Chapter Text
It hadn’t taken him long to integrate himself into SHIELD after passing the tests, ridiculously easy as it was (it seemed that Fury didn’t try to rig his test. Too bad, he was actually looking forward what the master spy would come up with). Once he was done with the paperwork, he was assigned an ID card, a set of uniform, a set of suit, a set of training clothes, two lab coats and a quarter of his own in base (which was good, because he was prepared to take some drastic measures if he had to share with others). As a new recruit, he was required to follow the orientation program, which included a bunch of courses that he breezed by. He was careful not to attract much attention on himself, which meant that he made sure he showed no higher level of aptitude that was expected from a civilian scientist. He kept his overall scores average, though he didn’t hold back when it came to science and engineering-related stuff, if anything he dug in eagerly.
SHIELD was the most technologically-advanced organization he had seen, especially for a covert intelligence agency. He had caught a glimpse of it during his confinement as he had no other thing to do with how little he was able to do with his recovering body. He would have tinkered with all the machines he encountered but he hadn’t had the time or place, let alone to sneak in some tools. Now he had the access to all of them, including those who were but a mere blueprint, once he became a full-fledged agent without resorting to hacking (not that stopped him from polishing his hacking skill, SHIELD’s security was one of the finest after all).
The Research and Development Department itself was a pleasant surprise, especially with the notable freedom SHIELD granted to the department. The freedom to its scientists and engineers extended to the lack of structure within the department, there was no obvious division between the staff, and there were only projects and teams, when the project required more than one person. The R&D staff was of equal standing with others from intelligence or operations and didn’t answer directly to the chain of command unless in certain circumstances.
Operations and intelligence could put forward any request for projects but R&D could also turn down the projects. It was a testament to the effective orientation for SHIELD recruits that R&D staff didn’t use that privilege often, and when they did, it was for good reason, though there was not to say there wasn’t time where the staff didn’t butt heads with the operations and intelligence (which was quite a show, he must admit. These were no meek scientists in SHIELD; they earned their rights to be here as much as the other person). SHIELD itself was flexible in what kind of projects they could pursue, but they were strict in biological experimentation and leaning more towards countering biological threat instead of biological enhancements or weapons. It was stated very clearly in the rules and regulations of SHIELD and R&D that he alone was hard-pressed to find any loophole. His familiarity with Howard Stark made him able to see his imprints in them, especially at the part regarding weapons of mass destruction.
R&D staff could take more than one projects in one time, and could be part of different teams. Blueprints of personal projects could be shared on the server for others to comment on, or sometimes for others to pick up as the previous owner either gave up or moved on to another project, but at times he could see that they could also add modifications or improvements on existing designs that were already made. All staff was required to state their specialization twice, first at the time of recruitment to SHIELD, second at the time of joining the R&D, in order to help others, from fellow scientist to fellow SHIELD agents to look them up for projects. He stated in his form that he was fair game in designing in everything from small gadgets to large vehicle, with the only exception on weapons. He only made himself available in designing custom-made, one-of-a-kind weapons. He found out early on that he had an aversion to making them, though he had no issue in handling or even using them. He suspected because he couldn’t choose who could use the weapons he made. SHIELD as an organization he felt he could trust, but the SHIELD agents were of different matter, and he wasn’t willing to make weapons for them. He was not alone in this stance; there were even those who refused completely to make weapons and they respected that (medical requests were the ones they rarely, if ever, turned down).
Never had he felt regret since he made the decision to join SHIELD, in the secrecy he found freedom, among these people he found similar minds. For the first time since he was awake in that cold chamber, he found himself breathing a little easier and the itch beneath his skin receding. It was the closest to feeling that he belonged, because he couldn’t help the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he wasn’t meant to be here, that he wasn’t meant to be alive (really, what are the chances? And he really, really tried not to think of the other person who also died in the crash). Whenever he felt the slightest bit unsettled he now had better options instead of merely tinkering in the lab, he could go to the range in the dead of the night or to the gym and find a willing sparring partner which could keep up with him (even he was careful not to go all out, it was already odd enough that there was a scientist who was in a good shape as field agents).
Before long he found himself with people whom he could call more than acquaintances or coworkers (he didn’t dare to call them friends). Luke Charles and Cheyenne started as the two people he had the chance to work most often with their mutual interests in developing large and complex transportation mode, one of which was the Quinjet. The three of them was of the practical sort, as it was made obvious by their choice of projects. They knew that SHIELD needed more than weapons (he couldn’t understand people’s obsession with harnessing nuclear power, he downright despised it) or gadgets to the likes of Bond movies (most of them were pretty ridiculous, but the ideas were ingenious) and they were among the few who were willing to tackle the difficult projects. Others came and went, but they remained and somewhere along the way tentative friendship (if they could be called one) came to be between them.
