Hey guys! So, I've been getting into the AoS fandom recently, and I thought I'd try my hand fic writing. For anyone else reading my other works: I am sorry, but I can't juggle more than one fandom at a time. I'll try to get around to updating, I really will, but I can't make any promises.

Anyways - I'm really excited to write this, and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think!

(P.S.: this is also on AO3, under the same name. It looks better over there.)

The world was changing.

One year ago, we all thought we were safe – well, relatively so, anyway. After all, as long as Iron Man did his job, nothing else could hurt us, right?

Wrong. We were all so wrong.

The Chitauri attack caught everyone by surprise. Suddenly, there was more at play than simply Earth itself – there were worlds, entire universes out there that wanted a piece of us, and we were woefully unprepared in every way possible.

We could assemble all the teams we wanted, bring in all the heroes we could, and it would never be enough. As good as the Avengers were, they were only six people (or gods, or rage monsters) and they couldn't do anything without it all being international news.

The world needed its little heroes – the ones behind the scenes, the ones in the shadows, the ones that could save the world without anyone being any the wiser.

Most of those people belonged to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division – SHIELD, for short. It was an organization of highly-trained, highly-dangerous people whose job it was to protect the world from the threats they couldn't see or understand.

I was one of those people. I was an Agent of SHIELD.

…well, okay. Not really. Not yet. Technically, I was an agent-in-training; at the moment, my only job was to read a law textbook.

It was harder than it looks, especially when all of the material went something like, "The constitutional guarantee of due process of law, found in the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments to the U.S. Constitution, prohibits all levels of government from arbitrarily or unfairly depriving individuals of their basic constitutional rights to life, liberty, and property…"

I groan and drop my head onto the desk, squeezing my eyes shut as the words on the page swim in front of my eyes, only magnifying the throbbing headache that was pounding my brain like a meat tenderizer.

It was nice to know that no matter how crazy the world got, Constitutional Law would always – always – be the most boring thing known to man.

I rub a hand over my face and flip the book shut, shoving it away and pulling out my earbuds, tossing my phone on my bed and standing up, stretching my back out as I did so.

It can't all be glamor, a sardonic little voice in my head whispers. You knew what you were getting into.

"Shut up,"I snap, plopping bonelessly onto my bed, the springs creaking as I pick at a loose thread.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," a voice jokes.

I look towards the source to see a man standing in my doorway, dressed in a generic suit and tie, with a face like an accountant that hid everything this man really was.

"Agent Coulson!" I greet cheerfully, pushing myself into an upright position. "What brings you to my humble abode? Please don't say I've got more assessments. I might kill someone."

"It's not yours, it's SHIELD's," Phil Coulson reminds me somberly, but there was a slight smile on his face that belied his tone. "And killing someone – agents especially – is highly frowned upon."

"But you haven't given me anything else to do," I point out. "Other than read that monstrosity over there, and honestly, sir, if I wanted to study law, I would've stayed in the corporate sector."

"It's part of the training, Trainee," he sighs, giving me a pointed glance as he leans against the desk. "And you-"

"Wanted this, I know," I grumble. "Did you want something, or were you just poking in to say hi?"

"Get your shoes on," Coulson orders, straightening his back. "The Director wants to see you."

I pause and snap my head up, unable to hide my shock. I'd been in SHIELD for months, known of them for years, and I'd met the Director face-to-face maybe twice. He had better things to do than deal with low-level agents.

Or so I thought.

"The – the Director?" I ask, my voice coming out in an embarrassing squeak as I hop off the bed and grope around underneath it for my sneakers. "I, um – what does he want?"

"No idea," Coulson replies smoothly as I pull on my shoes and grab the gun resting on my bedside table. "Director Fury just requested you in his office. Didn't tell me why."

"Right," I drawl. "His 'one good eye', my ass." I roll my eyes and grab my jacket, shrugging it on as I step into the hallway.

Coulson quickly takes the lead, guiding me through the maze of corridors that made up the base.

"So…" I begin awkwardly, shoving my hands in my pockets as I glance at the bare walls, floors, and ceiling. "Where are we?"

"Same place we are last time you asked."

"And that is…?"

"Classified," Coulson deadpans, tossing a stern look over his shoulder.

I huff at him as we round a corner, stepping out of the way of two oncoming agents. "Still playing that game, hm? Okay, well, can you tell me if I'll ever get my computer back?"

"Taylor," he sighs.

"Phil," I mock. "C'mon, it's been months! I'm bored," I whine, speeding up to fall into step with the older agent.

"You know the protocol," he admonishes. "Restricted access the base so you can focus on learning the ropes."

"So I'm grounded," I surmise glumly.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, but…basically, yes," Coulson admits as he pushes open a door labeled 'Director's Office'. "Ladies first."

I take a deep breath and summon all my courage before stepping into Fury's very large, window-lit office.

