UPDATE AS OF 6/8/2020: I should also just say I've officially changed the PoV and tense of the story. Originally I tried to keep it past tense, third person, but ah, that's not really my style. So I flipped it!

That's how it was for me and Natasha. We were a good pair.

We were, until the Battle of New York. Until Coulson died. Natasha went off—with her best regards to me—and became an Avenger. She went off with Barton, another high-level Agent, and watched over the world.

I was stuck being a paper pusher. Not that I want to be. Maria Hill keeps saying it's because there aren't any missions that require my, "high level of agency." I sense a, "high level," of bullshit, but know better than to mouth off at a superior. I also know sitting at a desk isn't my strongest suit. I need to walk, to move, to do something. Yet, here I am. Sitting. Waiting.

It's a Monday. I'm working on a file for the Operations Academy. Normal stuff. Rejects, acceptances, highest ranking, lowest ranking, etc. I just set an acceptance letter atop the pile when an agent says Maria Hill would like to speak with me.

Confused, I leave my desk, not bothering to fix up the mess of papers scattered about—they'd be there when I came back—and head to Maria's office. A long walk. One that I'm happy about. It's better than sitting and doing nothing. When I reach the office, my eyes gaze over the name plaque on the door.

MARIA HILL
SHIELD AGENT
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR

Tentatively, I knock on the wood.

"Come in!" Hill's voice says from inside.

I twist the knob and take a step through the frame. I've only been here once before, and that was when I was barely a Level One agent.

"Good morning, agent Carter." Hill greets from her desk. She scribbles furiously on a piece of paper.

"You as well, agent Hill." I reply smoothly, my British accent crisp and curt.

"Take a seat." Hill's ballpoint pen points to the red chair in front of the desk. I tentatively sit down. I still don't know why I'm here. When people get called to the office, they've either done something incredibly stupid or incredibly smart. I'm hoping for the latter, but can't come up with a reason.

The second Maria finishes writing, the pen is dropped on the paper and her eyes shoot up to mine.

"Agent Carter, do you know why you're here?"

I gulp. "No, ma'am."

"Good."

I raise an eyebrow. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No, agent. In fact, you've been doing incredibly well."

"Then why am I here?" While we've worked together quite a bit, this isn't a friendly call.

"I'm here to offer you a job. You aren't required to take it, but it's in your best interest to accept."

I openly stare, and Maria continues, "We're forming a team."

"What? Like the Avengers?"

"No. Nothing that high. It's a group of fully trained, Level 7 operations agents, some of our Level 5 science and technology agents, and the boss. A mobile command unit."

"But I'm only Level 6."

The door opens behind me. "Welcome to Level 7." A familiar voice rings through at the door, and I turn in my seat.

Agent Coulson.

The Phil Coulson. The one I was assigned to two years before, with Romanoff.

I stare as the door swings shut behind him. In awe or confusion or anger, I don't know. He was dead. Well, he was supposed to be.

"Hi." Coulson greets cheerfully, as if no time passed. As if he didn't die.

I don't reply.

"I know this must be... Weird, to take in." Coulson says, a smile on his face. "I was dead. We aren't allowed to tell anyone under Level 7. Went to Tahiti for a while! It's a magical place."

I just stare. His eyes hold the familiar twinkle I remember seeing after a mission. The smirk his face holds, the slight wrinkles around his eyes, the handsome suit he wears, all standing in front of me instead of six feet in the ground.

I can't think of anything to say. My mind can't wrap around the idea that he's alive.

So, I say the one thing I can think of.

"What the fuck?"