...Wow. SO I really need to stop thinking up new ideas-BUT THEY'RE SO FUN-No, Mem, you gotta stoppit-b-but...
Ahem. Anyways.
This has been sitting around REALLY LONG in my computer, so you can't say that I've been wasting time and whatnot. It's probably the closest to an original story I've got (except my actual original story, but that's a different *coughcough* story) and frankly, I'm kind of spazzing about what to do with her. I mean. Yeah, I am basically an OC-insert writer, but I've realized how daunting it is to write a story from scratch. For those in the know, I have not watched Agents of SHIELD. That's why this isn't a crossover. :X
Basically, this is my own vision of what SHIELD is like. Except I wrote this before Winter Soldier turned up and made over half of them HYDRA and then I'm tackling like the mother of all headaches trying to reconcile that with what I had planned before. So. Yeah. I've got a couple scenarios with the Avengers written up, but I kinda wanted to see how interesting I could make an OC's story in an original environment. :D
Trainee Lianna Thyrell sighted down her rifle at the target for the fifth time. She took a calming breath and forced herself not to fidget in her position under the bushes. After all, she had done similar enough exercises back when she was in Military Academy.
She was so going to make this shot.
She was.
Lianna was a member of the newest batch of badass-hopefuls-in-training. And once she passed this test, she was going to be one of said badasses.
She was.
Hopefully.
No dammit, I'm going to pass this shit!
Okay, so she knew she wasn't the smartest, or most skillful, or even those guys with that one extremely useful talent that would be getting brownie points from the get-go, but she sure as hell was going to be one of the victors in this trial.
Really.
She just needed to make this shot clean and accurate.
No sweat or anything.
Right.
She was beginning to hyperventilate, but hey, not her first rodeo with that. She bit down on her lip viciously, glared down the length of her gun at the shuffling figure, and pulled the trigger.
The target crumpled to the ground, the impact loud and clear despite the distance.
The first rush of relief was sweet, but then came the nausea, and she puked in her mouth a little. The fake target had been scarily realistic, and there was even a splash of red beside it.
Will they take points for messiness? Headshots are instant, but there's the occasional side effect of splattering a bit of brain matter. It'd be obvious that it wasn't an accident. But they didn't say to make it look like one so…
The thoughts raced through her mind before she could cut them off. The nausea tripled and she gagged. Again. She swallowed discreetly and breathed through her nose. No unfortunate accident on her first agent test at all. Nope.
"A little slow, Recruit Thyrell," a cool voice spoke in her ear dryly.
Oh gawd.
Her mouth was dry as the bottom of her stomach fell through.
Fuck.
Senior Agent Coulson had been her mystery examiner.
Holee sheet, she squealed inwardly.
And then: oh gawd, he saw the whole test. Oh gawd.
Everyone in SHIELD knew about Agent Coulson. Beside Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill, he was practically the Legendary Agent. Everyone, and really, everyone, knew about how he had come back from the dead after being fucking stabbed through the chest by the alien life form: Loki. It was the general consensus that the reason why the Senior Agent had survived boiled down to him being a stubborn BAMF. If it had been anyone else? Yeah, not happening.
Lianna whimpered a little as she dissembled her set-up and reported back for debriefing.
Oh god, oh god…
As she stepped back into camp, she realized that everyone else had already made it back.
Oh gawd…
Their instructor gave her a raised eyebrow as she returned the false-bottomed case with the firearm to him. It was a familiar expression. A little bit like looking at scum on the bottom of your combat boots.
She wasn't sure what to make of it, since he'd been giving her that look since the beginning of training, but it never felt like good news.
She turned to her left and nearly squeaked as she came within an inch of a perfectly put together suit. And then she raised her eyes and did squeak.
Agent Coulson was as unflappable as ever as he watched her cringe out of his path. The look he exchanged with her instructor could have just been a baby-recruits-roll-eyes look or a we-are-seriously-scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel-with-this-one look.
She really, really hoped that it was the former.
But yeah, she scrambled into formation amidst silent glares, wishing she could just disappear into a hole.
Instructor Devin definitely saw, but he opted to ignore it, as he had all the other times it had happened. SHIELD was definitely not for the fainthearted. She was really getting the dog eat dog world and don't be a pussy vibe here.
