a small drink, and maybe a muffin or something.

Yeah, I was running a little tight on cash (I was broke), but screw it. I deserved a cup of coffee and a quality snack.

I practically sprinted across the road, and didn't even begin to lose momentum until I collided with the door, pushing it open in the process. The warmth and smells enveloped me almost immediately, and I may or may not have let out a little moan of pleasure. God, I had missed Starbucks.

"Hi!" a perky voice chirpped. I looked over to see a young blonde woman, probably a freshman in college, waving at me with genuine enthusiasm. "Welcome to Starbucks! How may I help you on this fine evening, ma'am?"

Either she was always this bright and happy, or she was sucking up to get tips. I opted to give her the benefit of the doubt and went with the second option. "Uh, yeah, hi." I crossed over to the counter, leaning against it as I craned my neck to look up at the menu. "Can I have a... coffee?" Yep, I spoke barista. "An a slice of lemon bread."

"Of course! Is that all?"

"Yeah, thanks."

The woman picked up a cup and a sharpie. "Can I have your name, please?"

I blinked. They really needed my name? There was no one else here. Just to make sure a mob of people hadn't teleported in while I wasn't looking, I glanced over my shoulder. No. No one was there. When I looked back at the barista with a raised eyebrow, she still had her sharpie perched over the cup, ready to right. She blinked large eyes at me expectantly.

"Ryan," I replied with a sigh.

"Oh!" The girl - and I said girl because at that point, she had me convinced she wasn't world-weary or mature enough to be a woman - let out a giggle, bouncing up and down. "You have a boy's name, too! I'm Bobbi! But, it's you know, with an 'i' to make it more... me. But, yeah, that's really pretty! It suits you!"

I just looked at her.

Seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was clearly judging her right now, Bobbi, with an 'i', continued on, "I'll have your order ready in just a sec! I'll even bring it to you! Go on and take a seat."

My God, they must give the night shift an unlimited supply of sugar and caffeine. Pure sugar and caffeine. With a tight smile, I nodded and headed over to a table, slipping into the seat. After drumming my fingers on the table for a moment, my mind began to wander, and it wandered to the file that was currently in my duffel bag.

I leaned over, pulled back the zipper, and took it out. Wasting no time, I flipped it open and began pouring over everything.

The first page was a list of physical standards that I would have to meet in order to become an agent of SHIELD. The second page had more requirements. As did the third. And the fourth. The requirements were complex, with subsections and exceptions, side notes and given ranges. A low whistle escaped my lips as I flipped to the fifth page and found that it was a continuation of the list. I supposed you had to be in great shape to be a spy, but this was completely ridiculous. Maybe whether or not you could figure out how to read the list was your intelligence exam? Actually, the more I thought about it, and the more I struggled to read the thing that could have passed for a legal document, the more sense that made.

I ran a hand through my hair, shaking it out and sighing in frustration. How hard would it have been to just say "You must past a number of training tests" or "Your mile time must be x"? To me, that seemed a lot easier than writing out a set of freaking terms and conditions. I hadn't read anything this long and complex since high school.

You would have read more things like this if you had actually gone to college, an annoying, logical voice in the back of my head pointed out.

That's what I thought I was doing, I replied bitterly. I thought the army would help pay for college when I got out. Didn't image I'd get dishonorably discharged before hand.

"Here you go, ma'am!" Bobbi's voice derailed my train of thought completely. With a unnecessarily large smile, she held out my coffee and the bag that held my bread. "You're total is six dollars and fifty four cents. Would you like to pay in cash or credit?"

I opened my mouth, about to ask who on Earth would use a credit card for something that cost less than seven dollars, but managed to bite my tongue, a major accomplishment for me. Instead, I simply sighed and handed over the wad of ones I had found in my pocket earlier. Realizing that I didn't really have enough on me to give her a decent tip, I added, "Keep the the change."

"Thank you so much!" she gushed like I'd just given her a winning lottery ticket instead of a dollar-fifty. As she bounded away, I shook my head. She must be new here, I thought. There's no way she'll last.

After that, I took a sip of my coffee (which was simply spectacular) and went back to the file Fury had given me.

What felt like hours later, I had finally managed to discern SHIELD's requirement list. In all honesty, it really wasn't all that bad - it was actually a lot like that Presidential Fitness test I'd taken all through school, only with higher standards. Standards that wouldn't be too difficult for me to meet; I had spent the last six years in the army, after all. Feeling more confident than I had in a while, I flipped to the next page.

I choked back laughter. At the top of the page, in scrawled, thin handwriting was a note from Fury himself: Page on the benefits of joining SHIELD. Thought you'd like this one best. After reading that, I firmly believed that if Nick Fury had not been an international super-spy, he would have made an excellent car salesmen - he knew right off the bat that the benefits would be a selling point for me.

And indeed they were. My eyes widened, and I nearly spewed the final sip of my coffee everywhere when I saw the salary. Government agent get made that much? Was that even legally possible? I blinked several times, wanting to make sure that that was the actual number, and I wasn't just imaging those last couple of zeros.

I wasn't. Holy shit, I wasn't. That was the real number I was being offered. I quickly scanned the rest of the paper with hungry eyes; a residence on location, health care, and an agency funded, yearly, three-week vacation were also included.

It took all of my self control to not go running from the Starbucks, screaming like a giddy idiot for Fury to come and take me now.

I should really think this through. I mean, what did I really know about SHIELD? What did I know about Fury? What did I know about being a spy? While the packet had listed the requirements and benefits, there had been no actual job description. Although, given my limited knowledge, I could pretty safely assume that it was going to be a life-threatening job.

I opted to sleep on it. Fury said he would be in contact with me, right? He'd probably give me a couple of days for me to think about it before showing up again just as suddenly as he had before. With the decision to not make a decision made, I slung my duffel over my shoulder, pushed out from the table, grabbed my file, and headed out the door.

The cool night breeze still felt good. I'd always liked the night air; for some reason, it just seemed fresher than anything else. I inhaled deeply before turning and setting off for the little apartment I called home.

But then I stopped. I still didn't want to go back there. Why would I? The place was damp and dark with minimal furniture and a bathroom that seemed to only work when it felt like it. A cold draft always flowed through the halls. There was nothing of meaning for me there. I ran a hand though my hair, letting out a huff.

Life used to much easier. There had always been something new, something excited, and I'd almost always been in good company. Now, I felt like I was in a rut with no way out. I hated going home, I dreaded going out. No matter who I went to, no matter how many places I tried, I couldn't find a job. No one wanted the mutineer. No one wanted me.

Not true, I reminded myself, clenching the manilla folder I still had in my hand. SHIELD wanted me. SHIELD had sought me out. And they were offering me exactly what I wanted: a decent place to live, a change of scenery, something new to do with my life (even if said new thing would probably end up putting my life in danger).

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. I knew exactly what I wanted. I spun around, opening my mouth to call out. To who? Well, I sure didn't know. It was just the prospect of finally having everything in its proper place that excited me enough to shout it out to the world.

The grin faded off my face when I recognized a man standing in the shadows less than a hundred yards away. A slow, knowing smile crept across his face as he looked at me, not blinking his one eye at all.

"Made your decision, Ms. Crippen?"