A/N: Hello, and welcome to my new story, the first in hopefully a 2-part series! This is gonna be a Natasha Romanoff x Female OC, so for those of you who like it, enjoy. Those of you that don't...well you probably haven't read this far. This story will have some dark themes late one, but I shall place a warning on any chapter that contains anything untoward. So I do hope you all enjoy this first part and hope to see more. If you like it, please feel free to fav/follow, and leave a review with any thoughts! Enjoy
Head up; this story takes place BEFORE Captain America: The Winter Soldier. We're talking early days Marvel here, enjoy!
Chapter One
A hangover was never a fun way to start any day. That is why, on this particular day, she was not looking forward to the scolding she would receive from her boss. Three overdue mission reports would do that. And rumours that you've raided the stationery cupboard of all its sticky notes and ball point pens just exasperated the situation.
"I know I'm late, but," Charlie Miles called as she entered the office on the twelfth floor. "I brought coffee and cake for everyone." The young female walked into the large office space in the MI6 building in London, both hands carrying trays of coffee cups, arms ladled with paper bags stained with grease. Heads turned and voice of thanks were raised as she placed the relevant drink orders and preferred cakes with the right people.
After any long weekend off, this was the regularly following event: a weekend of too much alcohol, bad decisions and fast food, and she would arrive late on Monday morning, ladled with coffee as an apology.
Despite ignoring her alarm three times, she'd managed to throw herself into the shower and make herself somewhat presentable, dressing in dark slim work trousers and a striped long sleeve shirt. She'd managed to scrub the smell of last night's tequila and doner kebab from her hair.
She began handing out the paper cups of caffeine and dishing out the various breakfast pastries.
"Nine forty-five," Her friend Ellen raised a brow as a steaming cup and pastry were placed in front of her. "You're actually pretty early going by your standards,"
"Yeah well I reckoned Harris wouldn't be in yet." Charlie tossed her grey coat over the back of her seat and sat down. "I saw him last night down the Crown, drunk as an uncle at a wedding. Looked pretty bad so figured I'd be here before him for once." Charlie scraped her dark blonde hair to the back of her head in a pony tail before taking a long gulp of her hot coffee.
"Late one?" Ellen asked, chopping on her croissant.
"I'm not going to lie, I don't actually think I went to bed. I remember getting home, but I'm pretty sure I sorta zoned out standing up in the living room. Don't actually remember getting out of the bed this morning, just the alarms going off."
"Figures," Ellen smirked. "Oh, and you didn't beat Harris in. He came in at eight, considerably worse looking that you-."
"The amount of spirits he was having, not surprising."
"-he's in his office now with someone from another agency. And you can definitely not comment on the amount of drinks a person has,"
This peaked Charlie's interest. They rarely got visitors on their floor, unless it was someone from head office asking why they were going through so many office supplies.
"And don't think he hasn't forgotten about the Wolverhampton report, either. He's getting tetchy, and that was before this guy showed up." Ellen hummed. Charlie spun in her seat and began to log into her workstation computer. It was barely past the loading screen, when the glass door to Mr. Harris's office opened.
"Miles, in here please." Charlie grimaced.
Mr Harris was like most bosses – a total ass. In his late fifties with greying hair, too thick glasses, and inappropriate words to young female colleagues at office parties. She just hoped he hadn't been sober enough in the Crown last night – her turn on the karaoke machine wasn't her best performance. But a night of drinking would make anyone think they could sing Bohemia Rhapsody perfectly. Tequila will do that to a person.
Charlie stepped into the office, hands clasped behind her back as Mr. Harris sat back behind his desk. A glass of water and the over-the-counter pain killers on his desk suggested his hangover was much worse than hers.
"Miles, this is Agent Coulson. He wants a word." Mr. Harris rested his hand in his head, clearly not leaving the office to give them some privacy. The man in question, Agent Coulson, was a dark haired male, who pursed his lips when Harris didn't leave.
"Well, we'll do this here then." He spoke with an American accent. "I've been sent to pass on a message to you," Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"You American's ever heard of an email?" She joked, rolling her eyes when she heard Mr. Harris huff at her humour. Coulson, however, chuckled.
"He said you'd say something like that," Charlie frowned. "I've been sent here by the head of S.H.I.E.L.D., Director Nicholas Fury." Charlie's face split into a grin.
"Nick! He's in town?"
"He is. He asked me to tell you to meet him at your usual spot, at noon today. He said leave your bad jokes here, however."
"He never appreciates my jokes," Charlie chuckled. Harris just huffed again from his desk chair.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8
"Jolly Saint Nick!" The voice rang out, and the imposing man on the steps of the building groaned internally, but still smiled. Charlie Miles approached the man and accepted the hug he offered. "It's been too long."
"Damn right." Nick let go and held her by the arms, examining her. "Look at you, all grown up. And actually doing your job."
"Questionable – but yeah." Charlie grinned. They sat down on the steps to the old stone building. It was nestled just off a busy main road in central London. It was dilapidated now; only rough sleepers and pigeons occupying the space. It may have been grand once, but even its sorry state, it was still impressive to Charlie.
"How you been holding up?" Nick Fury asked, eyeing up the young girl with his one eye.
"Pretty good. Work's good. Finally got rid of the mould in my kitchen – did you get my postcard with the picture? – and I'm one stamp away from a free coffee. Life's good to me." Charlie smiled, but Nick knew her too well.
"Let's not pretend the world is all smelling of roses right now. You know why I'm here."
"If it's about the stationary issue, I swear those rubber bands were already in a ball when I found them." She held her hands up. "And the window was a complete accident, on my part."
Nick narrowed his eye. "Don't joke around with me, Miles. I'm talking about the Berlin job."
"I know you're talking about Berlin. But let's forget Berlin shall we? There's a sandwich shop round the corner from here, does a great meatball sub, which I think you'll like." She stood up and jabbed her thumb in the direction. "We could go now if you like? I'll treat you."
"Sit your ass down now," Nick grumbled, not in the mood for her childish behaviour. Charlie sat down in a huff and stared out across the street, watching the passers-by. "I didn't come all the way out here to eat a damn meatball sub and talk about your social life. I'm here to offer you a job, Miles."
Charlie's ears pricked, and she turned to her old friend.
"A job? Hate to break to you mate, you already got me a job, remember?" Charlie pulled out her work pass and lanyard. Nick resisted the urge to groan aloud.
"No, I got your damn ass an education and recommended you for an internship. You turned that into a job. See what you can accomplish with a little dedication?"
"Shame I can't say the same about my gym membership." Charlie grinned. "So what top secret world class spy shit you want me to do?" Charlie smiled brightly, and Nick studied her.
Nicholas Fury had known the girl for now eight years. He could still remember the scared shitless sixteen year old he met outside this very building in the rain. Now, at twenty four, she was still a pain in the ass. He was proud of her, but she was still a pain. He just hoped he was doing the right thing, and that the rumours that were floating around were wrong about the girl.
"Pack your bags, you're going to New York."