Author's Note: Today's the day! Exam day! If you don't remember what the heck I'm talking about, I suggest you go back and reread the previous chapters. Please review and tell me what you think. Chapter 11 will come sooner if you do! Spoilers for all of the AOS episodes currently aired and the Avengers. Disclaimer: I do not own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
The atmosphere in the training centre was tense and electrified. All of the other rookies, too nervous to sit down, lined the walls. I was content sitting alone drinking my weak coffee. First up on the agenda was our psychology test, the only separate component of the entire day. The explosive diffusal test would be combined with the combat test. Each rookie would go through the course separately. To my delight, there was a woman standing with a large camera, who would be taking pictures of us during the test and afterwards when we finished.
"Good morning, rookies!" Agent Hill shouted, taking her place at the front of the room. "I hope you all are very well prepared. Before we start, do we have any volunteers to go first?"
A few scattered hands shot up. Mostly burly and overconfident dudes who wanted to get noticed by the senior agents who would be placed throughout the course to monitor our progress. Secretly, I wanted one of them to break a nose or something to knock all of them down a few pegs. That would sober up the occasion. She picked the most obnoxious boy to go first. A few of his friends whooped and hollered as he stepped into the adjoining room and shut the heavy metal door. We weren't allowed to watch any of the tests, and we would be isolated from the others once we finished to keep the cheating to a minimum. The tests were a big deal around here.
After about an hour and a half, the group of seven dwindled until there were only two of us left. Me and one of the quieter, less unpleasant boys. Vaguely, I remembered that he did particularly well in the psychology course.
"Skye!" Hill called, appearing at the door, clipboard in hand. Clearly she had forgotten that she was the one to suggested that I give her a last name she could address me by. I was 'Skye' to her now. Oh well, I'd be leaving soon.
Exhaling heavily, I followed her through the metal door and stopped when I hit the line of red tape. This was the room that had been off limits to us during training. I could see why. It was a long and narrow room, primarily made of concrete, with steel rafters and walkways swerving through it. Meant for the test.
"Part A...psychology," she told me, stationing herself behind a panel of glass that was supposed to be the judging booth.
"Got it," I confirmed. A shrill buzzer sounded. I stepped over the red marker and walked deeper into the room. It reminded me of a warehouse of sorts. On high alert, I looked around constantly, ready for any kind of trouble. A bang echoed from the other side of the room. A man dressed in black wielding a fake butcher knife came into view. My first suspect. And I had to talk him down. I was ready, and in a split second all of my training kicked it. Let's do this.
Without as much as a second thought, I breezed past the psychology portion, which surprised me, because I really didn't pay much attention in that class. The combat and explosives test came next. Following a discrete paper arrow on the wall, I climbed the stairs and found myself in a small fortress-like building. There were guards there. Actually, they were senior agents pretending to be guards. Three of them converged on me, pointing their unloaded handguns. Quickly I took them out. They fell like dominoes. Past their still bodies, I could see a small package, half-hidden by a nylon cover and a shelf. My bomb.
"Yellow with red, Fred is dead. Red with yellow, he's a happy fellow," I recited, picking up a pair of wire clippers that were conveniently strewn on the floor not far from the explosive. As carefully as possible, I had to lift the main circuit board and cut the correct wire, making sure not to touch anything else in the process. That could set it off accidentally. It was flashing red and emitted a periodic beep. A tiny timer said that I only had four minutes to disable it before it would detonate. My hands started to shake as I reached for the cover. This wasn't the time.
Steadying myself with a deep breath, I tried again. This time it worked, and I cut the right wire quickly and smoothly. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a grey-clad figure. It was Dr. Browning. An almost invisible smile lit up his face. He couldn't show favouritism when it came to the test. I had to move on or I'd run out of time.
I made it out of the fortress building without incident. No other agents were there to challenge me. The end of the test was in sight. There was the same red tape and metal door less than fifty meters away. I broke into a sprint, desperate to finish this test. All I wanted to do was go home. A few steps away from the end, a familiar shadow jumped out, almost cat-like. Not even looking at the flaming red hair, I could tell that it was Agent Romanoff. I had to fight my instructor.
She stood in a defensive stance, shifting her weight between her feet, arms raised. With all my strength, I threw my best punch, heading straight towards her face. She caught my hand easily, twisting my arm and wrapping herself behind me, pinning my arms. I knew exactly what to do, and it wasn't what she taught me. It was Grant who did.
The skill I fought so hard to master, and finally did. In a fraction of a second without thinking about what I was doing, I had Agent Romanoff's arms pinned to her sides. I gave her a hard shove in the shoulder and she fell to the ground.