What it was first a rare occurrence when they all gathered together after hours, became a frequent occurrence that soon after the whole department was used to seeing them together and was not surprised that the three of them often ended up in the same projects or the other two offering their assistance to their personal projects. They were all private person, but he didn’t doubt that each had their own share of burden that they easily recognized in each other. Sometimes Charles, Cheyenne and him would just sit there around the table or on the couch, nursing their drinks without saying anything at all. Their particular meeting place was a room near his lab, which was in quite a distance from the other two’s rooms, but because its position in base granted near complete privacy, Luke and Cheyenne much preferred it. When he noticed this, he made sure that he was around for some company should they need it and they seemed strangely appreciative about it, making him as though he was the normal one of the bunch (how weird was that the amnesiac guy ended up the most stable one? It was not really like he offered anything but company; he was the worst conversationalist of the three).
He was surprised though, when he found others outside R&D department, which were Phil Coulson and Jimmy Woo. He was introduced to Coulson through Fury. Fury didn’t tell him much when he introduced both of them, but he had a sense that Coulson was his right hand man as he was the only person who knew his current predicament (which was supposedly long dead and much older). Coulson was… an interesting guy (which was an understatement); he had such a bland appearance that it was easy to underestimate him when the man was anything but. It took a man wearing a mask to recognize another; Coulson was an excellent one, especially with his perfect choice of mask. He didn’t hide his amusement as Coulson assumed the typical behavior of a suit as though he was another paper pusher as he explained all the rules and regulations he needed to pay attention to now he returned to life and the complications that might rise whether he regained his memories or not.
It didn’t take him long to decide to poke and prod the agent, wanting to know how well the younger man’s mask was. His conclusion was that it held very well and more often than not it aided him in his duties. At the same time, he gained enough insight of the man to tell what was actually going on underneath that mask. As annoyed as Coulson was with him, he respected him for being able to see through his mask in the first glance and sometimes he thought he saw an edge of awe and wonder when the agent was in his presence (he only saw that reaction once, when he caught a glimpse of Coulson with his Captain America trading card collection, it was kind of adorable actually, if you ignored the fact that the man could kill you in the most inconspicuous ways).
He already knew Woo from their random encounters in the range, not that they knew each other by name. With both Coulson and Woo as SHIELD senior agents and with him in R&D, there was little chance of them crossing path other than in the communal spaces in the base (the canteen, the gym and the range). It was only due to Coulson that they were properly introduced and Woo had been surprised to know that he was one of the geeks. At that he merely blinked, while Coulson tried to make Woo apologize. Woo didn’t apologize, but clarified that he was a good shot, which was not expected from guys from R&D. He took the compliment as it was, not offended the slightest bit (and he thought he saw Coulson looked rather relieved) as he saw that the man was interested to make him a field agent, proven by his attempts to woo him to the other side (yeah, the man did say that, and he couldn’t help but like the man, especially the subtlety of his attempts, no wonder why the man was considered the best).
He had no interest in operations, so all the attempts only made him shake his head and went on his merry way, to Woo’s disappointment and Coulson’s amusement. Regardless, it later became more a habit for Woo and part of their routine whenever they encountered each other. Because of his contact with the two, he could consider himself the more informed one of the R&D staff of the goings on of SHIELD without resorting to hacking. Through them he knew the interesting tales of SHIELD, some of which were facts while the others had from bits of truth to none and also the interesting people of SHIELD. He had most fun of the stories of Fury, because somehow he knew all of them were false and nothing close to the truth, and yet even these senior, experienced agents thought there was some truth in it. Their favorite topic was their assets, or specifically Barton and Romanoff for Coulson.
Woo and him became used to the sudden and unexpected rants of Agent Phil Coulson, the fortunate/unfortunate handler of Agents Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, which became one of his highlights of his day when it happened (not that he told Coulson that). He himself had heard enough rumors of the two without actively seeking it out. He had heard enough to know that both of them were among SHIELD’s finest operatives, on their own they were dangerous, together they were unstoppable. However, he was not that naive that their skills were not without cost and one of them were their lack of care of their own well-being, which was the usual cause of Coulson’s rants. The man cared for all of his agents, but these two were special to him, even he who only knew Coulson for nearly a year could tell. Through Coulson alone, he could see the good in the two.