The Director is seated behind his desk, looking like something out of The Godfather, and to his right was Deputy Director Hill, looking as prim and proper as ever.

My heart sinks into my shoes as Coulson takes a seat opposite Fury, but I quickly mask the fear and take a few confident steps into the room.

"I'm in a room with the three most powerful people in SHIELD," I quip as I take the seat next to Coulson, facing Fury and Hill. "Should I be worried?"

"I don't know, Trainee," Fury fires back with a raised eyebrow. "Do you have anything to be worried about?"

I consider this for a moment before tilting my head. "Probably."

Fury nods, his single eye fixed on my face. His gaze was piercing – it felt like he could see my soul; every dark corner, every secret, every regret I'd ever had.

The feeling took some getting used to.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here," the Director continues, pushing his chair back and beginning to pace behind the desk, his coat swaying as he walks. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem like the curious type."

"I guess so," I grumble, shifting in my seat, eyes tracking Fury's course. "That's probably not why you wanted to see me, though, sir."

"And sharp as usual," he adds. "As I'm sure you're aware, your family has a troubled past with SHIELD. You're either completely on our team, or you despise everything we stand for. There's no in-between."

I nibble at my lip as Fury keeps pacing, suddenly really unsure why I was here and a little terrified – not that I'd admit that.

"So I'm sure you can understand how, when Coulson came to me after New York and said he wanted to bring you in, I was hesitant," Fury explains. "I run a tight ship. I don't need someone like you barging in and fucking things up."

"Someone like me?" I interrupt, more than a little offended. "Sir?"

Fury turns around to glare at me. "Don't play games. You know exactly what I mean. You're damn lucky I trust Coulson, or you would've never been allowed into my base in the first place."

"Yes, sir," I mumble under my breath, shooting Coulson a grateful look.

"And I've found, over the past few months, that I wasn't exactly wrong," Fury explains, clasping his hands behind his back. "You're unpredictable. A loose cannon. Not to mention, stubborn as hell."

"Er…thank you?" I squeak, extremely confused. "Sir, if you're going to fire me, will you please just-"

"I'm not finished," he cuts in, glaring down at me before resuming his pacing. "You are unpredictable, stubborn, and a loose cannon, that much is true; however, I think you could make a decent agent. Given a lot of time and effort, of course."

I stay silent, letting the Director's words sink in. I was ninety-nine percent sure that was as close to a genuine compliment as Nick Fury got.

"I've been keeping an eye on your evaluation results for a while now," Fury reveals after a moment. "And they definitely could have been worse."

"Your Weapon Proficiency results are nearly unmatched," Hill offers, flipping open a file in front of her. "Agent Michelson reports your hand-to-hand combat skills as 'decent, but could use a little polishing.' And you scored the highest results in Computer Sciences since Howard Stark took the test for fun."

"Maybe it's genetic," I quip, every word dripping with sarcasm. "But that'd be crazy."

"However," Coulson continues, as though I hadn't spoken, "your undercover skills could use a little work, as could your general communication skills, but that's to be expected, given your circumstances."

I side-eye him for that but don't comment because he had a point.

"Not to mention, you haven't blown up my base," Fury adds. "Yet."

"I've been careful!" I object hotly. "I haven't even set anything on fire since I got here. That's a record!"

"Not true," Coulson argues. "The toaster, last week. Agent Brandt is still pissed."

"That wasn't my fault," I protest meekly. "Brandt is an ass…"

"And he is a superior agent," Hill admonishes sternly. "He has earned your respect, whether you like him or not."

"Are you done?" Fury snaps. "Can we get back on topic now? Or are we gonna keep gossiping like we're five?!"

The room is silenced quicker than I'd ever seen. Hill and Coulson lean back into their seats, the latter giving me a vaguely apologetic look.

"As I was saying," Fury continues forcefully, "you've been a decently good trainee, and you'd make a good agent if given the chance. But you're not going to find that chance here. You don't belong here."

My heart drops, and my stomach ties itself in knots. I just manage to choke out, "Sir?"

"…which is why," the Director continues, ignoring me, "I've got two things for you. One: a reassignment, effective immediately. And two...I'll let Coulson handle that."

I watch intently – although majorly confused – as Fury slips something out of his desk and hands it to his right-hand man, who then holds it out for me to take.

My breath catches as I realize what it is – a thin, black, leather wallet. "Is that…?"

"Find out for yourself," Coulson urges quietly.

I take the wallet with trembling hands, struggling to breathe around the lump in my throat as I flip it open. Inside was an ID card, on top; below that, a shining silver emblem of an eagle.

I was holding a badge. A SHIELD badge.

It wasn't hard to figure out what it all meant, but it was hard to hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

Coulson's voice makes it through quite clearly, though.

"Welcome to Level 1, Agent Stark. Welcome to SHIELD."