[fic] Accounting Assemble
Title: Accounting Assemble
Author: clarityhiding
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4880
Summary: Cash Colligan, Certified Public Accountant of SHIELD, at your service.
Disclaimer: Still making up stuff, still fiction-the only things that are real are the names. Avengers, Thor, etc., are property of Marvel and, along with the Death Star, the Mouse.
Thanks to belle_bing for encouragement, betaing, and name. Additional note: I'm posting this while on vacation, so if something comes up wonky, I might not be able to fix it for a few days, sorry.
"How are you even real?" asks someone, and Cash turns and twists, trying to see whoever is standing behind him. It's kind of impossible to do, since he's ankle-deep in surprisingly sticky orange goo that refuses to let him loose, no matter how much he struggles. That the goo is stuck to the ceiling just makes things worse, since he's been here for almost twenty minutes now. He's starting to feel a little light-headed.
"Sorry?" Cash says, because he's not sure how you're supposed to respond to a question like that. "Um. I don't suppose you could, y'know. Tell someone I'm here?" His phone fell out of his hands and skittered down the hall when he was in the middle of texting Johnson to come rescue him. He's not sure if he managed to hit send before it escaped, but he's thinking he probably didn't. It's been twenty minutes, after all, and this is the first person to come by.
"Are you sure you want me to?" his maybe-savior asks, coming around to Cash can see him, apparently for no reason other than to better gloat at him. "I mean, I'm pretty sure that getting stuck to the ceiling is a sure way to make it on Director Fury's shit list. How did you end up there, anyway?"
The gloating asshole is blond, built, and kind of rugged and Cash's first thought is, Oh shit, when did Fury recruit Thor, because even though the whole Puente Antiguo thing is way above Cash's paygrade, Sitwell totally runs his mouth off if you get enough tequila in him and starts showing off all kinds of classified photos and stuff he has on his phone. Plus, Cash thinks he might've motorboated Dr. Foster's assistant during spring break of freshman year. He isn't positive, though-that entire week kind of passed in a haze, ending with him waking up in his dorm Sunday morning with hickies in places he hadn't thought of in years, a new tattoo, and almost fifty new followers on Twitter.
"Localized interruption in Earth's gravity field. I know it looks bad, okay, but honestly, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." It's also the third time Cash has been a victim of wrong place, wrong time since he started here five weeks ago, but this guy doesn't know that. Hopefully.
At least Cash hasn't been backed into a corner by rogue office supplies this time. He's pretty sure Agent Coulson's secretary is never going to let him live that one down. Which isn't fair, really, since he's, like, 80% sure she was to blame for the three hole punch chasing him under a desk.
"And the orange stuff?" Agent Maybe-Thor eyes the goo critically. The goo raises a blob and gives a friendly wave. To his credit, Maybe-Thor doesn't react beyond taking a step back.
"Carl is an ambassadorial attache with fondness for really kick-ass sneakers," Cash explains. "He's quite nice, otherwise."
"Blrppbt," Carl agrees, making happy little sucking noises as he shifts around to better molest Cash's shoes.
"Wow. Just... wow. I thought the guys in R&D were pretty crazy, but you totally have them beat for Most Ridiculous Agent," Maybe-Thor says.
"Hey," Cash protests. "Hey, no way is that true. I mean, DeLeon's here too."
---
The thing about SHIELD is that they pretty much pick agents using the MIB handbook-sure, there are a bunch that get pulled from the ranks of the CIA, FBI, Air Force, Army, Navy, whatever, but some are regular schmucks who kept their heads under truly ludicrous circumstances and survived to see the next day.
That said, Cash has no idea how he ended up here.
Well. Not entirely true. There was that whole fiasco with music theory professor who went off in the deep end and figured out which notes to hit in order to turn a class full of undergrads into his willing puppet slaves and maybe Cash had sort of freaked the fuck out and bashed the guy in the head with his laptop-which just goes to prove that Marshall was wrong and there totally is a legit reason to keep your earbuds in during boring-ass lectures-but. But that was more like him being lucky and not as careful as he should be with his electronics.
