okay, I am SUPER sorry for the lateness of this! and fair warning, I stink at writing Tony, so please bare with me and him!
In his mind, he could hear the faint murmur of the clear voice. The problem was with his massive, lingering headache, it only made the sound more vibrant and louder, causing him to wince as his head pound. In all honesty even he had to admit he should be far more used to it by now. It only happened practically every weekend but something about how the pain pulsed rhythmically always stumped him—as if his body was part of a grander machine. What exactly happened last night, again? Oh yeah. Some friends came over. Shit, why do I even call them that? Ah well, a party's a party whether or not you like the people you invite. Was it a good one? I can't remember. Well, there was definitely booze. Check. I believe I found a few pieces of some women's clothing on my way to the bathroom last night. Girls, check. Ugh, just thinking about what kind of music makes my head spin so let's not go there. Jarvis probably put on some predetermined playlist anyway. Check. Couldn't have been a dud so mission accomplished, Tony concluded. Groggy and hurting, he lifted his head barely on inch from his navy satin sheets to find a petite dent right next to him on the bed.
"Don't remember that." He muttered to himself. He lazily rolled his body over to glance at his digital clock. Apparently it was already lunch time and the rumble from the billionaire's stomach agreed.
"Where you saying something to me JARVIS?" he remembered.
"Yes, sir. You have a call waiting for you, but based on your current state, I am not entirely sure you want to contest," Tony could had sworn he heard a mocking tone is JARVIS's voice. Then again, he reasoned it was the alcohol.
Tony thought about it. He was not entirely up to talking to JARVIS let alone anyone else right now, but it was already twelve in the afternoon so to prove he wasn't some lazy-ass and that his previous engagement didn't cripple him, he decided to take it.
"Bring it on, JARVIS." Tony reached for the landline, which was resting on the nightstand beside him, and with great difficulty tried to make out the caller I.D. What the hell does that even say? A bit aggravated, he pressed the 'talk' button anyway.
"What the fuck do you want?"
There was a brief moment of silence before the caller replied. "Mr. Stark."
"No." Tony wanted to feel productive, he didn't want to actually be it.
Undeterred, the professional voice continued, "Mr. Stark, I am calling on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. We assume that you're familiar with our work."
Shit. Not again.
" What do want this time? My money? My fortune? My brains? My advice on how to get laid?" Tony added in a low whisper.
The man on the other line sighed. "Mr. Stark, please, let's take this seriously for a moment—"
"Why should I? Your agency has been nagging my ass for years, for the hell cares why. Is your precious facility finally bankrupt? Is that why you decided needed to urgently call me so fucking early in the morning? How many times do I have to say it? I do not want to become a part of your dumb-ass 'super-secret boy band', who may I add are nothing but a horde of nerds with nothing going for them."
There was a short pause on the line. "Mr. Stark, what's the first element on the periodic table?"
Already aggravated, the simple question caught Tony off guard. His brain felt like it was in overdrive, it wasn't easy trying to string coherent sentences together when you've just had one of the worst hangovers ever, let alone trying to remember his chemistry facts.
"What is the first element on the table, Mr. Stark?" the man asked again, a bit more amused this time.
Tony rolled his eyes, still suspicious at the sudden change in subject. "Easy, Helium."
"That's incorrect."
Tony was taken aback. " No. No, it's not. I'm Tony Stark, the famous and unprecedented engineer, remember? I think I fucking know what I'm talking about."
"The first element is Hydrogen."
"Wait. That's not what you said. You asked for the second element."
The man let out a soft chuckle, "Nice try, Mr. Stark. It seems that you are not exactly aware of what is really going on right now. We will call you back at a more appropriate time—maybe when you haven't drank so much. Expect a call later this evening."
Tony was slightly impressed with the trap, but challenged the man anyway. "And what if I just get drunk again?"
"Not likely. Judging from our little assessment, you must have consumed your entire stock."
Damn. He was good, but Tony would never admit it. In fact, the thought of drinking again made Tony's stomach jolt unpleasantly. Realizing what events were about o take place, Tony whipped out of bed and made for the bathroom. His bodily noises could be heard from the other line and with a click, Agent Coulson ended the call, smiling to himself.
"Any luck, Agent?" Director Fury asked from behind him.
Coulson stood up and shook his head. "I'll call back later."
Phil started to gather his personal belongings from the director's desk. He had another meeting in twenty minutes regarding another individual they wanted for the initiative. So far, Coulson encountered a rather smooth experience with Peter Parker, but the boy was rather young after all. He wasn't expecting it to be too difficult. Tony Stark he knew would take lots more convincing and patience—and he only really got a taste of it. They needed Stark not because of his money, although they were in a financial crisis, but because of his knowledge with equipment, technology, chemistry and really any thing that the man knew about. After all, the Avengers weren't just made of the muscles, but the brains too. Plus, rumor has it that the billionaire was starting a new project, and even though no one new what it consisted of, there was speculation of Tony buying large quantities of various types of metals. So large, that it was tipped S.H.E.I.L.D. off in the first place. Tony Stark was a genius and it was anybody's guess what his next creation would be. Yes, Tony Stark was essential in the Avengers Imitative. And not recruiting him as part of the team is what keeps the agent up at night.