But she hadn't come this far just to back down. So she kept quiet. You were only allowed to raise a ruckus if you were valuable enough. And infighting was definitely not justified when you weren't even officially in the program yet.
"Alright, we'll be calling names," Instructor Devin said matter-of-factly, "Those called, stand at the right. Jameson."
The aforementioned Nicholas Jameson gave an obnoxious fist pump as he strode comfortably away from the group. Lianna felt her lips threaten to slip downwards from the carefully neutral horizontal line as one of her biggest tormentors was called out. Jameson was a bigot and a sexist to boot. He spoke grandly of the glory and reputation of being an agent like he was already one and sniped at Lianna for being the only female to have indicated Assaultas her choice of division.
That she went through Military Academy and had gone through virtually as much training as he had in the Marines was moot.
Well fuck him, Lianna wasn't going to be one of the girls who stuck to Intelligence or Medical or the other non-field divisions. She wanted to be out there making a difference and helping to keep what tremulous peace there was in the world outside of alien invasions and rumored returns of HYDRA. Besides, she wasn't any good sitting in an office or nursing people—her bedside manner was decidedly not pro-health.
Nearly half the class had already been called, she noted, feeling dread pool in her gut. Devin continued to read out a few more names before he came to an abrupt halt that sent her stomach crashing.
She hadn't been called.
Oh gawd.
And there was that familiar tightness in her chest again. Fuck. She tried to breathe properly (and inconspicuously) through her mouth.
Nope, not happening, her lungs reported. No go.
"This test," the instructor stated blandly after a short pause, "was a very simple test." He surveyed the makeshift camp dispassionately and continued, "It was a very simple scenario." Pause. "Each of you were given a mission to approach a target undetected and, from a suitable position, eliminate it." Pause. "All of you succeeded in the last point." Pause. "Some quicker than others."
Lianna felt her ears burning from that remark. It wasn't exactly pointed at her, but it did highlight her performance. She felt like an Example. No-one was undisciplined enough to snigger, but there were a few side-eyes.
"However, not all of you succeeded in the first. And fewer in the second."
Second? There were only two—oh location, right. Right.
Hey, at least she got it without anyone explaining it to her again.
The people who were called out exchanged confident smiles.
"This is the first test, and so we are not being particularly severe."
Well, that explained why slightly more than half the class had passed at least. There had been 40 of them and it looked like only 23 would be making it.
Just not her.
"Which is why we did not penalize points for speed."
…What?
Instructor Devin was a seasoned Agent and had a clearance level of Class 4-Delta. He'd been a field agent in Espionage before he decided that he would deign to share his experience with others. He had a poker face carved out of stone and an excellent bland, deadpanned monotone. However, the last sentence had had a very apparent Dramatic Pause.
To his credit, the next sentence was, again, absolutely even.
"Congratulations recruits whose names who were not called. You pass and are now entering the first phase of SHIELD training."
Lianna felt her knees tremble when the words registered. Suddenly, she was having a reverse-hyperventilation, in that she had too much air in her lungs and needed to expel it in great heaving gasps. Around her, similar actions were carried out. The recruits on the right looked thunderstruck.
Relief and joy and her old friend nausea bubbled from her throat. She could feel it threatening to expel another accident again. Urk.
…first phase of SHIELD training.
Wait, so the previous sessions weren't even actual agent training?!
She pressed a hand to her chest and shuddered.
xXXx
Lianna Diane Thyrell was born in New Orleans, Louisiana to Aiden and Linda Thyrell, one of the actual Irish living in the Irish Channel. Unfortunately, that had little bearing on her growth, seeing as her father, despite growing up in a traditional Irish family, had decided to fully embrace America's declaration of freedom. His daughter, subsequently, grew up with the adamant promise that she would be the only person deciding her future.
It wasn't the easiest promise to keep when she announced that she wanted to go to Military Academy instead of the rather impressive number of university options she'd received. It became even more difficult when she was picked up by an unnamed organization for her zealous, outstanding effort. And she went with them with open arms.
Sometimes her parents wished their daughter was just a little less strong-willed (stubborn).
Lianna grew up speaking English, but learning her mother (or father) language at her Seanathair's knee, which basically resulted in fluid English, but somewhat stuttering Gaelic. She could read the latter decently, but her tongue twisted itself in knots on the spoken word.
