"Fitz!"

He grinned, mistaking her fear for congratulations, though he hadn't actually got the door up yet, and flinched when she launched herself at him, ending up with three red splatters on her black t-shirt. Fitz turned without thinking and shot the other agent point blank, emptying the rest of his bullets into the other man's vest before dropping his gun.

"Simmons?"

"Griffin's right - I did not expect - that hurts. Oh god, that really hurts."

She sat down, looking at the splatters down her side and across her chest, having trouble catching her breath.

"Jemma." Fitz knelt next to her while Blake and Griffin gaped at her.

"There's still two enemy combatants left. Open the doors, Fitz."

-o-

Nearly 10 years earlier...

Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons were two of the brightest minds that had ever walked the halls of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Science and Technology Academy for new recruits. They were handpicked by the head of the Academy, Agent Weaver herself. She had watched them from the time that each of them had entered their university programs, though they were both still in the throes of puberty. Agent Weaver had no doubt that separately these two would be the crown jewels of the S.H.I.E.L.D. research and development teams in a few years. She had no idea that together they would be near unstoppable, except for one tiny thing – there was no way either of them would ever be ready to work in the field.

-o-

"I'm sorry, you would like me to schedule you for what, exactly?" Agent Weaver looked back and forth between the pair of fresh faced students in front of her.

They had been at the Academy for exactly one year. Just one. They were barely adults. And what they were asking her was almost ludicrous. Except that together they tied for the highest marks in Academy history. Ever. They were well outperforming their classmates, and they had been steadily outperforming them since they got there. They had both tested out of many of the first level required courses and were well on their way to leaving the Academy years ahead of their classmates.

"We'd like to take the field assessments that are offered at the end of term," Simmons hurriedly explained. "We know it's rather early-" she started.

"But we feel tha' we 'ave proven ourselves many times in tha lab, an' we would like a chance ta do so for tha examination as well," Fitz finished promptly.

"It seems to be a logical step in our career paths," Simmons added helpfully.

If Weaver didn't know them better, she would think they had been rehearsing this speech. She did know better though. She had a feeling this was more about them keeping up appearances as the youngest recruits they'd ever had. They wanted to be the youngest to be field certified as well. This was nothing more than their egos getting the better of them. They had likely bounced the idea back and forth between lectures that morning and just decided to pop into her office when they had a free moment in the afternoon, not giving a thought to the consequences.

"You realize neither of you have taken any of the defensive classes we've offered in hand to hand combat, you've not done any weapons training, and you haven't submitted a formal request to your currently assigned S.O. Not to mention, field work requires you to demonstrate a proficiency in undercover abilities." Weaver's statement did nothing to dampen their spirits.

"As it just so happens, we are both currently signed up for the self-defense curriculum this term," Jemma informed her, passing over copies of both of their schedules. Weaver didn't stop to wonder why Simmons had a copy of Fitz's schedule in her notebook. It just seemed natural that she would.

"An'," Fitz added, appearing as though he was just holding back a smirk, "we are familiar with protocol regarding firearms as both o' us 'ave been responsible for test firing many o' tha current models bein' used by field agents."

"Right. One of your projects last semester involved modifying the standard issues for maximum velocity and accuracy with a new firing mechanism. How could I have forgotten?" Weaver asked them dryly, eyes roaming the two schedules in front of her, which were loaded down with the usual academic courses, the self-defense courses they had told her about, and of all things, the required ethics course. Were they trying to complete the next stage of their curriculum in record time as well?

"As for the matter of our S.O.," Simmons began, though her words were again punctuated by Fitz.

"Ye should 'ave tha required paperwork by tha end o' tha day."

Both of the recruits glanced at one another and nodded their heads in unison. Weaver knew this was likely a mistake, that they weren't ready. There was no way they could pass with just this one term of combat training on their side. Clearly, these two didn't realize how much of the assessment involved practical application of the things they would learn during the entirety of their time here. As much as she loved the newly-christened-by-the-majority-of-their-professors FitzSimmons, this little exercise in climbing the S.H.I.E.L.D. ladder was going to take them down a peg or two. And maybe that was just what they needed.

