Okay, so, this is my first official fanfic, starring Randi Avery Valiente and Clint Barton. I'm kinda excited, because I've never done this before. I like helpful tips and suggestions :)
Ravens and Hawks
I stretch my wings into the night sky, testing the breeze. With a jump, I fall through the city air, opening my raven-black wings to catch the wind. I weave my way in and out of the skyscrapers, the mirrored buildings.
I love these nights, I think. Summer nights are the best. The streets aren't cold, and you don't have to fight for a vent to sleep on. People are more welcoming and generous, and it's just better overall. Yes, summer is the best season.
Taking a vertical path, I fly high above the 57-story Comcast building, the lights and cars looking like fireflies. Then I attempt to remember for the billionth time.
My name is Randi Valiente. I am 17 years old. I'm being followed. I have wings. I can fly. I have no family, I think to myself. I haven't any family that I know of. The only other person I can remember at all is a guy I met a couple years back. He said his name was Clint, Clint Barton, and that he was 22. He bought me a nice dinner and gave me $1000 so I could try to start a life. Ha, if only he knew.
For the 1460th-something day I fly around the city, practice throwing knives in peoples' rooftop gardens, and for the 1460th-something time the bleeding sky of dawn sends me back to my "nest", my little place of safety.
I count and check what little possessions I own, my assortment of (stolen) knives and food and clothes. Nothing's missing, so I settle down for some shut eye.
-Randi Valiente-
8:30ish A.M., same day
With careful hands, I style my short-cropped hair into its usual faux-hawk in a subway bathroom. Stole the hair gel a month back from some hair place.
I shrug into one of my old jackets that effectively hides my wings and in worn, hole-y boots I step around the . . . assortment of . . . items . . . on the bathroom floor.
Humans are disgusting, I think and pull a face. I nudge open the grimy door and blend with the masses.
I don't really have a destination, just looking for something to do, and so a few hours later I have a new wallet, a couple packs of gum, and a new switchblade. Now I'm looking for an Ipod. If I get one I can go to a library and plug it in, get a few songs. Something to fill the quiet hours of my days. I'm sitting in a mall food court and planning my strategy when I see them.
Four men in black suits, not mall cops, all have wires in their ears and dark sunglasses. They seem to have stations and are blocking my exit points. I've walked around this mall for a while, and this is the first time they've appeared. I'm immediately suspicious, and I zoom in my vision to each of their faces.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. I have freakishly acute hearing and over-perfect vision. Yes, now I did. Well, I can see each man's face closely and clearly, and can hear what they hear in their earpieces. Some man is asking if "the target" is present.
So, as casually as I can, I stand up and walk behind a group of tall guys and exit through an "Employees Only" door. Behind the mall now, I run randomly around the city and once I determine I'm isolated, I take off. I know it's dangerous to fly during the day, when people can see me, but I need to move.
I land at my nest, grab all the food I have and shove it into my backpack. Then I put on my black arm gloves and tuck short knives into the hidden sheaths. The rest of the knives I slip into slots in my boots or pants, hoping they don't fall through any holes. Then, I glide a couple buildings over to the shiny Comcast building and wait.
Shortly after, I see a large black SUV pull up to the building I had lived on top of for about four years. The same four men, plus another, get out of the car and all take the quickest of glances to the top of the building. I zoom in my vision and focus my hearing.
One of them, a shorter man with a receding hairline, is talking to who I guess to be the manager or owner of my past residency.
"I'm Agent Coulson with SHIELD. We need to investigate a security threat. May we have a look around?" Ah. So he's an agent. Agent Coulson holds up a badge, which, sadly is at an angle I can't see. The manager nods and lets the agents inside. Once I'm positive they won't be able to see me, I take off in the opposite direction, and for once I actually have a destination. Goodbye Philadelphia, hello New York.
-Randi Valiente-
I've been living in New York for about two weeks, and I must say, it's truly the city that never sleeps. All day, all night, 24/7, cars and people have been on the streets, lights on in offices and homes, sirens wailing around the city. It's not really that bad, and I decide to stay a little longer, tucked inside the huge 'A' on the Stark Tower.