That was why when he saw the request for an upgrade for Widow’s Bite, he took it up and made a weapon by his own volition for what it felt like a long time. It took him a while to make all the proper adjustments. There was an art in making personalized weapons. It took him looking through all of the video recordings of the Black Widow in motion (and not all of them he actually had access for) to get the right design for the assassin. When it was done, he was very satisfied with the result, and was not surprised to the complimentary feedback he received, despite the bland and formal choice of words.
Somehow Coulson found out that he was the one who made the upgrade and made a visit to R&D, earning him odd looks for actually having an amiable relationship with one of suits. Charles and Cheyenne did nothing but return to their projects when Coulson made his appearance. In first glance, Coulson looked like his usual professional self, but then he saw the faint rings under his eyes and the strand of hair out of place and the slight crook of his tie and he knew that something was wrong. He knocked the table twice, his and Charles and Cheyenne’s code that he would be gone for a while.
Wordlessly he led the distraught man (it took him a while to wrap up his mind around that, a distraught Coulson) where they could have some privacy. They ended up on the small sitting room with a various kind of chairs from beanbag to wooden chair (really, SHIELD could compete with Google any day). He took one of the normal looking ones and settled in for a wait. A wait it was, Coulson seated himself at the opposite side but his mind seemed elsewhere that he remained sitting stiffly against the plush chair. He was bad at waiting without anything to do, so he busied himself with his latest invention that he carried along in his pocket.
After few minutes, Coulson fumbled with something in the pocket of his jacket, bringing out folded papers which he handed with such care that he couldn’t help to mirror his gesture as he received them. He carefully unfolded the papers and his eyebrow jumped in surprise when he saw what was drawn upon it. He looked over the papers thoughtfully, mulling on the unmistakable designs of a retractable bow, mechanized quiver, and trick arrows. He didn’t need to guess whose hand drew the designs, but SHIELD’s very own archer (he also happened to see similar styled drawings whenever a complaint regarding the man’s weapons came into R&D).
“Can you do it?”
“Does Agent Barton know you have his designs for his weapon?”
“He won’t know until Medical releases him.” Now he had an idea what happened.
“How is he?” At the question, the man seemed to deflate as though he lost all the strength he needed to keep up his mask. Coulson rubbed his face tiredly, most likely after having waited for news for his agent all the night.
“He’ll make full recovery in good time; so long he didn’t leave his bed.” He hummed noncommittally as he took another glance on the designs, adding some notes in his mind.
“He broke his bow and lost all the arrows in the mission.”
“At least he didn’t lose his life.”
“You should tell that to him.”
“…A reward or a gift?” Coulson grinned wryly at the question.
“You really should consider yourself for operations or intelligence. Most would guess it would be for a bribe.”
“That occurs to me.”
“Next month would mark Clint’s tenth year in SHIELD.”
“And your partnership.” Coulson dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“A month then?”
“You have three months; I’d rather have him completely healed before he could run off with your bow and arrows.”
“Duly noted.” He smirked at the exasperation and fondness in the usually calm tone Coulson adopted.
He managed to do so in two months, not only making sure that they were everything that Barton wanted from his sketches, but also more, including all the quirks that the archer didn’t realize he had (he noticed that the agent had unique center of balance that would affect the weight distribution of the bow to provide easier use) and all the upgrades he could think of (replaceable arrowheads, and from there, he came up with rotating quiver, adding compartment at the bottom while ensuring more arrows could fit into the quiver). He went as far as trying the bow himself at the range (and damn, that pulled a lot of muscles, he was sore for many days, though he was quite proud of his aim).
With a sense of accomplishment reserved for difficult (non-weapon) inventions, he presented the newly-improved bow and arrows to Coulson who didn’t hide his appreciation at the result. Coulson had asked for him to demonstrate the features to Barton, but he politely declined and demonstrated the additional features for Coulson instead, as this was his gift for his agent (he was also quite certain that Barton would be quick to learn with or without instructions). Though he couldn’t resist not getting a glimpse when the man tried the new bow and arrows in the range (and was damn proud when he saw that the archer did little adjustment on them and impressed with the man of the ease and speed he learned to use the weapon). Afterwards, he didn’t take any more special requests for custom-made weapons, focusing more on comparably more interesting and challenging projects with Charles and Cheyenne, Coulson and his assets were in the back of his mind for months until he had an unpleasant surprise when he got into his lab and found unwelcome presence that made him instinctively throw the closest object in his reach (he was also half-awake, having been working non-stop on their latest project on cloaking device, throwing stuff was the best option he could come up with).
