Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, I've had complete writing block when it came to this story.

As usual, I don't own AoS or Marvel etc.

"Request granted."

May looked at Fury in surprise. When she'd come to his office that morning with a request to be put forward for flying school, she'd expected some kind of resistance. Something revolving around her prank history or the fact she had only been there a few weeks and he didn't know if she would be right for the role. But without hesitation, he had accepted her application, no qualms.

"Really?" She wanted to laugh with happiness. "Thank you Sir."

Fury nodded, and indicated for her to take a seat. She did so almost warily, having been in the office only once previously in the time she'd been there, and having not spoken to him since. The soft leather of the chair made her feely slightly more at ease, and she watched as Fury leant back in his own chair to observe her carefully. He was silent for a while, and beginning to feel slightly like she was under scrutiny, she glanced around the office instead of meeting his eye.

Considering he was the leader of the academy, and a high authority figure within S.H.I.E.L.D, there was very little of sentimental value on display. He must have been through an extreme number of experiences during his time as a field agent, but there was nothing in the room to indicate any sort of attachment to the facility or his life. She guessed that maybe it was something agents learned over time – to not become attached to materialistic possessions. It was certainly bare. There were no photographs of him with friends or family members, no pretentious artwork on display to show off to visitors, no useless trinkets littering the shelves around her. It was a stark contrast to Coulson's office, which she knew from her brief exploration a couple of months back, was filled with his collection of memorabilia dedicated to Steve Rogers. At least that room felt lived in. This office felt almost sterile.

She glanced back to Fury, and found him watching her take in their surroundings carefully.

"Boring, isn't it?" he asked quietly. She wasn't sure whether it was rude to agree or not.

"It's very minimalist" she finally said, deciding that was the most polite way of putting it. It seemed to be the right answer.

"Keeps the mind focused when there are no outlying distractions."

She nodded. Somehow, it felt like he wasn't just talking about his taste in décor.

"But I know you're not here to discuss interior design Agent May" he continued quietly. "Your request to join the flying school has come at an interesting time. Recent developments and events within the organisation, including your little taste of flying with an unconscious pilot, have led to multiple discussions and decisions being made as to the abilities of future agents. As the age of technology advances, it brings not only an infinite number of possibilities for assisting us with our fight, but also a great many problems. Technology presents as much of a threat to us as it does help us."

May listened intently, not all too sure where he was heading, but feeling interested all the same. As soon as he'd said she could learn to pilot, she'd known it was exactly the right thing for her to be doing.

"The autopilot system is being used more and more frequently" Fury continued, leaning forwards and placing both hands on the edge of his glass desk. "But this means that there is a much higher chance of it being hijacked in technological terms."

"You're talking about cybernetic attacks?"

"Yes. I'm talking about signals being released that jam the radio channels; I'm talking about viruses being implanted within the actual electronic systems on the aircraft. It's a bigger and more realistic danger now because of the reliance on such technology growing. So," Fury stood from his chair, and began pacing his office slowly. "It has been decided that as of next year, all new cadets will be trained in basic aeronautic skills. Each agent will take level 1 flying lessons, and will be examined on the components and technical requirements needed to take off and land aircraft."

May sat back and absorbed what he was saying. It made sense. Flying that plane without any training had been terrifying, and she hated to think what could have happened if they had been unable to get through on the radio to ask for help. Having all agents trained even just to a basic level, was a logical decision.

"It's a good idea, Sir."

"As you are not a first year, this wouldn't usually be offered to you. But as you've requested it I see no issues at all. Would you be willing to start next week?"

"Next week?!" May raised her eyebrows in surprise. She couldn't believe she'd be learning that soon – she'd thought it would have been at least a month before she'd even be able to get onto the course.

"Yes Agent May, and if you have the natural ability to fly, like those involved in your last adventure say you do, then by the time next year's intake enter the flying school I expect you to be well on your way to becoming a fully qualified pilot. If you start now, it will be quiet, and you'll receive one-on-one training with the instructors. Next year each lesson will have multiple students."