-Coulson-
"Did you find anything?" I ask Agent Barton through the earpiece. I've sent him to look for our next target, Randi, 17, unknown family, not dangerous. She is seen as a possible ally by Director Fury, leader of SHIELD.
"No, sir," Barton says back. "She's tricky. Not even a feather around." Damnit. Then I have an idea.
"Barton! Meet me at Stark Tower," I tell the archer.
"Yessir."
-Clint Barton-
As I make my way to Stark's Tower, I think about my current target. I met her a couple of years ago in Philadelphia while on a quick mission. She was 15, if I remember right. Gave her $1000 and a meal, wished her good luck. Never even suspected she had wings; just thought she was really wary. But when Coulson showed me a picture of her from a security camera, I instantly recognized the faux-hawk.
"Clint Barton," I say my name into Jarvis, the computer that runs Stark Tower.
"Shall I inform Mr. Stark of your arrival?" the artificial intelligence asks in a slightly English accent.
"Sure," I shrug. "Is Coulson already here?"
"Yes, sir. Agent Coulson and Mr. Stark are upstairs. Agent Romanoff is also with them," I'm informed, and I groan. The last person I want to see is Natasha.
Nat and I have been fighting ever since James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky, was found alive. She'd chosen him over me, and it frustrates me over how. Just a simple note was given, not even delivered in person. At least Stark wasn't the messenger. Otherwise I'd have to shoot the messenger.
The elevator door opens and I step onto the black tiled floor. Coulson and Nat sit at the bar, and Stark is (big surprise) downing a glass of scotch.
"We're having Jarvis run a security check on both inside and outside the tower," Coulson tells me, getting right to the point.
"Uh, you are having Jarvis do security," Stark interrupts.
"She could be in the tower as we speak," I say, and roll my eyes. They land on Nat. Coulson gets Stark to teach him how to use Stark technology. Coulson shoots me a look of good luck.
"Hi, Clint," Nat greets.
"Aren't you supposed to be with your boyfriend?" I start off sharply.
"He's not my boyfriend," the Widow shoots back.
"Not yet," I mutter, loud enough for her to hear. The look she gives me makes me expect flames to shoot from her fiery hair. She opens her mouth to speak when we're interrupted.
"'Kay, we know you're angry and stuff, but we've got something," Stark gestures with his head for us to come over. Me and a fuming Natasha walk into the next room, where a hologram of the Tower floats above a table. A blinking red dot is on the tower, in the middle of the 'A'.
"There's something there, and it's not just a pigeon," Coulson says, and Stark zooms in on the dot. "Barton, Romanoff, go check it out, but if it's her, don't hurt her. Just bring her inside."
-Randi Valiente-
The evening sun is calming and I prop my sweatshirt higher up between my wings. Then I hear a sound I've been dreading, the sound of a door unlocking. And footsteps, two pairs, I think. Shit. I'm packing everything back up when a voice calls out.
"Hey! I know you're there! It's Clint Barton!" Huh. Well, I never thought I'd see him again.
"Who's with you?" I call back, ready to fly away.
"I'm Natasha Romanoff," a female voice calls out.
"We aren't here to attack," Clint Barton's voice again. "Just to talk."
I guess he's alright. So I put my bag on my back and jump, making a sharp vertical turn once I have enough speed. I land on the helicopter pad in front of them. The woman, or Natasha Romanoff, is about the same height as me, five feet five inches, with long, flaming red hair.
"Hey, long time, no see," Clint gives a smile.
"Yeah. Didn't forget you," I return the smile, and for once I'm telling the truth.
"We should go inside," the redhead says, and turns on her heel. I shoot Clint a look and he nods, so I follow them inside.
"Hey! Did you find – Oh, hi!" A dark-haired man with a goatee pipes up. Tony Stark. Wow. "So you're the one hiding in my tower?" He looks at me, and I tuck my wings tighter into my back. The agent I saw in Philadelphia is here too.
"Uh, I guess. It's shelter," I shrug, hiding my embarrassment of being in front of a billionaire while homeless. Tony Stark shrugs.
"Got a name?" he asks. "Call me Tony. Oh, want a drink?"
"Sure. Name's Randi Valiente," I shrug. I've been drinking for as long as I can remember (well, not very long, if we're going to be literal here).
"Cool," he says, and hands me a glass.