Cash is pretty sure SHIELD sends recruitment letters to half the people they do because unlike MIB, they still haven't figured out how to wipe someone's memory.
He only ever followed up on that letter because he wasn't too keen about jumping into the exciting world of certified public accounting straight out of school. Plus, the peer pressure thing. All his friends were doing it, and he didn't want to get left behind.
The biggest problem with SHIELD's recruitment process, though, is that no matter where new recruits are coming from, they have to start at the same level. Which meant that Cash was dropped right in with a shitload of veteran, stone-cold motherfuckers from a veritable alphabet of armed forces. He was probably out of his league before he even walked through the front door.
---
Considering he wrote a very convincing and thoroughly-researched paper arguing the effectiveness of video games in honing coordination and reaction time, Cash thinks it's vastly unfair that Hill writes him up for the whole Galaga thing. He's still a (junior) junior agent, so he's only been at this for four months now, and as a result he has no idea how half the equipment he's supposed to be using on the Helicarrier even works. Every time he tries to go to the range to do his required weapons training, he gets sidetracked. He has to get his target practice in somehow, or that dick Iero is never going to stop hazing him.
Cash is really getting tired of having his shaving cream replaced with Cheez Whiz. Seriously, how does that even work?
Of course then the fucking Helicarrier gets attacked and his workstation goes kaboom before he can snap photographic proof of his record-breaking high score. Cash comes out okay despite the close hit, but that mainly happens because the blast threw him clear of most of the danger. He ends up landing at the feet of Agent Not-Thor (definitely not Thor, because Cash has seen the real thing now and damn, but that man is big) in the most undignified position possible, with his chin on the floor and his ass in the air. Because this is Cash's life.
"You okay?" Not-Thor asks, helping Cash up for once instead of just being all schadenfreude about it. Apparently when actual lives are threatened he's less of a dick, which is probably good to know.
"Yeah," Cash says, feeling a little jittery, but not too bad. Narrow misses are pretty frequent occurrences in Cash's life; he thinks he might've broken a mirror when opening an umbrella inside while under a ladder in front of a black cat sometime. It's the only scientific explanation for how this shit keeps happening to him. Still. "So. I guess we're being attacked?" he tries, grabbing the edge of a desk and clinging for dear life as everything rocks in a very unsettling way.
"Looks like it." Not-Thor is so totally blasé about this that he just leans the other way when the floor tilts. Even though he's wearing combat boots that shouldn't provide any sort of traction, Not-Thor doesn't move an inch. Man, senior agents are totally badass.
Cash gulps, glancing at the giant hole in the window. Missing chunk of wall. Whatever. "Do you think there'll be any hostiles onboard? Only, I haven't actually been cleared to carry any sort of firearm, yet? And Agent Sitwell confiscated the one knife I own after the thing with the pretzels and the knock-out gas, even though that totally wasn't my fault and DeLeon is a lying liar who lies."
Not-Thor gives Cash a look and sighs. "Kid, are you for real?"
---
While Cash signed up with SHIELD in hopes of achieving his lifelong dream of being the real-life equivalent of a badass action/adventure hero, the way things are going, he probably would've had a more exciting time of it taking a job at some podunk little town in the middle of Nowhere, USA. Right now, Cash still hasn't managed to make it to even one combat training course, he's pretty sure SHIELD has janitors with higher security clearance than him, and the most exciting thing he's had happen to him was when he nearly got blown up that one time.
Most of Cash's days are spent shuffling through endless stacks of expense reports for other agents' missions, since SHIELD is still stuck in the twentieth century and hasn't figured out how to use the agency intranet to streamline form submission and save Cash from typing up ridiculous things like $2,000 worth of explosive ammo, $300 evening gowns that are more air than cloth, and something called an 'aerial Alouatta defense system' for $6.99. Cash is pretty sure the last one is just that stupid flying monkey thing ThinkGeek sells.
It's supremely unfair that Cash is stuck looking at spreadsheets all day while the Alexes are all becoming super secret agents. Considering that the only reason SHIELD recruited them was because they took down the USDA's servers for, like, three weeks once for shits and giggles, it's ridiculous. Who even cares about the stupid Agriculture Department, really? Ugh, Alexes.