It was a good deal, definitely, but it seemed almost too good to be true.

"What's the catch?"

The look he gave told her she'd been right thinking it wasn't going to be so easy.

"I wouldn't call it a catch as such" he replied, turning to face her from where he stood by the large windows overlooking campus. "Flying school would have to be fit around your schedule, which I am aware is currently quite full. It would therefore eat up your evenings and free time at weekends. If you do this then you are committed to it."

That seemed acceptable to her. She'd known it wasn't going to just be handed to her. But could she cope with having no free time at all?

"What about the extra training I'm doing with my SO?" she asked. If this was eating into her evenings, when would she train?

"I shall inform Agent Coulson of your new role, but I expect your training with him to continue. You may have to do so on Sundays, you may have to do so at night, but I don't want to see a drop in your grades or attendance. Chances are, he'll have to run separate sessions sometimes for each of yourself and Agent Barton, but it needs to be done."

She exhaled slowly. He was right. It wasn't going to be easy to keep up with everything, and she'd never been an academic overachiever anyway. But if she wanted it, she'd have to make it work. Anyway, one on one training with Coulson wouldn't be so bad…

"Can you cope with the extra-workload?"

"Yes Sir," she smiled, "I'm in."

Phil watched as John ordered a third bottle of beer, and groaned. The bar they were in was small, with only about ten tables set out across the stone floor, each one occupied. The walls surrounding them were littered with photographs and memorabilia of various old school movie stars and singers, and a sign in the corner informed them that Friday night would feature an ABBA tribute band. Phil made a mental note to avoid the place that night. The rest of the room was dimly lit, with small yellow-glowing lamps placed on each table and across the bar, and a fan spun lazily across the ceiling. Despite it being past nine, it was still warm out, and it was humid too, so the fan provided some much needed cool relief – as did the ice-cold drinks in front of them.

The two had finished their fourth day together in Argentina, and had finally got somewhere with the mission they were on. Multiple illegally modified weapons had been recovered, thanks to John's undercover guise seeming believable enough to those who offered bribes to pass the checkpoint without search; however there had been no evidence to confirm who was orchestrating the movement.

Phil had spent most of his time during the last few days divided between liaising with Argentinian police, and sitting in a small interrogation room opposite from his main suspect. Lackwell had in fairness opened up a lot more since Phil's arrival, and Fury had been right in thinking that the previous rapport the two had built up would result in him being the most qualified as such to talk to the man. However, one thing Phil had noticed was that this time around, Lackwell not only appeared to be more determined to not spill, but also he seemed more afraid. Phil couldn't get him to say who it was he was scared of however, but he had high suspicions whoever was organising the trade had threatened each of the men they had pulled into custody, and none were prepared to give the name up any time soon. He also doubted that Lackwell was going to give him the name at all.

He sighed and took a gulp of his own beer. It was light and refreshing, and he could feel himself beginning to relax slightly in the chilled atmosphere.

"Should you be having another one of those?" he muttered, gesturing to the lager in Garrett's glass.

"Hey, it's good stuff remember."

"I remember" Phil replied, "I also remember how strong it is. You recall that mission in Peru?"

"Not really" he grinned, gulping down some more.

"Exactly." Phil tried not to smirk. "That's because you drank five pints of it and got so wasted I practically ended up dragging you back to the hotel."

John grinned and gave him a wink. "Good night though."

"No it wasn't."

Phil distinctly recalled not only feeling like he was babysitting a fully grown and extremely drunken man, but also spending several hours trying to convince Garrett that taking two waitresses from the local pizza place they had been to back to the hotel with them in order to "show them our badges", was not generally considered an acceptable way for S.H.I.E.L.D agents on a mission to spend their evening. Especially as Phil and John were supposed to be sharing a room; Phil had had no desire whatsoever to be privy to that sort of action.

John snorted a laugh, as though he knew exactly what Phil was thinking about.

