Mirage // Marvel Universe

Log_HQ_24-12-04

December 2004

SHEILD HQ is uncharacteristically empty today with many SHIELD agents away for the holidays. Not all are gone, however. Criminals don't wait around until after the holidays so some unlucky agents have to stick around, but for the few like me who don't have a home outside of SHIELD, there is no need for us to use our vacation days. I'm perfectly fine spending the morning of Christmas Eve in the training room punching out a punching bag, or in this case, Agent Spencer.

I swing at Agent Spencer's face, but it hits his shoulder. He returns the favour by kneeing me in the stomach and I stumble back. Glaring at him, I step forward. My arms are in front of me at the ready. He punches out but I step sideways and grab his arm. I duck under it and twist it against his back. He lets out a grunt and kicks back into my knees. We both fall. So much for winning.

Out of breath, I lie there on the mat for a second before coming to a stand and brushing off my pants. I look down at Spencer who's chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. The burn of my heavy breath also fills my lungs.

"Who won?" I ask him in something of a sigh and groan.

"I think if we can't tell who wins, it's a loss for both of us."

I snort with a laugh, reaching down. "Want a hand, Agent Spencer?" He takes it and I pull him on his feet. We both slide off the mat and take a seat on the bench where our gym stuff has been haphazardly strewn about.

He takes a long sip from his water bottle before sitting. "You're pretty good at this."

"If I was, I'd be able to beat you."

"I've been in shield for four years and it took a whole ten minutes to finish the match," He tells me, "That ain't nothing."

I sit with him on the bench, looking out on the expansive gym. "I had a good teacher."

The four sparring mats take up a good majority of the space, but there's equipment on the far left wall. The place smells of sweat and lemon-scented chemicals that make my nose itch, but I don't mind it much anymore.

We aren't alone here. Even with so many agents away, the uneventful morning has left the agents in need of something to do. Around here, that usually means heading down to the shooting range or gym. I don't watch the agents on the equipment or punching the punching bags in the back, my eyes are set on the only other sparring mat in use where Clint Barton faces Natasha Romanoff.

Romanoff has been rare company since she arrived. I never see her in the cafeteria with everyone else— I'm not even sure she eats quite frankly— and I've only ever passed her in the halls once even though our bunks are right across the hall. She is always accompanied by Clint or occasionally by Agent Maria Hill, a high-ranking agent I've only had the pleasure of meeting twice. I had spoken to Romanoff briefly after her recruitment into SHIELD five months ago when Clint introduced me, but beyond what I know of in her file, she remains a mystery. Even seeing her during training is a long shot due to the fact that she spends most of it with Clint in private.

Seeing her today doesn't answer any of the questions I have about her. The way she fights is unlike anything I have ever seen. Everything she does is done with such intention and graceful ease. It's almost enchanting— like watching a branch bend and sway in the wind. It's no wonder she only trains with Clint. I'm sure he's the only one who could keep up with her.

"Agent Barton is your senior officer, right?" Spencer asks from beside me.

"What?" I draw my attention away from Clint and Romanoff and he raises an eyebrow. "Oh uh, yeah, he's been training me." I glance briefly back at Clint where he's still focused on Romanoff, a smile on his lips. "Well, not so much anymore."