“Nice aim for a scientist,” the intruder stepped forward, the prototype thrown at him (he couldn’t hide his relief, as misplaced as it was for being his first reaction towards an intruder, it would be a pain to rebuild the prototype) was in his hand. The intruder was a lean blond man in SHIELD standard uniform on base. His stance was relaxed, but he knew better. He only realized the man’s presence in the lab nearly a moment too late if he was really an intruder, so muted his presence was. Not to mention, his lab had the best security among the other places in base, even better than Fury’s office. (His lab was his safe haven, his fortress; he would not take any intrusion into his space lightly)
“I generally aim better than most scientists.” He continued nonchalantly, not tipping away his wariness of the man’s uninvited presence. He was definitely a field agent, an operative, mostly likely specializing in stealth and assassination. Violent reaction would not end well for either of them, well, as confident as he was in his abilities, he wasn’t sure he could take on SHIELD’s best and it was not a mere scientist with low level clearance exactly did. (Though not to say he was not tempted)
“Can you put down the prototype?” He walked towards his worktable, keeping his distance with the agent. When he saw the man at the edge of his vision did what he was told, he slightly relaxed. He looked rather solemn, and most likely wary, as he was in unfamiliar territory and enclosed space, which, if he thought again, made him in slight advantage. He waved away the thought; he was thinking too much like a field agent and instead focused on his guest. He had seated himself at his usual chair and saw the man standing across the table.
“So what can I do for you that you cannot bother to wait and be given entry like normal people?” He finally addressed the quiet man. In response the man brought forward a dark cylinder slightly longer than his closed fist around it, and it was only due to his familiarity with his own design that he didn’t react when it extended to a full-fledged compound bow.
“Ah, you’d be Agent Barton, then. What’s wrong with the bow?”
“The balance is off.” Barton placed the bow on the table between them. He found himself narrow his eyes in confusion, adjusting his non-prescriptive glasses to look at the bow better, because he was quite certain that he had made all the proper adjustments for Barton when he made it and it had been months ago, almost a year and he had seen the agent testing the bow himself in the range without changing anything. Unless…
“Let me guess, you’ve broken the bow and got it fixed by R&D.” Blueprint designs for custom-made weapons for SHIELD agents were also made available in R&D server in the case that the weapon was broken or in need of upgrade and considering the time-sensitive (and life-and-death) matter, all the scientists must be able to fix it immediately, but it seemed he forgot to mention the small details or quirks that made the weapon unique.
“I did,” the confirmation was a mere formality for him at this point, already reaching out to inspect the bow better. Once the bow was in his hand, he had tuned everything out, not bothering to tell Barton to sit or go, leaving the decision in the younger man’s hands.
He turned the bow in his hand experimentally in various directions, getting a feel of its balance and its weight. He made the bow stood on his finger at different points of the bow for further examining its balance. With extreme care, he slid his fingertips on the smooth surface of the bow and the string for imperfections, and then brought the bow underneath the fluorescent lights and magnifying glass.
He took his time, using all of his senses to run a thorough examination on the bow. Barton had brought the bow here directly; he might as well make sure that the bow had no other problems aside from balance. He would not discount the man for having noticed other issues but only mentioned the one that mattered most.
He moved on to the string now, tweaking it from one end to the other and putting it close to his ear to hear its sound. Once it was done, he took the bow and positioned it for drawing. He pulled the string as far as he could and held it in position for 20 seconds, ignoring the strain on his arm and released it, noticing the soundless quality of the string and the quick return of the string into its original position. Then he checked the string again, tweaking it from one end to the other, but this time also checking the joint of the bow and the string.
Done with the physical examination, all that was left for him to check would be… He went to the farthest corner of his lab for physical testing. He made some input on the screen until a sheet of thick steel came forward. He took some gloves from the drawer and wore it on both hands. With a quirk of his lips, he held the bow with two hands like a baseball bat and hit the steel with all his strength. Shaking off the resulting tremors out from his hands, he looked at the dent on the steel and was satisfied to see that the bow was completely intact.
A whistle from his left broke his concentration. He was surprised to see that Barton was still in the lab, seemingly having made himself comfortable as he perched on the rolling chair. (The Hawk, indeed)
“Isn’t that steel?”