Just yesterday Marshall stopped by to show Cash how he can now disarm a man in under ten seconds. "Agent Romanoff is really something else," he gushed while standing over Cash, whom he just flipped flat on his back. Cash didn't bother getting up until Marshall was gone.
Cash hasn't even met any of the Avengers, yet. He's just seen them from a distance, and then Tony Stark ratted him out to Fury for playing Galaga engaging in combat practice on the bridge of the Helicarrier, so even that experience was the exact opposite of awesome. Though he's pretty sure that if he actually made it to combat training and had a chance to meet Agent Romanoff, he'd spend the entire time staring at her boobs, which would probably be just as bad for his life expectancy as missing every training session. For now, he's crossing his fingers and hoping that SHIELD's land-based headquarters are never invaded, because he's still not cleared to carry anything more dangerous than a stapler around the base.
If there's ever a zombie apocalypse, Cash is so completely screwed. He's pretty sure you can't take out the undead with careful application of paperwork, no matter what Agent Coulson claims in SHIELD orientation meetings.
"You're in Accounting? Really? Wow, you really do not strike me as an accounting kind of guy, but okay. I guess it's better than you being a field agent. You probably wouldn't last five minutes," someone says, a stack of paperwork plopping down in Cash's already too-full inbox. When he glances up, Agent Not-Thor is hanging over the wall of his cubicle. Not-Thor isn't as big as Real-Thor, but he's still pretty built, and Cash's cubicle really isn't appreciating the extra stress being put on it. Even in his spiffy, official-looking agent-y suit Not-Thor's arms are straining at the seams and really distracting. It takes Cash a minute to collect his wits and respond.
"Shut up, Accounting is awesome," Cash grumbles, because he's a little touchy about people making derogatory comments about his chosen vocation. He's tired of being picked on by Not-Thor, so he pulls out the big guns. "And anyway I can totally take care of myself. I single-handedly saved five hundred people from a music theory prof gone mad with power." It sounds super-impressive when Cash says it like that, he even impressed Iero the first time he mentioned it. Then Johnson came along and explained the rest of the story and suddenly Cash found himself pantsed in the middle of the hall, hands cuffed behind his back, just in time for end of some seminar on sexual harassment in the workplace. It's against protocol and a really fucking stupid idea to haze ridiculously skilled agents with issues up the wazoo, so jokers like Iero get their laughs by tormenting the administrative staff. Or, well. Tormenting Cash, because all the rest of SHIELD's office staff and receptionists are just as scary as the agents.
"You just keep telling yourself that, kiddo," Not-Thor says, and totally makes to ruffle Cash's hair, what the fuck. He ducks his head just in time, thankfully; it takes a lot of effort to make his hair look this good, like hell Cash is going to let this idiot fuck it up.
---
In college, Cash went through three different majors before settling on Accounting, so it's not like he thinks numbers are the be-all and end-all of things. They're interesting, sure, and he's not going to deny that he feels smugly superior every April when DeLeon begs him for tax help, but Cash definitely doesn't think he's better than anyone else just because he can make the numbers dance.
What he does want is for someone to acknowledge the fact that finance isn't his only field of expertise. Just because Cash can balance a checkbook like a mofo doesn't negate the fact that he was in the computer club in high school, the chess club in college.
Of course, considering some of the other extracurriculars he got up to at UNLV before CompSci kicked him out of their department, maybe Cash doesn't want the secretive intelligence organization to take too much of an interest in what-all he used to get up to in his free time.
---
The problem with being the only CPA in the base is that with Agent Coulson missing no one is willing to listen to Cash when he's found something that needs the attention of a senior agent, ASAP.
He tries Hill first, because hey, he likes the ladies, and she's the closest he can get to Fury, but he's repeatedly ignored and blown off. Apparently Agent Hill is busy enough and important enough that he can't be allowed to waste her time. Whatever.