Puffing slightly, I put the heel of my boot on her ribcage to keep her pinned.
"You've done it, Skye. You're done. Go," she wheezed, not even trying to move.
"Thank you, Agent Romanoff. It's been a pleasure." I turned and crossed the finish line. The buzzer sounded again. The sound of cheering hit me as I opened the door.
A crowd stood collectively on the other side. I counted sixteen people. My seven fellow rookies, Dr. Browning and my psychology instructor, Agent Hill, Director Fury, and the Avengers, minus Agent Romanoff. Definitely a crowd. Director Fury stepped towards me.
"It is my honour to present you with your Agent status," Fury told me, handing over a small manila envelope. I ripped the top open carefully. In it was a certificate of sorts, confirming the results of my field exam. I struggled to breathe for a moment. I did it. I passed.
"We were sure that you would pass, so we printed it early," Agent Hill added, a small smile flashing across her face.
Moving any farther was a huge effort. Trying to hide my fatigue, I shook everybody's hands and thanked them. Surely no other agent in my class got a cheering section as big as mine.
"Thank you for everything. I appreciate it. Now if you excuse me, I have to go start packing."
"I suggest you take a nap first," Dr. Browning said. "You look a little beat."
"That sounds like..." I began, but a young man walked in, carrying in a large camera.
"Sorry to bother you, but could I get a picture of all of you?" he asked, placing his equipment down. "For the Wall of Fame?"
The group assembled around me, smiling.
"Say cheese!" A bright flash went off. "Perfect." The man left quickly.
Agent. Agent status. Agent Skye, Level One. It was all surreal. In two days time I would be back on the Bus. Where I belonged and where I could make a difference.
"You have been an exemplary student, Agent," Hill said. "Tomorrow you can join Barton and Romanoff on a Level One mission if you would like."
"I wouldn't miss it," I replied, shooting a glance at Agent Barton. He looked pleased. "If you don't mind, I'll go take that nap now." They all laughed and nodded, waving goodbye.
There was no single word to describe how I was feeling. Utterly exhausted, satisfied, elated. All of them flashed through my head. And I would be getting that picture to fill my frame. I had accomplished more than one thing today. I guess I earned a nap.
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The clock beside my bed read 5:23 p.m. when I woke up. I had been asleep for more than six hours. That was way more time than the average nap. It was dinner time now. My classmates were in a variety of states when I saw them in the cafeteria. Some were half-asleep on the tables; others sported blossoming bruises and bloody bandages. All of them had made it through the course and passed. That had to be some kind of record. By now, word had gotten out about my cheering squad. A few looked at me with displeasure. "The special one" again, no doubt. Well, I was the one who go through without the injuries, so I guess I was special.
Rookie of the year. Most likely to succeed. It was high school all over again, without the braces and the bad perms. But no yearbook. I never stuck around long enough to get one of those, but I didn't mind. It was another reminder of the normalcy I never had.
The next afternoon came around way too soon. It was the day of my Level One mission, and I had to report for duty at four o'clock. I had a feeling that it either would go really well or very, terribly wrong. With the Helicarrier in the air, we would be taking off in a smaller plane from the deck to get to our location. Barton and Romanoff were already in the foyer when I arrived, with their S.H.I.E.L.D. gear on and weapons in hand. For once, I didn't look out of place. They turned around and started walking to the cargo hold before I had the chance to reach them, so I had to run and catch up. Quietly, I heard Agent Romanoff mutter to her partner:
"Definitely rookie of the year, Barton."
"Agreed. Likeable, but a bit of a suck-up."
"Hey! I can hear you from over here!" I said loudly, trying to defend myself. They both looked over at the same second.
"That was constructive criticism, Agent," Romanoff said coolly, allowing me to climb into the Quinjet first. "Learn to deal with it."
The plane was much smaller than the Bus, and its interior was simply furnished, but I think that's why S.H.I.E.L.D. preferred to take it on missions. Most of it was built for cargo storage, but there was a row of seats lining one side and a few scattered windows that you could see out of.
"Prepare for takeoff," said a monotonous voice over the intercom. "We will be departing from runway E shortly, and are scheduled to land in Nevada in six hours."
We took our seats. Agent Romanoff pulled out a book, while Agent Barton began to clean his bow. She was reading a thick hardcover with intricate patterns scrawled on the front. A Modern History of Russian Art. So, Shakespeare and European art. Very interesting.
"Here's the lowdown on the mission, Skye," Agent Barton said to me, not taking his eyes of his bow. "It's fairly simple, in-and-out procedure. We have to retrieve an undercover S.H.E.L.D. agent who needs help identifying a 0-8-4. It was identified as low-risk, but anything can happen on these sorts of mission. The agent is stationed at the Victorian Hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. She's been undercover for four months, and has the device in her possession. It belonged to a known drug king-pin, who was killed last July. The device passed through many people's hands until she got it, and she couldn't verify the content of the object."
