Avengers Story: Triple Threat Chapter 12 — First Day Jitters

Chapter 12: First Day Jitters

The holographic display projected surveillance photos into the air as Maria swiped through them. "Lagos, Nigeria. Intelligence suggests the auction is set to take place here…" She paused, enlarging an image of an abandoned pharmaceutical facility with dark, shuttered windows.

 

Natasha leaned back, arms crossed tightly against her chest. The tension in her shoulders didn't go unnoticed by Bucky, who silently shifted closer, his Vibranium arm settling across her shoulders. She didn't relax, exactly, but some of the rigidity left her frame.

 

"The item in question," Maria continued, pulling up a heavily redacted document, "is being referred to as 'Project X' on dark web channels. There’s no clear information on what the compound does, but intercepted communications indicate it has unusual properties." Another swipe revealed grainy footage: a subject convulsing on a medical table, their body contorting in ways that defied natural anatomy.

 

"Fuck me," Sam muttered, looking away.

 

Steve's jaw tightened. "How many test subjects?"

 

"Unknown. Most records have been scrubbed. What we do know comes from scattered reports across multiple countries. All of them trying very hard to pretend these incidents never happened."

 

Wanda stepped closer to the hologram, her fingers moving as if to inspect the energy signatures.

 

“We've identified multiple interested parties, but our main concern is this one." Maria continued, pulling up a new image. Security footage of a man in an expensive suit, face carefully turned away from cameras. "Whoever they are, they have deep pockets and deeper connections. The kind that get classified files erased and witnesses relocated."

 

"Mission parameters?" Natasha jumped straight to it, her voice cool and professional.

 

"Three objectives… Secure the compound before the sale completes, identify potential buyers, and most importantly," her gaze swept the room, "minimal civilian exposure. If this compound is as potent as the fragments suggest, we can't risk any collateral contamination."

 

Steve straightened, already shifting into tactical mode. "Sam, I want aerial surveillance of all entry and exit points. Wanda, you'll–"

 

"Wait," Bucky interjected, gesturing to one of the redacted files still hovering in the air. "That designation code. I've seen it before."

 

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. His flesh hand reached out, tracing the partially visible sequence of numbers and letters.

 

"Where?" Steve asked quietly.

 

Bucky's expression grew distant, haunted. "Hydra had something similar. Back in the 50s... during apartheid."

 

“Apartheid?”

 

Bucky glanced around the room. “Does anyone know their South African history?”

 

Sam's jaw tightened. "Yeah. My grandmother used to tell us stories. About how it wasn't just about race. There was more to it."

 

“Hydra supremacists,” Bucky nodded. “Mutant supremacists. They enforced a strict social hierarchy where mutants ruled over non-mutants, with humans divided into further sub-groups. White humans were slightly more privileged but still oppressed, while people of colour bore the brunt of exploitation and discrimination.”

 

Maria drew in a sharp breath, pulling up another document. "That tracks. These recovered files from the University of Cape Town show biochemical markers consistent with forced genetic manipulation. They were trying to create more of their kind."

 

"Not create," Bucky rectified. "Evolve. They believe certain humans had dormant genes that could be... activated. Project X is their attempt to speed up natural selection."

 

"Wait, are we talking past tense or present tense?" Steve asked, though his expression suggested he already knew the answer.

 

"Well… the fact that this compound is circulating on the dark web…" Bucky trailed off.

 

Natasha leaned forward, studying the facility blueprints. "So why Lagos? Why now?"

 

"’Cause history has a way of repeating itself," Sam said grimly. "My grandmother used to say that the worst part wasn't the violence or the segregation. It was watching people she knew change—not just physically, but in their minds. Power corrupts, but power you think you were destined for? That corrupts absolutely."

 

Steve straightened, his decision made. "Then we make sure it doesn't happen again. Sam, I want eyes on every entrance and exit. Wanda, you'll be able to sense if anyone's carrying the compound. Nat, Bucky, you two focus on buyer identification. These people might be ghosts, but they still cast shadows."

 

"And if the compound's already been synthesised?" Wanda asked softly.

 

"Then we deal with that too," Steve replied, his voice firm. "We're not just preventing a sale. We're preventing a repeat of history."

 

---

 

The command centre buzzed with tension. Ward's arms were crossed, his posture rigid with disapproval, while May stood with her typical stone-faced resolve.

 

"The girl's not qualified to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," Ward spat, not bothering to mince words.

 

"Agreed," Coulson answered calmly. "That's why I've invited her on as a consultant. S.H.I.E.L.D. does it all the time. Technically, Stark's a consultant."

 

Ward exchanged a glance with Agent May, silently urging her to speak up too.

 

"We have two kids on this Bus who aren't cleared for combat. You're adding a third."