"Stark, you can't . . . "– then the agent looks as if he remembers something – "Ah, nevermind." The man turns to me. "Hi. I'm Agent Coulson with SHIELD." He offers his hand. I shake it.
"Yeah, I remember you from Philly," I say, and take a sip of my drink, which I find out that it's a delightfully crisp apple cider.
"Why were you avoiding us?" Agent Coulson gets right to the point.
"Well, it's not like I'm going to let four guys in suits and earpieces just walk up to me, "I shoot.
"She's got a point," Tony pipes up.
"Stark, shut up," Clint says.
"Just putting in my two cents," Tony grumbles. Clint rolls his eyes.
"Well, how about I give you this" – Agent Coulson hands me a card – "and you can call us when you want to talk?"
"Alright," I say cautiously, and take off my backpack. I set down my drink and take the card, slipping it into the front pocket. Gulping the rest of my drink I make my way to the balcony.
"Thanks for the drink, Tony," I nod to him. Then to the agents, "Call you in three weeks."
I leap into the air, headed off with a new destination in mind.
-Randi Valiente-
"California? What the hell is she doing there?" I hear Tony's voice in the background and I smirk. Coulson sighs.
"We'll come pick you up, and we'll call when we're close," Coulson tells me through the phone.
"Alrighty," I say, and hang up. Ahh, California. Celebrities. Hollywood. Casinos. Beaches. Perfect weather for flying.
Join or not join SHIELD? Well, after extensive hacking, I mean, research, I found out where one of SHIELD's research facilities is. I paid a 'visit' and found that SHIELD stands for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Jeez. Talk about a mouthful. Then I did a Google search. All the information was very shallow, just general descriptions about the agency and their objective. Otherwise not much, not even a phone number. Very secretive, too secretive, for my taste, but might as well try it out. I'll have somewhere to stay at least. But the name of the place is vaguely familiar.
About twenty minutes later, Coulson calls me and I'm told to fly up to the Hollywood sign. I do, and behind the huge letters there's an aircraft of some sort. I recognize Phil Coulson's face and land a few feet away.
"Good morning, Miss Valiente," Coulson greets.
"Decided I'll join your boy band after all," I smirk. Coulson gives a small smile.
"The others are waiting on the quinjet," he gestures for me to board. I give him a look, and he shrugs and steps onto the quinjet. What a weird word for a plane.
I shake out my wings and take a quick look around. Tony sits on one of the metal benches that line the walls, the redhead across from him. I keep forgetting her name. It's something Russian, I know that. Clint stands, leaning against the left wall. I stay standing.
The aircraft takes off, and we all sit in silence until Tony speaks up.
"What else do you do?" the genius asks straight out. "Are you cool like Bruce? The Hulk," he adds when I raise an eyebrow.
"Uh, I can fly, obviously," I begin to think of what I can say that won't hurt me later on. "Um, I can hear and see freakishly well, if that's considered cool. Hmm, I think I'm smart, if that doesn't sound too arrogant."
"Ha, are you kidding?" Clint laughs. "Stark's the king of arrogance."
"Hey, it's not arrogance if it's true," Tony puts up his hands. The redhead rolls her eyes.
"Come on, Stark," she scoffs. Then to me, "How do you fight?" Huh. Never got that question before.
"Fast, and in the air," I say, tucking my hands into my pockets.
"Where'd you learn to fight?" she persists. Her eyes tell me she knows something. I turn away, unable to answer.
The aircraft, no, quinjet, lands at a base, a complex, concrete military-looking place. Most of it looks like it's underground.
"Wow. Déjà-vu," I say quietly to myself.
"Agent Romanoff," Coulson calls to the redhead. Ah. So that's her name. "The file." Agent Romanoff walks off, heels tapping the cement floor. "Agent Barton, Miss Valiente, come with me. Mr. Stark, you do what you like."
"Cool," Tony says. "See you guys later." He heads off to who knows where.
Coulson takes us down underground to a large room filled with people and computers. Agents tap and speak into computers, creating a business-like tone.
"Director Fury," Coulson calls out.