"All right." Weaver handed the copies of the schedule back to Jemma. "If you two are able to do well enough in the required courses, I see no reason for you not to take the assessment during exam week at the end of term. Just to be clear though, field assessments are not graded on any kind of curve. There are no grey areas that allow you to argue a point or two back from a professor. Upper level agents follow your progress, deduct points for poor decision making, improper risk assessment, and lack of proper procedure. It is black and white. Passing means that no more than fifteen points can be deducted from your possible score. It's very strict. There is very little room for error. Only the best go into the field."

"We understand, Agent Weaver," they chorused. "Thank you."

She stared at them for a moment, then declared, "don't you have an afternoon lab you should be getting to?"

-o-

One.

"Did you know that with all of our exam scores so far, we are actually tied for top spot in the class - again?" Simmons asked conversationally as the duo made their way to the exam room.

"Are we? I hadn' checked." He had, but Fitz suspected she was trying to distract him from the fact that all the other SciTech students currently making their way toward the same building were years older than them. They had been competing with one another long before they actually became friends. He appreciated the effort, especially since her hands were nervously twisting in front of her as they walked instead of swinging harmlessly at her sides.

"Yes, though I imagine with my propensity for acing written exams, if the field assessments counted for any sort of grade for our year, I would outrank you after this."

Fitz snorted and attempted to turn it into a cough. He saw Simmons smile out of the corner of his eye and felt the tension drain from him, if only slightly.

"Ye know only one part o' tha exam is written. Everythin' else we 'ave ta do requires practical demonstrations o' skills."

She sighed before answering. "Yes, and I understand we also have to undergo a medical screening as well, I assume to ensure that we aren't entering field work with any kind of serious health problem."

The two stopped talking as they reached the doors, fishing their Academy IDs from their pockets and flashing them at the agent stationed there.

"I'm going to need to see the linings of your sweaters," he intoned, "if you have any food or beverages with you, please dispose of them. Writing utensils will be provided for you, and no electronic devices are permitted within the exam hall."

Fitz raised his eyebrow. Did they really think a prospective field agent was going to attempt to cheat in the middle of a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, surrounded by other agents? Some people were preposterous. He held his arms out and opened the fabric so the man could check the lining.

"Are either of you wearing corrective lenses?"

The both mutely shook their heads and the agent waved them into the room where they were given a blank test booklet, two pencils, one pen, and instructions to leave at least two chairs between themselves and their nearest seated neighbor, and not to sit directly in front of or behind anyone else. This process was stricter than any exam Fitz had ever taken at university and they hadn't even received their first question yet.

Fitz raised his eyebrows at Simmons while they made their way down one row, taking seats two apart, but she just shrugged and sat primly on the old fashioned wooden chair provided. He watched as she placed her test booklet just so in front of her, then lined her pen and pencils along the top of the desk in a straight line. He set everything down in a haphazard pile and waited for the thing to start.

Ten minutes later and Fitz couldn't understand why they'd been so nervous. He and Simmons had pored over notes from all of their classes from the last year, the Handbook, even their orientation materials from the first week. Well, they went through Simmons' orientation materials anyway. He wasn't really sure where his were now. But it seemed they might have overdone it a tad.

Using appropriate definitions and protocol from the Handbook, explain the labeling of Agents, Assets, and Consultants.

Fitz rolled his eyes. If the entire exam was going to be like this, he wondered why they didn't allow cadets to try for their field test earlier. He scribbled across the page quickly outlining just what the differences were, then for good measure, threw in the explanations for how field agents could be broken down into shadow agents, specialists, and a variety of other terms.

What exactly is an 0-8-4? Explain how one is identified.

Sighing, Fitz explained as specifically as he could that no one knew what these mysterious objects were, that they were all of unknown origin, and that because they were all unique, there was no standard way to identify them. Then, just for kicks, he sketched one of the recent 0-8-4s that Professor Vaughn's class had been asked to speculate upon, adding his own theories as to what it could be and what the different parts of it could do.

Using Section 17, suggest the circumstances in which violations would not result in immediate reassignment or termination.

Fitz's eye twitched and he shot a glance in Simmons' direction. Her brow was furrowed and her pencil was moving at a furious pace across the page. When she finished answering whatever question she was on, she stuck the end of her pencil to her mouth, then seemed to remember that it wasn't actually her pencil, shook her head, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and poised the lead over the page while she read the next set of words. He couldn't help the smile that broke on his face. Turning back to the paper in front of him, he sighed and began to detail what kinds of undercover operations would allow for fraternization amongst field team members, and then added in, just in case, just why those S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who weren't assigned to mobile field teams didn't have the same Section 17 rules as everyone else. Then, because he couldn't resist, he wrote about why something as ludicrous as an anti-fraternization policy even existed at an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. There was always so much to do, who could possibly have enough down time to fraternize with a teammate while in the field anyway?