However, he put the subject of Tony in the back of his mind and prepared himself for his meeting. Just as he was about to exit the room, another agency worker whom Phil didn't recognize, poked her head into the room.
"Agent Coulson, your appointment is waiting in the offices downstairs," she stated expertly. She was well built, not too thin or too muscular. She had her hair pulled back in a tight bun and wore the typical dark navy uniform which accented her light blue eyes quiet nicely. Coulson sensed she was a very 'no nonsense' sort of woman based on her tight jaw and curt stance.
"Um, perfect. Thank you." Coulson replied.
"Agent Coulson, this is Agent Hill," Director Fury said from his desk. "I personally recruited her as a member of the extensive Avengers team. She will be overseeing orders, and eventually given some sort of title, but me first have to wait to see who is on the team."
Well this is sudden news, Coulson thought. He hoped that he didn't appear to the director as overwhelmed and busy, but maybe having some help will ease some stress. Coulson offered his hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Agent Hill."
"Likewise." Agent Hill responded, staring at Phil's out stretched hand, not remotely interested in shaking it.
Coulson could feel the awkwardness of the situation of his hand still extended in the open. He tried to cover it up, "I know there's a bug going around, but I can assure you I'm not sick."
Agent Hill's mouth twitched, "I know."
Not expecting for there to be a quick handshake anytime soon, Coulson subtly put his hand into his pocket. Okay, not a fan of any physical contact. Good to know. Director Fury smirked at the uncomfortable introductions. They were his favorite. The two agents stood in silence, each eying each other, each trying to figure the other out. Typical, Fury thought.
"Agent Coulson, don't you have somewhere to be?" Director Fury asked.
Phil cleared his throat, "Yes, of course. I'll report back to you once I'm finished."
With that, he exited the room and speed walked down the stairs. He straightened his tie and fixed his sunglasses. He was supposed to meet another scientist—a female this time—who had a knack for researching and studying planets, stars, galaxies, you name it. It was perfect for the supernatural side of the initiative. Keeping an eye out on where he was going, Coulson reached in his suitcase for the woman's file. He grabbed the dull pink one and didn't some last minute reading. She was 19, with a full ride scholarship to U.C. Berkley. Impressive. She had a very long list of awards and recognitions, even for someone so young. Well, not as young as Spider-Man, he reminded himself. Still, young enough for this job to take her life by storm and change it.
He arrived at the office, D103, took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Hello, Ms. Foster. It's—" and Coulson suddenly stopped. There was no one in the room. There was a purse and a binder on the table, but no women behind it. He glance around the room and around the hallway. She was nowhere to be seen. He looked down at his watch, it was already ten minutes passed the time they were supposed to meet.
"That's weird-" and once again the agent was cut off, but this time by a startled scream coming from the level above, followed by the sound of bullets. Alarmed, Coulson was about to head up the stairs again, until he was interrupted by a vibrating sensation in his pocket. He picked up his phone.
"Hello?" he answered
"Coulson, this is Hill," a women's voice said.
"What the hell happened up there?"
"It seems there was a security breech and you're not going to believe who caused it." Agent Hill, replied, sounding quite surprised herself.
"Who?" Couslon asked, plugging one ear to hear his fellow teammate correctly since there was lots of animated chatter in the neighboring offices.
"I'm not sure what her name was, but she's one of the people that S.H.E.I.L.D is trying recruit of the initiative, based on the files Fury gave you. She had bright red hair and that's all I got out of the glimpse of her. She was too fast."
"Shit, Barton." Coulson muttered to himself, raking his hands in his hair.
"Excuse me?" Agent Hill said angrily.
'Um, sorry. No, that was not for you. I was talking to myself." He apologized. This was not how he intended his plan to go. At all. This was going to be one of those bad days. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman with light brown hair and round eyes—must be Jane Foster- entering the abandoned office, looking disappointed that no one was there yet.
"So you know something about this?" Agent Hill demanded, snapping him back to the conversation.
Coulson sighed, "Yes, I do. But I don't have time to explain. Ms. Foster is finally here. Just—just access the tapes of the assessments that we've conducted so far for the initiative. You'll find one under the name 'Barton, Clint'. It was conducted a few days ago. Watch it and you'll see what I'm talking about."
"Okay, but who was the woman?"
"That," Phil replied, gritting his teeth, "was the Black Widow."
Silence ensued on the other line. "You're joking."
Once again, Coulson sighed—even deeper this time. "Agent Hill, I really wish I was."
"Fury's going to kill you in your sleep."
Coulson clenched his jaw, "Not if I can help it. He's the one who put her on the list. It's his problem if she doesn't want to cooperate. I got to go. Watch the tapes."
Agent Coulson ended the call and entered the office, finally seeing a woman behind her purse and binder.
"Sorry about that, Ms. Foster. That usually doesn't occur." Coulson said with a sad smile then shut the door behind him.