A quiet and awkward bookworm, Lianna had never been popular. In fact, it could be said that she was an outcast in school. Bright, inquisitive, and able to speak more easily with her teachers than her peers, she was shunned by her fellow classmates in typical genius fashion. Except that she wasn't quite smart enough to merit the title. A fact that fuelled the malicious glee of the populace as her grades started to falter in high school.
However, for all her slightly-above-average-smarts, it was her stubbornness that defined the girl. It was in the way she pushed herself through everything. Never developing the thick skin that was inherent to high school survival, she made do with sheer mule-headedness. When her grades started flagging, that same stubbornness began to characterize her work ethic.
Pushing herself to put in double, and sometimes triple, the amount of effort others did, she regained and maintained her star pupil status through the years and eventually graduated with flying colours.
That same stubbornness carried her through Military Academy, where she faced sexism and harassment from both peers and instructors.
Unfortunately, as she was learning, being a BAMF generally required more than just over-the-top enthusiasm and willpower. SHIELD was a place for the crème de la crème and there were actually people who were naturally good in everything, from taking down an opponent, disabling a bomb (or exploding it), to hacking into the Pentagon.
And that wasn't all.
An Agent was more than just the typical spy. More than the typical Army grunt. More than the typical tech geek. They had to have basic working knowledge of all related fields (which was, she realized, everything) and at least three languages.
She was still stumbling through her Gaelic, even if her written was above average. And her assigned third language was German.
Why German? Even if her tongue survived, her throat wouldn't.
But Lianna hadn't made it this far for nothing. She had frigging passed the first test—against expectations—and now she was yet another inch closer to her goal.
Boo-yah.
xXXx
Being an agent (okay, probationary agent) was a twenty-four hour job, Lianna realised. It was something you lived and breathed and sucked up with all your might. There was a lot of procedure and non-disclosure and red-tape to learn, and different martial arts (for different body types) and firearms (Jesus, and she thought she'd been decently prepared with extra electives) and interrogation techniques.
Oh, and probies were apparently the equivalent of unpaid interns. All the menial work, all the basic data-entry, all the coffee-carrying and sheet-stapling and hotline-receiving-transfer-calling, were done by them. None had set foot on the mythical Helicarrier, but each and every one was intimately familiar with every shiny, tiled inch of their campus. There was a weekly schedule for janitor work. And paperwork.
Frankly, Lianna would take the mopping and sweeping over paperwork any day.
Having only minimal clearance (0-BA) meant that every single 'report' they received was [redacted] beyond measure. Even weapon commissions forms for bullets had [redacted] everywhere in bright, obnoxious red ink.
It was a little discouraging to admit that she was in over her head.
Also a little more discouraging to find that even in this place where oddities were the norm, she was still set apart.
Oh, she got along decently with a few people in her batch, but she wasn't tight with anyone, and she could barely exchange two words with any of their instructors and was also thus not personally familiar with them.
The other real agents? Forget it.
And there were no roommates here. SHIELD was apparently rich enough to provide single rooms for every probie.
She was a little disappointed about that.
Lianna sighed into her coffee as she tapped on her tablet to enter yet another weapons commission form (38-BII-Sigma [redacted]) into the system. From what she heard from the techies in class, it was separate from the *actual* SHIELD database—which made sense, but wow, the paranoia—and attempts to hack it had been…well, let's just say that they had their asses handed to them. And their physical asses handed to them with a lecture of this isn't a movie, we don't reward insubordination here, newbies.
It had been vaguely terrifying in a wow, I'm with the real badasses now way.
She tapped her tablet again and opened up this week's reading assignments. Immediately, tabs began popping up, reaching a total of 15 before the first one enlarged to a slightly more reasonable reading size.
Resisting the urge to drop her head against the desk, she took another long drought of caffeine before squaring her shoulders. She was not going to be defeated by words.
xXXx
It had been two months since the harrowing First Test, and Lianna was still hanging on (by the skin of her teeth). In a single month, she had expanded her knowledge of what seemed to be a bit of everything, and had even managed to become acceptably fluent in Gaelic. German was still trundling along, but it wasn't too bad, although Portuguese had also been piled onto her already staggering workload.