Agent M is captured by AIM security personnel. They employ various methods of torture in an effort to get him to reveal classified information. What details is he permitted to reveal about S.H.I.E.L.D.?

Fitz rolled his eyes in annoyance. What kinds of questions were these, really? He flipped through the pages to see if it was more of the same, and it was, so he worked as quickly as he could to provide answers as to how to write interoffice memos correctly, when it was appropriate to contact the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. without going through the approved channels, the proper protocol to recruit an asset, how to report an enemy if you were approached by another clandestine organization, etc. He felt like the CIA probably had a more difficult entrance exam.

When he finally reached the last question, he paused, almost placing the tip of his pencil in his mouth as Simmons had, before remembering it was a community pencil and who knew what kind of germs were on it. He really needed to remember to wash his hands thoroughly after this portion of the assessment was over.

Consider the scenario: You are part of a mobile S.H.I.E.L.D. unit, responsible for identifying, retrieving, and studying potential 0-8-4s. Your mission causes you to come in contact with a dangerous substance of unknown origin that infects a member of your team with a previously unknown virus. How do you proceed?

Momentarily confused, Fitz pondered his options. Was he supposed to answer how he would personally proceed in the given scenario? He wasn't, after all, a medical professional. He supposed he would have to ensure that the team member in question was quarantined, that the 0-8-4 in question was quarantined, though samples would also have to be taken from it, or at the very least a biometric scan would need to be run on it, to figure out if it was the object or something in the environment that caused the transmission of the virus. What kinds of symptoms were there? Was there some sort of time limit involved? Did they have a medical officer in their mobile unit, or even a biologist for that matter? Where did they find this object? How far were they from a SHIELD base? There were just too many options to consider.

He peered up at one of the agents walking the outskirts of the room who had eyes like a hawk, his attention settling on every cadet for a moment before moving on to the next one. Fitz lifted his fingers from the surface of the desk, about to raise his hand and ask all of the questions he had, but when the agent glared at him, he flattened his palm on the table, fingers tapping, and gave a small sigh. Everything in the guy's eyes said no talking. Right.

He glanced over at Simmons again. She was tapping her pencil thoughtfully. She was on the final page of her booklet as well, and she appeared to be just as confused as he was. There just weren't enough parameters outlined for them to know how to proceed outside of "with caution." He bent over his desk as another agent walked by. He didn't want to appear as though he was trying to cheat.

"Fifteen minutes left for the written portion of the exam," a voice from the front of the room intoned.

He sighed and instead of properly answering the question, Fitz began listing all of the problems with the way the question was asked, all of the parameters that were necessary to understand the extent of the problem, and then ended by adding that the protocol for infected cargo in a S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle was simply to drop it over a large body of water and shoot it into thousands of pieces, but that didn't seem like a particularly effective way to rid the world of an unknown virus now did it? What if introducing the virus to the ecosystem of the world's oceans only succeeded in spreading it faster? What if the salinity of the ocean somehow caused a supervirus? As an afterthought, he made a note that maybe this protocol should take into account that agents were not simply pieces of cargo. He realized that probably wasn't a smart way for him to address the likely much senior agent who would be reviewing his assessment, but he didn't much care at that point.

This is ridiculous.

"Time. Place your booklets face down on the desk in front of you. Leave all of your materials behind. Do not touch another cadet's material. The first three rows will proceed to the gym to undergo your hand to hand combat assessment. The next three will proceed to medical for your fitness exam. The next three will report to the simulation room for subterfuge and espionage tasks. The next three will report to the basement labs for your tech assessment."

At that point, Fitz tuned the monotone voice out and shared a look with Simmons. Hand to hand combat was next for them. Probably the section they were looking forward to the least, but maybe it was best that they would be able to get it out of the way. Fitz's muscles ached just thinking about all the times he had been thrown onto a blue mat in class. If it wasn't for the fact that they had a written exam detailing the physics of the moves, or that the class was graded on a curve, he had a feeling neither he nor Simmons would have passed as well as they had. When chairs began to scrape the floor around him, Fitz realized the agent had finished speaking, and scrambled to his feet, following Simmons through the crush of people and out the door.