“It is,” he answered, not bothering to elaborate. He made a quick input on the screen and the sheet returned to its former position, away from view. He went on his workshop, where all of his machine and tools were, fully aware of the agent shadowing him. He placed the bow, having taken away the string on the table along with the necessary tools. He turned on the milling machine, setting the parameters with a swift press of his fingers and went to work on the bow. In order to achieve the perfect balance for Barton who had unusual center of gravity, the adjustments must be done manually, which would certainly limit the number of scientists who could fix the bow completely, but it was better than nothing.
He was careful in his work, stopping every once in a while to inspect the result with all of his senses. He had once again tuned himself to the bow, adjusting the bow position and angle by touch and visualization, making the screen that came along with the machine rarely used. He wasn’t sure how long he was working on the bow, but once he felt the bow was at the right balance and weight, he stopped. He brought the finished bow to the table and started smoothing the hard edges and polishing the surface until it gleamed darkly. He went to the storage cabinet and took out some boxes with different sizes.
From one of the boxes, he brought out a black rod. He lengthened the black string and cut it down in a certain length. He twisted the ends of the string on a jig he designed for this purpose. Only needing to match the ends of the bow to those of the jig, the string was immediately fastened to the bow.
He inspected the string with the same intensity as he previously did, tweaking the string from one end to another, followed by drawing the string for good twenty seconds and releasing it, and ending with another tweaking on the string. Having returned to his full awareness of his surrounding, he was quick to realize that Barton was still close by. Without missing a beat he gave the bow to the man who was perched on the same rolling chair.
Barton stepped down from the chair with surprising ease and lightness that it barely moved at the disturbance. The agent took the bow, making his own inspection on the newly fixed bow. Meanwhile, he went to wash his hands. He only watched quietly, taking off the goggles and putting his glasses back on as the man drew back the bow to test its strength, his blue-grey eyes intense. Looking at the archer right now, he was tempted to see the man up close in actual mission, instead of through recordings. It must be a sight to see.
“It’s perfect.” He merely nodded at Barton’s comment, he already knew as much.
“I’ll make sure to add notes on the blueprint so they will get the balance right next time. For personal adjustments, the lab on A6 is available.” He added, thinking that Barton would have liked to make his own adjustment. He walked to the table and opened the boxes; Barton mirrored his movements in well-concealed curiosity.
“These are some experimental material for you to test.” He pushed the box that contained the black string and pointed at the string at the bow. “That string is made of new material, much more flexible and much sturdier.” He slid another box that contained small brown bottles. “This is the oil for string maintenance.” Finally, he opened the largest box and tipped it to show it contents.
“New arrows, well, arrowheads actually.” He took one of them and threw it at Barton, “This one is quite a pain to design. Why don’t you take it and shot at the highest beam?”
“What did it do?” Barton asked, his face lost the wary look and instead he looked curious and excited. In return he merely raised an eyebrow and gave a tilt of his head. So the man did as he was told, nocking the arrow and released it to the highest beam. Right before it reached the beam, the arrowhead opened and turned into a claw which tightened over the beam while the rest of them seemed to extend into a black cord that was attached to the bow. Barton made an experimental tug on the cord and both the hook and the cord held.
“Grappling arrow. You have a habit of flying last I heard.” Barton barked into laughter at the comment. It had been merely a passing comment from Coulson when they briefly met in the canteen and he had been looking for something simpler to work on between the projects, so he came up with the grappling arrow. The younger man’s laughter was infectious that his lips twisted in a smile.
“Are you telling me to fly more often?” Barton grinned at him, his tone teasing.
“I’m not the one having to the deal with Agent Coulson or Medical.” He shrugged noncommittally.
“I like you.” Regardless the joking manner, he could detect the honesty in his tone and that took him aback briefly, delaying his response for few seconds. (It had been a long, long while since someone told him that they liked him, for himself)
“You would say that because I’m the one who make your bow.”
“Well, that too.”
“Now, if there’s nothing else, out from the lab.” He made shooing motion towards the doors. His mind already turned towards the prototype he was working on. (Where was he last?)
“No sir. At least, not yet.” At least the man was honest, he thought to himself.
“And please use the doors.” He managed to remind Barton before he completely turned on his heels. He caught the briefest moment when the man seemed to still at the comment, which meant he guessed correctly that he wasn’t using the doors to get inside his lab. Well, that narrowed it down then, good for him. He blinked when he heard the doors swished shut.
And Coulson told him that the man had no manners.
He shook his head and picked up the prototype he previously threw. He hoped that was his last encounter with an operative, he really didn’t need further complications in his life. There was a reason why he chose science/engineering instead of operations, as interesting as it might be.
(Unfortunately, life didn’t agree with him)