A couple of her peers had discreetly disappeared, and the class now numbered a terrifyingly small fourteen. Of the fourteen, three of those, including herself, were women. And of the fourteen, only one other person was striving for the Assault division. Ian McAllen, a thirty-four year old veteran from the Special Air Forces.
The batch had gotten much closer after going through the hell that was SHIELD training. Even Lianna's awkwardness and horrible social skills were nothing in the face of the utter devastation that they had been subject to. It was impossible to survive alone here, and no amount of stubbornness would have been able to tide her through. All of them had sought each other's help more than once, be it a difficult tactics problem, swapping janitor shifts, or braving the dusty Probie Archives for information.
However, even then, there were clear divisions between the, well, divisions. Intelligence probies stuck together while Espionage were practically glued at the hip. Tech Support? In the corners getting their geek on.
In the same vein, she and Ian were just as tight. It was a camaraderie borne from twenty kilometer, full-kit marches, survival-training in the Forests-of-Fear, Deserts-of-Doom, and Mountains-of-Misery, as well as long nights spent cracking their heads over strategic scenarios they were pretty sure would usually require more than two people. Sure, he never got her movie references (which she suspected were getting outdated from lack of TV and Internet) and she couldn't share his war stories (which were decidedly gruesome), but they were united by the shared terror that was Assault training.
And today, it was time for yet another trial. A second 'official' test. It was a test of teamwork, made harder by the fact that they would only be allowed to work with each other. The respective division probies had been expressly separated for this particular trial, and Lianna could only imagine what the others were going through.
She traded freaked-out looks with Ian as they were handed the itinerary for their test. It was much, much longer than even the full kits they'd had to pack for survival-training. The scenario was not provided, even though they were given leeway to pack what they thought would help…which wasn't reassuring in the least. Just reading the list made her want to bring the whole armory with her.
She nudged her partner, "Think we can pack an extra person?"
"If only," he muttered, still staring at the sheet in his hands. "I want to bring grenades."
"Frags?"
"I wish," he admitted sullenly, "But more likely Less than Lethals."
"I'm bringing two BFIGs."
"Yeah, okay. I'll carry one more and two flash."
"I'm bringing my knives."
"I still can't believe knifework is your best."
"I still can't believe that paperwork is your best."
"Well, war generates a lotta it…"
"…And you were a Major…yeah, yeah…"
"I didn't sit on my ass signing shit all day if that's what you're implying!"
"Yeah, yeah…"
As they bantered, Lianna shifted closer and lowered her arm, fingers dancing nimbly in a myriad of patterns. Simultaneously, Ian angled himself so that he faced away from the cafeteria door, eyes fixed firmly on her face.
They traded a series of looks before nodding and heading to the armory.
xXXx
This is the part where Lianna has to close the book, because this is the part that is redacted. Nobody can get anything out of anybody about their respective trials, and that is because it's severely redacted. There was plenty of standard tried-and-true fare, but also plenty of strange and cruel things that were obviously tailor-made for the individual.
(Extremely tailor-made. So tailor-made it was snugger than her body armour.)
So. Nobody wants to talk about it okay? Maybe it's true that hardship creates character, and maybe that's why every superhero has some sort of backstory, but Lianna is pretty sure this is the character-building thing that every Agent will remember. They may not have a tragic family background or no childhood or whatever it is that makes heroes, but they do have their Agent Exams and it's as good as, alright? No need to throw around the respective traumas. She doesn't want to Talk About It.
Neither does Ian.
So that's that.
She's now Agent Thyrell of Assault Division, Level one, clearance class 1-Eta.
…And she beat Ian by two classes, take that.
xXXx
Idk if anyone has figured out the ranking system in my version of SHIELD, but I'm not in a hurry to expose it. XD There's a joke in the clearance level for the Probational Agents, so see if anyone can decipher that. XDDD I've actually already spelled it out somewhere, but you've got to squint a little.
Coulson being resurrected is like...an open secret in SHIELD I suppose. In my version at least. Idk about canon. I'm pretty sure that there's quite a bit of locker talk especially between female agents because they're mainlining the Intelligence divisions. And the Medical wards obviously, so anyone with whatever injuries can and will be talked about during break times.
I have the BIGGEST PROBLEM WRITING FIGHTS. Also military ops. Because no military background here, and I'm kind of dying trying to pick up some. Ughhhh. Help?
Memory25