 

Ward nodded. "At least FitzSimmons are trained S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists. She’s just… a security risk. Isn’t that what you brought me on for? Risk assessment? We know nothing about her background, her capabilities–"

 

"What we know," Coulson interrupted smoothly, "is that she's shown remarkable analytical skills and an unprecedented capacity for understanding complex scientific data. Sound familiar?" He raised an eyebrow, a pointed reference to their resident science team.

 

May's eyes narrowed. "FitzSimmons have years of academic and field experience. Y/N–“

 

"Has potential," Coulson finished. "And right now, potential is exactly what we need."

 

Ward leaned forward, his patience wearing thin. "But her psych evaluations–"

 

"As far as you know, are incomplete," Coulson cut him off. "Which is precisely why she needs structured observation. Better inside our system than bouncing around unknown variables."

 

"She’s not field ready, Coulson!"

 

"Not yet… I’m looking for an objection I haven’t already anticipated. We could stand here all day, going round in circles, me cutting you two off, dismissing half-baked objections… But my decision is final. Y/N is coming with us.”

 

May's silence spoke volumes. She wasn't convinced, but she wasn't arguing anymore.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

You smoothed down your shirt, your palms running over your brand new jeans. The denim felt like a small victory, a tangible piece of identity you'd been denied for so long. Your smirk was involuntary. Had you known your outburst with Dr Glueck would actually get you proper clothing, you'd have spoken up much earlier.

 

The bay doors whooshed open with a hydraulic hiss, and suddenly you were face-to-face with what seemed like pure concentrated enthusiasm in human form. Agent Simmons practically bounced forward, her eyes bright with excitement.

 

"Agent Coulson told us the news. What a wonderful surprise! Isn't it, Fitz?"

 

Behind her, Fitz shifted awkwardly, his Scottish accent thickened by what appeared to be nervous energy. "Yeah... Yes, it's a surprise."

 

"No, it's wonderful," she reiterated. "You must be very excited."

 

You adjusted your grip on the box containing your meagre possessions—mostly books, notably Leekie's work, and the few items of clothing Coulson had authorised. Before you could respond, Fitz stepped forward, gently taking the box from your arms.

 

"More like a case of first day jitters," you murmured, trying to mask your nerves with humour. Your fingers instinctively went to the ID card around your neck, tracing its edges. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Simmons, whose excitement softened into sympathy.

 

"Don't worry," she said, falling into step beside you as Fitz led the way to the bunks. "We were all new once. Though I suppose most of us didn't skip straight to consulting status without remembering how we got there." Her eyes widened. "Oh! I'm so sorry, that was terribly insensitive of me–"

 

"No, it's okay," you assured her, oddly comforted by her honest awkwardness. "At least someone's acknowledging the elephant in the room instead of tiptoeing around it."

 

The overhead lights flickered, and Agent May's crisp voice cut through the intercom. "Wheels up in two. Lock it or lose it."

 

The Bus's engines rumbled to life, a low vibration that seemed to pulse through the metal walls. Outside the small porthole window, the landscape began to blur into motion.

 

"Any questions?" Jemma asked.

 

You surveyed the confined space—your new temporary home, your first real mission, a world completely different from the sterile rooms of the Avengers Compound. "Probably hundreds," you said softly. "But I'm guessing I'll learn more by listening."

 

Fitz nodded, almost approvingly. The hint of a smile—rare and quick—crossed his face.

 

As the Bus ascended into the sky, you felt something shift. Not just in the physical movement, but in yourself. This was more than just a mission. This was a beginning. You remembered Nat’s words about getting a chance to do something with your life. A chance to be something greater than what was taken away. This… this could be that chance.

 

---

 

"Another espresso, ma’am?"

 

Wanda smiled at the waiter, adjusting her sunglasses. "Yes, please." Her fingers tapped against her knee as she watched children in white and maroon uniforms stream past the café, their backpacks bouncing and laughter carrying across the bustling square.

 

"This feels wrong," Steve's voice filtered through her earpiece. From his vantage point in the apartment above, he saw the kids too. "Too exposed. Too many civilians."

 

"That's the point," Natasha responded, flanked by Bucky on one side. "Nobody expects a black market auction close to a primary school."

 

Through the crowd, Wanda caught glimpses of the two weaving through market stalls. Natasha's sundress fluttered in the warm breeze as Bucky, wearing a tourist-appropriate button-down that did little to hide his muscled frame, pointed at various trinkets. His metal arm was concealed beneath a denim jacket and glove, though he kept using it to pull Natasha close, maintaining their ‘newlywed tourists’ cover while scanning the area.

 

"Movement on the roof," Sam's voice cut in. "Northwest corner. Two men, tactical gear under civilian clothes."