The chatter around them consisted of several of the students worrying that they didn't remember the handbook well enough or that certain pieces of protocol weren't touched on at all. Fitz and Simmons shared a smile and rolled their eyes while they walked.

"Not as difficult as I thought," she whispered conspiratorially to him.

"No' at all," he agreed. "Except for some appallin' wordin' on a few questions."

"That last one?" she asked, waiting for him to nod. "How do they expect you to make a decision without having all of the facts? Very poor technique on their part. I had to outline all the different possibilities and outcomes, and even then, I explained how I didn't possibly have enough to make an informed decision, that research and testing would have to be done on the artifact and the affected agent, and then I tried to list all of the possible tests that would have to be done. Utterly ridiculous."

"Same," Fitz agreed again. "It was impossible ta even determine wha' aspects o' protocol had ta be followed in tha' situation."

They walked in silence for a few moments until the building that housed the gym came into sight. Simmons peered down at her own jumper and jeans.

"Do you think we should have worn the clothing they usually issue for the combat class? That hadn't even occurred to me when I dressed this morning."

"I dunnae. I suppose they'll tell us if we have ta change? I assumed we'd jus' 'ave another written test, with a small practical portion, jus' like in tha class exam." Fitz shrugged, not too worried after the ease with which he had completed the examination on proper procedures.

He should have been worried though.

The agents in charge of the hand to hand combat exam didn't demonstrate any moves, they didn't even leave much room for discussion. They simply instructed that everyone take a seat in the bleachers and wait for their name to be called. Four prospective agents were called at a time, and each had to face off against a different senior agent while another group of senior agents walked the floor of the gym, electronic tablets in their hands, making notes the entire time.

Fit realized after about half of the cadets had been sent on to the next portion of their assessments and he and Simmons were still seated on the bleachers, that they were calling cadets down to the gym floor in order from oldest to youngest. The cadets with the most experience were getting the chance to go first. Was it a way to go easy on them, allow them to absorb just a few more tips and tricks while they watched everyone else?

If so, it wasn't working. Fitz had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach instead. As the third female agent in their group was thrown harshly to the floor by a male agent twice her size, Fitz chanced a glance at Simmons who was seated next to him. The color had drained from her face, and her hands were nervously twisting in her lap. Other than that, she was focused. Her eyes flitted from one agent to the next, trying to absorb their movements, gauge how she should best react.

Fitz forced himself to do the same.

"Alright, last up," an agent in a blue field suit with one of the electronic tablets in her hand called to the room, "Jones, Marshall, Fitz, Simmons." She glanced at them after reading their names and shook her head.

As the group jogged down from the bleachers, Jones and Marshall were pointed to the agents at the back, while Fitz and Simmons were placed with the agents at the front. Simmons tried very hard to focus on the large man in front of her, but it was difficult knowing that Fitz was at her back and she couldn't even check on his progress. She gave a nervous smile when the man told her all she had to do was stop him from pinning her to the matt. That was it.

Unfortunately for Simmons, though she understood the physics of the movements, she had never quite managed to master them in practice, and the agent had her on the ground in less than thirty seconds, and she couldn't move a muscle. It was a bit embarrassing, really. Out of the corner of her eye, she realized Fitz didn't fare much better. He lasted a little longer than she did, but that was mostly because he spent a good portion of the two minutes he was on the mat evading the older agent, ducking under his arms and spinning around him, trying to find a more advantageous position. The other man got sick of it though, stuck his foot out, and tripped Fitz before kneeling with his knee in the small of the younger man's back.

"How many points was the hand to hand part of the exam worth?" Jemma asked Fitz quietly as they were sent to their physical.

"Fifteen," Fitz sighed.

They were told that if they were really interested in becoming field agents to try again after the following semester.

-o-

This story has been in pieces on my computer for a very long time. If you follow me on tumblr, it's what I've been using for Six Sentence Sundays for a while. It's finally done, and I'll be posting it in six chapters.

Thanks are due to notapepper and StarryDreamer01 for being extra pairs of eyes and helping me clean this up. Thanks, ladies!