"Agents Coulson." A large man turns around to face us. He has an eyepatch over his left eye and hasn't any hair. 'Director Fury' wears a black overcoat and heavy leather boots, and radiates authority. I raise an eyebrow. "Who do you have with you today?" His tone says he already knows who I am.
"Randi Valiente," I introduce myself. He nods. In the background I see Tony annoying some of the agents, trying to get them to play Galaga or something like that.
"I've heard a lot of things about you," the Director says. Oh really?
"Funny, because I haven't heard anything 'bout you. What have you heard?" I let some of my sharp tongue out. Coulson winces. Everyone seems so uptight here.
"You don't need to know anything about me, other than the fact that I am your new boss," the man says back. The Director then hands me a file from his jacket. "Here. This is what we know about you." I take the file and flip it open.
Inside is a picture of me, an old one at that: I don't have my hair up. In fact, I have long hair in the picture, and I look so much younger, maybe 14. And there's my name, my real name, Marie Evelyn Valiente.
"Where did you get this?" I ask quietly. I don't have any recollection of this, not SHIELD, not anything.
"You worked here before," Fury tells me. Now I'm wondering how old Fury really is.
The shock subsides, and I'm regaining my composure. I glance at Clint. He looks just as surprised as I am, with his eyebrows up in the middle of his forehead.
"What did I do? Like, when I worked here?" I ask.
"Field agent. You were stationed in Germany when you fell off our radar. We assumed you were captured and we cut you loose. Standard protocol," Fury explains. He tries to sound apologetic and fails. "You'll hear more later. You must be tired."
Actually I'm not tired, but it's clear that the Director doesn't wish to tell me anymore of my past.
"But," the Director continues. His pacing around is driving me nuts. "We've made some adjustments for you to get re-situated. Agent Barton will be your partner, and Agent Coulson your supervisor. Agent Coulson will oversee your progress, and Agent Barton will do your actual training." He gestures for Coulson to lead us to our rooms. I tuck the file under my jacket.
I lied. Not rooms. Room. Yes. Room. Sharing rooms wasn't what I had in mind, and it's not my number one idea after living in solitude for who knows how long. Apparently that's a very long time, if SHIELD's information is reliable, which so far it's been pretty believable.
"Get yourselves situated. Dinner is in the mess hall at six," Coulson says, obviously for my benefit, and leaves us in silence.
"So you're older than Rogers, huh?" Clint asks once the door clicks shut. I flop on one of the beds.
"Huh? Yeah, apparently so," I twitch a wing to get out a stray feather. "Don't remember any of World War II, though."
"Well, what do you remember?" Clint asks. I don't say anything, I just crease my eyebrows. "Well, I'm going to take a shower. You'll have that time to think." He gets up and heads to the bathroom.
My name is Randi Avery Valiente. I'm seventeen years old. I have wings. I can fly. I worked at SHIELD before. My real name is Marie Evelyn Valiente. Then I stop. This is all I know. I keep expecting to have a flashback or something, but I don't.
I haven't anything to say when Clint comes out of the bathroom. I can't help but blush when I see the towel wrapped loosely around his waist and his bare chest.
"Remember anything?" he runs his fingers through his damp hair.
"No, nothing," I sigh. "I want to have a flashback, like in the movies or something."
"You might. Anyway, it's 5:46. Want to head down to dinner? I bet it's spaghetti again." Clint pulls on a plain green tee-shirt – I can't help but notice how much it compliments his eyes – and black jeans and we head out to the mess hall.
-Clint Barton-
Knew it. Dinner is spaghetti again. But Randi's face lights up like a kid's on Christmas. When we sit down with our trays she eats like there's no tomorrow and keeps a wary eye.
"Jeez, slow down," I say. "You can always get more."
"Not where I'm from," she mumbles around a mouthful of pasta. She gets up to get some more spaghetti and I stare. I'm not the only one. It's strange enough to see someone with wings, let alone a girl with a faux hawk. But people stared at me when I joined; then again I was the strange one when I joined. Randi, I have to give her credit, ignores the gawking and walks back with confidence.
"So," Randi sets her tray on the table. "What else are we going to do today?"
"Um," I stammer. I didn't really plan anything. "How about I show you around a bit?"
"Cool," the girl agrees. Good, because I wouldn't want to do anything else.
We put our trays up together and I begin the tour.