 

"I see them," Steve confirmed. "Wanda?"

 

She took a sip of her fresh espresso, extending her senses. Red energy flickered behind her eyes, invisible to others. "They're armed. But there's something else... a container. Small. Lead-lined."

 

"Could be our package," Natasha murmured, slipping her arm around Bucky’s waist, maintaining their cover.

 

A school bell rang, sending another wave of children rushing across the square. A young girl stumbled near Wanda's table, dropping her books. As Wanda helped her gather them, she caught Bucky's subtle hand signal from across the market.

 

More people were arriving. Businessmen with briefcases. Women in expensive suits. All heading toward the same building.

 

"They're using the kids as cover. Any action we take risks–"

 

"I know," Steve cut him off. "Sam, how many potential buyers are you counting?"

 

"Seven... no, eight just arrived. But Cap, these aren't just rich collectors. Their movement patterns... some of these are trained operatives."

 

Wanda's cup clinked against its saucer as another group of children ran past, their shadows mingling with those of the arriving buyers. Her stomach churned. "They chose this spot knowing we wouldn't risk engaging. Not with so many innocent lives in the crossfire."

 

"Smart play," Natasha admitted, her voice hard. "Rogers, what's our counter-move?"

 

The square continued to buzz with normal activity, the danger invisible to ordinary eyes. Parents picked up their children. Vendors hawked their wares. And beneath it all, the sinister underbelly of Lagos, Nigeria continued its lawlessness, protected by the very innocence it threatened.

 

Steve's voice, when it came, was grim. "We need a new plan B. One that doesn't involve turning a schoolyard into a battlefield."

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

You pressed your forehead against the cool glass of the porthole, watching clouds drift past like puffs of cotton candy. Somewhere out there, the Avengers were probably on another mission, saving the world. Your fingers absently traced the S.H.I.E.L.D. ID hanging around your neck, wondering if this—this chance Coulson had given you—would change anything. Would wearing this plastic card somehow transform you from potential threat to trusted ally in their eyes?

 

A soft knock pulled you from your thoughts.

 

"Come in," you called, not moving from your position by the window.

 

Coulson appeared in the doorway, holding a bottle of water. His reflection in the glass showed that familiar paternal smile. "Taking in the view?"

 

"Just thinking."

 

“About?”

 

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Everything? Nothing?”

 

Coulson placed the bottle of water on the small table beside you. "That's a pretty broad spectrum," he said with a soft chuckle. "Anything you'd like to narrow down?" 

 

You hesitated, fingers still idly tracing the edges of your ID. "It's... a lot, you know? Trying to figure out where you fit in... if you fit in." 

 

"Fitting in isn't about an ID card or the logo on one’s jacket. It's about what you bring to the table." 

 

You turned away from the window, finally meeting his eyes. "And what, pray tell, do I bring to the table? What if I mess this up?" 

 

"Then you learn," he said without hesitation. "And you get back up. That's what S.H.I.E.L.D. is. We don't expect perfection, just progress. The Avengers, the agents, myself included, we’ve all made mistakes. It's what makes us human." 

 

His words lingered in the air. "Human… After everything, I wasn’t so sure anymore,” you answered, somewhat sarcastically. Clearly, you’d been reading too many Leekie books.

 

Coulson tilted his head, his smile turning thoughtful. "What’d I tell you before? There’s no such thing as destiny, or bad luck, or… whatever else. You choose who you want to be. It’s as simple as that." 

 

After the silence had stretched, Coulson gestured to the booth outside your bunk. "Come on. There's something I want to show you."

 

You stood, still unused to the way your new clothes felt. Real clothes—not medical gowns or the godforsaken S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued sweats—the stiff leather of your brand new Doc Martens causing a hint of discomfort around the heels as you followed him.

 

"Buckle up," he said, sliding into the seat opposite you.

 

"I don't even know where we're going."

 

"Peru." He placed a tablet between you, its screen displaying coordinates. "That's where the 0-8-4 was reported."

 

"And an 0-8-4 is...?"

 

"An object of unknown origin..." Coulson smirked slightly. "Kinda like you."

 

"Is this your way of saying I'm not the only mystery out there?"

 

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "This is my way of saying that sometimes the best path to understanding yourself is helping to understand something else first." He glanced toward the back where FitzSimmons were setting up equipment. "And maybe proving to certain people that you're more than just an unknown variable."

 

The plane banked gently, and through the nearest window, you could see the clouds drifting calmly, illuminated by the soft morning light. Somewhere below them, the Avengers were doing their job. And maybe, just maybe, you were about to start doing yours. A job… A J.O.B. How pedestrian.  And yet, it felt like the most thrilling thing ever.

 

---

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