"What kind of device are we looking at?" I asked.
"A computer hard-drive. I take it that you are familiar with those?"
"Very. Unless it's rigged with an explosive, I highly doubt that it will be very dangerous. Not much can be packed onto those little things."
"Good to know."
The rest of the flight was silent. As we prepared to land, I could see the magnificent lights downtown Las Vegas in the distance. Around us was all dust and desert and we landed on the only strip of asphalt within am eight mile radius. From there, the three of us took a discrete black car, which was waiting for us when we arrived, to our location. We took the roads with the least traffic and ended up in a back alley behind the Victorian Hotel.
"Agent Barton will lead the way," Romanoff commanded as I stepped out of the car. As soon as we get there, Skye, you will check for any traces of explosives on the device and analyze the content of the hard-drive."
"Yes ma'am!" I said firmly, taking off at a jog after him. After a minute he stopped in front of the back door of what I presumed to be the kitchen. He rapped his knuckles loudly against the metal only once. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a slim woman with black hair, who held a black-wrapped package.
"Good evening, Agent McCreary," he greeted her, his eyes flicking to the device. "On time, as usual. I believe it is time to get this over with."
"It's been a while, Barton. No longer working undercover, I see. I'm glad you haven't grown soft," she replied, moving away from the door. "Romanoff." Her tone was clipped when she said her name. I got the feeling that they weren't best of friends.
"This is our Junior Agent Skye. Inducted into the ranks just yesterday."
"Congratulations," said briskly, her eyes narrowing when she saw me. "We need to get moving. I don't have much time."
Romanoff handed me a small laptop and I took the hard-drive from Agent McCreary. It took only a few seconds for me to determine that there was absolutely nothing on the device. It had been wiped clean, and there certainly wasn't any explosive attached.
"It's clean," I announced, giving back the device. "Completely wiped of any evidence, no explosive."
"Excellent. Our work here is done then," Barton declared. "Anything else for us, Agent?"
"Nothing, Agent Barton. You are free to leave. Thank you for your quick work. I have to return the package before the owner realizes that it is missing."
"When is your op finished?" he asked.
"In about two weeks. I'm still waiting for confirmation from Director Fury. He isn't quite as organized as Agent Coulson was."
Barton and Romanoff stifled coughs. McCreary was oblivious to what had happened on the Helicarrier recently. She didn't pay attention to them. Good.
"Well, this is goodbye. Thank you again," she said, slipping back through the door.
That was a close call.
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"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" Romanoff asked as we re-boarded the plane. She was clearly attempting to seem interested.
"At noon," I replied, as brightly as I could. She sat in the seat next to me.
"Good work tonight," she commented nonchalantly, resuming her reading.
"Was that a compliment?"
"What is the definition of compliment, Agent?"
"A polite expression of praise or admiration."
"Then I believe that it can be qualified as such," she stated.
"Okay then."
How the pilot managed to land on the deck of the Helicarrier while it was still in the air was beyond me. It must have some super advanced mechanisms to lock the wheels on the pavement or something.
"You're going back into Agent Coulson's domain correct?" she asked as we stepped inside the Helicarrier once again. "Back to your team?"
"Back to the Bus, yes. They'll be meeting us at the California Oakley Airforce Base."
"Terrific. However, if I hear that you and Agent Ward are romantically involved, I will personally come to kill you. Slowly and painfully. Am I clear?"
"What made you come up with that idea? He's my Supervising Officer, not my partner. We're just friends, honestly."
"I had a feeling that you guys were close. We'll see how that works out."
"Coulson would probably get to us first before you would have the chance to load your gun. He's strict about that kind of stuff."
"Don't put your money on it, Agent," she said, giving me one last look and walking away. Heat rose to my cheeks. Oh my gosh. Thank goodness that was over. As I made my way back to my room for the last time, I began to wonder if she was right. Was this all I was? Missions and computers?
A photo was underneath my door as I walked in. The one taken yesterday at the end of the test. Written neatly on the back in blank ink was a caption. Agent Skye, Rookie Class of 2013. S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, location classified. With a sense of satisfaction, I slid it into my picture frame, which was no longer empty. And I went to sleep with a smile on my face.
Author's Note: I hope you guys liked this chapter. Yes, Skye will be reunited with the team in the next chapter. I was veering dangerously close to the Avengers crossover border, but I think we're safe. We're saying goodbye to Clint and Natasha for now. See you soon!