"You need to lighten up Phil" he chortled, downing the rest of his pint in a loud gulp. "Have a few more drinks, let loose a little, break the rules for once."

"You sound like May and Barton" Phil groaned. "They live like rules are made to be broken."

"Your rookies have some sense then." He caught the attention of the man serving them – a tall Argentinian guy who must have been no older than eighteen – and motioned for another round to be brought out. Phil shook his head, knowing exactly how the evening was going to end up, and dreading the next morning when he'd have to return to interview Lackwell slightly hung-over.

He also couldn't help but notice that the guy behind the bar seemed to have been listening rather intently to their conversation, and he mentally reminded himself that discussions of missions and the illegal arms trade were probably not common place in a small family-run place like the one they were in. As talking in a lower volume was out of the question with John, who didn't have a quiet bone in his body, Phil decided they'd needed to change the subject before they drew attention to themselves. It didn't help being dressed in shirts and suit pants, whilst all the locals wore simply vest tops and shorts. They stuck out like a sore thumb.

"How's puppy-walking going anyway?" Garrett asked, once the man had served them and walked away.

"Good" he replied, pushing his bottle around the table in front of him. "Although they know how to wind me up."

"Barton been up to his pranking again?"

"Well, last week I showered and ended up with purple hair, and then my car radio was hijacked to play the same song over and over again."

"Wish I'd seen that hair" he grinned. "And you think it was him?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure it was either him or May, although I've got no proof."

"In that case" Garrett looked at him with a smirk. "You need to get them back."

Phil stared at him. He'd never really been an instigator in pranking when he was lower level, but now he was a level 5 supervising officer it seemed even more insane.

"I can't…not now. Fury has trusted me with them."

"He doesn't have to know, and anyway, he's hardly likely to suspect you, that's what's so great about it."

He thought about it. It would be good to wipe the smug smiles off of their faces just once.

"Go on then" he agreed, knowing full well he was going to regret this decision in the months to come.

"Brilliant. I'll drink to that!"

They clinked their bottles together, and Phil's mind began to whir with possibilities.

"You're going to flying school? Okay, I am officially jealous!" Barton was listening with a look of awe on his face as May relayed how her meeting with Fury the previous day had gone. The two of them were in the gym area, along with Natasha and Maria. They were supposed to be training – tonight was another cardio night - but no supervising officer present to tell them what to do during the past week had resulted in a rather lax schedule. So, naturally, the four agents were sprawled out across the crash mats they had decided to use as cushions.

"You could come too?" May replied. Despite this being her dream, it would be nice to have somebody on the course with her that she knew.

Maria on the other hand snorted, and Barton threw a fake scowl her way.

"You'd trust him with a plane? Are you having a laugh?"

"Rude."

"True though."

"Even so" he grinned. "Rude."

Natasha patted his arm in mock comfort. "I think what she means is, you have other talents?"

"No Tash, what she means is, I'll probably steal the plane during the night, joyride it across the country, and bring it back painted in the colours of the rainbow and smelling of popcorn or something."

"That is exactly what I meant" Maria replied deadpan, and they all laughed.

"Seriously though" May carried on once they'd calmed down again. "Fury said that all new agents will be receiving pilot training automatically, starting next enrolment, so soon it's going to be mandatory anyway."

"And everyone will be able to do it except us and higher level agents?" Maria said, shaking her head slightly with a frown.

"Pretty much."

"That seems wrong somehow."

"I know."

"Well" Natasha said brightly, hopping to her feet and heading over to the punch bag, Clint following behind her like a puppy. "It wouldn't hurt to have a little bit of training would it? You reckon he'd let us all into the programme, just till we learnt the basics?"

"I'm sure he'd be thrilled" May grinned back. She could just picture Fury's face when he realised that their flying class could be made up of a Russian assassin-turned-agent with a penchant for deception, a serial prankster with perfect marksman skills and a questionable taste in humour, a studious yet slightly sarcastic and party-loving agent who took shit from no-one, and a trainee who got transferred for choking her old SO half to death with confetti.

They would make one hell of a team