"Welcome," she said, offering a clipboard. "Let's get you processed."
"Nice to meet you," James replied, still stealing a glance at her face.
He was ready to start. Training, leveling up, and inching closer to the Tesseract. He didn't care if it meant being called an intern agent. He was in the room now—and that was all that mattered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Agent James. Nice to meet you." James extended a hand as he walked up to Maria Hill.
To her credit, she didn't snub him or ignore the gesture—she returned the handshake with a calm smile.
"I've heard of you. Agent Coulson mentioned you in his last debrief. I also saw your mission file," she said evenly.
James raised an eyebrow. "Well that feels unfair. You know me, but I've got nothing on you. How about dinner tonight? Purely professional, of course. A newcomer needs... proper guidance."
Hill chuckled. "Sorry. But I'm flying out of New York tonight."
"Oh, that's a shame," James said with a grin. "Any chance we can exchange numbers? Just in case I need a request... field mentorship?"
Hill gave a slight smirk. "Sure. But let's get your registration done first."
"I figured you guys already had everything. What more do you need?"
"Fingerprints. Retinal scan. DNA samples. Dental records. We don't cut corners, even for ace snipers."
James groaned. "So basically, my entire being is being copied and uploaded into your top-secret vault."
"You'll live. And relax—this info is sealed in SHIELD's highest clearance tier. I'm handling it personally, if that helps your paranoia."
That did help, actually. If Hill was the one logging him in, it meant she was trusted by Fury, probably more than Coulson. That said, he still had one question.
"Wait, what about the big guy? Captain America. You making him do all this, too?"
Hill nodded. "He's already in the system. Registered while he was still frozen."
James paused, then raised an eyebrow. "Wait, how does that even—"
Hill grinned. "Ask Director Fury."
James shrugged. "Fair enough. Just make sure you remember me, Agent Hill. And don't forget the number."
After the fingerprinting, retinal scan, dental x-ray, and every other biometric process known to man, James received his new SHIELD ID.
Name: Wesley Gibson.
Clearance Level: [Blank]
"Why doesn't this have a Level?" he asked.
"Level gets added after training," Hill explained. "You'll be evaluated and placed. The highest we assign post-training is a Level 3 Special Agent. From there, advancement comes with experience."
James let out a breath. "At least I won't be labeled 'intern' forever."
He recalled how Agents of SHIELD had "Sky" not even registered as a proper agent until later seasons. If she could walk into HQ with barely a badge, he was doing fine.
"I've got confidence," he said, slipping the ID into his wallet. "Still hoping to earn a chance to treat a certain SHIELD officer to dinner one day."
Hill tilted her head, amused. "We'll see. I'm mostly at headquarters in Washington. If you make it there, maybe you'll get lucky."
"I will," James said without hesitation.
Hill guided him to the third floor. It was a full training facility: ranges, tracking sims, anti-surveillance drills, tech briefings, disguise protocols. Everything an agent would need. Because of James's existing skills, they skipped basic firearms training and dropped him straight into field survival and counter-intel.
Once she left, Hill returned to Fury's office downstairs.
"How was he?" Fury asked, hands behind his back, looking out the window.
"Eager, Confident, and Tried to charm his way into dinner," Hill said, no trace of embarrassment. "He's got the smile for it. Handsome guy. A little too pushy, but not arrogant."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Feel free to get to know him better. Don't forget—he's a millionaire. And he's still climbing."
Hill gave a short laugh. "What happens when he meets Natasha?"
"You worried?"
"Wesley's file says he's never been short of romantic attention. Women tend to like him naturally, even before he got recruited to the Fraternity."
Fury shrugged. "Then we'll see what he does."
Neither of them knew that James wasn't exactly taken with Natalia Alianovna Romanova. He thought she was overhyped—too sharp-featured for his taste. Especially the nose. And the fact that she was technically older than both of them combined didn't help.
After leaving HQ, James drove straight to the flower shop. It was still early, and he wanted to see how things were going.
Carlos was inside, wearing work gloves and supervising a small construction team.
"You're back early today?" he asked.
"Official training starts tomorrow. I'll be evaluated for my level after it's done. Could be placed as a Level 3 agent if I don't screw it up," James said, setting his gear down. "So? How's the florist business coming?"
"We finalized a supplier. They'll deliver fresh flowers daily from an upstate nursery. Price is steep, but this neighborhood can afford it."
"Good. You found employees yet?"
"Plenty of applicants. Problem is, most don't know the difference between a lily and a tulip. I want someone who knows the products."
James smirked. "You're starting to sound like a real business owner. Anyway, it's still early. You up for checking out some yachts?"
Carlos perked up. "Let's go. Will take your car."
They jumped into the Audi R8 and headed towards the New York Yacht Club (NYYC). One of the oldest in the country, it catered to the rich, the bored, and the boat-obsessed.
The club's sales office wasn't just for boat buying—it handled maintenance, docking contracts, and yacht customization. Essentially, a one-stop money pit.
They were greeted by a sharply dressed man in his late 40s.
"Gentlemen, welcome. My name is Ross. How can I assist you today?"
"We're looking to buy a yacht," James said plainly. "After that, we'll need to rent a berth, schedule regular maintenance, and set up full storage logistics. Can you handle all that?"
Ross smiled like a man who had just seen his commission double. "Of course. Right this way. Most yachts are custom-built, so we'll start by reviewing models and specs. The real boats are off-site, but I'll walk you through the options."
James and Carlos followed him, taking their first real steps into a new hobby—or, at the very least, a peaceful retirement backup plan.
James had lived his whole life surrounded by chaos. Maybe fishing wasn't such a bad idea after all.