Cash tries Sitwell next, because they are totally bros, okay, they meet up at the bar down the street and commiserate about Iero and the Alexes while drinking large quantities of liquor at least once a month. Sitwell is totally Cash's homie, except for right now, apparently, because Sitwell's having to do all of Coulson's work until Coulson comes back from the dead/is released from Medical/gives up on his quest for his spirit animal/whatever the hell the man's up to these days. It's bad enough that Cash has lost his drinking buddy for the foreseeable future, but now he can't even take advantage of the one senior agent who might actually give him the time of day? Well, fuck.
"It's not like I can take it to the Alexes or something," Cash explains to Carl. They're hanging out in the air vents, because Carl promised to show Cash how it is that an orange blob of goo from the sixth dimension has the full run of SHIELD headquarters. "I mean, last time I did that, they totally stole all the credit." If Cash could just free Johnson from DeLeon's wiles he might have a chance, but DeLeon's wiles are really, really tricky.
"Glbrtphth," Carl says sadly, patting Cash on the shoulder and pretending like he's totally not eying Cash's shoes with intent to molest.
"Well, duh, of course I can't tell you. You're an extra-dimensional secretary and, like, one of the biggest security risks in this entire joint," Cash says, rolling his eyes. Carl's a great guy, but kind of slow on the uptake at times. He sighs. "Maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away." Cash doesn't think that's likely, though, since other people ignoring it is kind of what caused the problem in the first place. No one ever thinks to actually apply logic and reasoning to expense accounts beyond checking to make sure that no one's ordering golden toilet seats or something equally ludicrous. No one else looks at a long list of routine lab equipment and notices the five things that, when put together with the seven things that were included on last month's list, and the six things from the list the month before that, could be used to build an incredibly powerful death ray.
No one except for Cash, apparently, since he's the only one who ever has to read through all these stupid lists, typing up each item and plugging it into the seriously archaic accounting software he's forced to use.
But, yeah. Someone in R&D is probably building a death ray. Now, normally Cash would just assume that it's a totally legit death ray, since this is SHIELD and they like their big, shiny weapons, but if that were the case, why wouldn't whoever it is order all the parts at the same time? Why slip them in between pipettes and PCR tubes and things? Which is the other issue, see-these are obviously equipment lists for a bio lab, but the parts that caught Cash's attention really don't have any use in a bio lab. At least, not that Cash is aware of.
Cash was originally going to ignore the whole thing, because while they can be a bit nutty down in R&D, none of the science-y types would be stupid enough to try and build an illicit superweapon on SHIELD's dime, right? Then his conscience got the better of him, and he convinced himself that this is part of why he's going through all these stupid expense reports, to catch stuff like this. It's pretty much his duty to tell someone about it, before SHIELD is toppled from the inside and, like, Cash gets eaten by elite ninja zombie warriors. Right.
Of course, this being his life, Cash is pretty sure that's exactly what's going to end up happening.
---
Everything in life is a potential learning experience, according to Cash's mom, at least. He's trying to remind himself of that right now, but he really can't see how he can take any sort of comfort out of the fact that he's probably-definitely going to be obliterated into nothing because he thought he could handle a biologist with a half-finished death ray.
As it is, this chick is clearly completely off her rocker with a looks-totally-pleasant-but-secretly-dismembers-small-children-and-keeps-pieces-of-them-in-her-freezer vibe that's way too reminiscent of Cash's first girlfriend to be comfortable, because how is this his life. "Step away from the miniature Death Star, doctor," Cash says, trying to sound authoritative and not at all like he's about to piss his pants. "I'm sure we can work something out." At least, he hopes they can. He has no idea how this is supposed to go, it's not like he's had any training. He's just watched too many action hero films, that's all.
"No! You'll take it away! It's mine and I built it and you can't have it!" the doctor insists, grabbing the handles on the thing and yanking it so it'll hit Cash straight in the chest instead of just sort of nearly taking out his leg like it did the first time she fired. Apparently the good doctor must be getting parts from other sources in addition to SHIELD, since the damned ray is definitely not missing key components the way the equipment lists implied it should be. An inch or so to the left of Cash, the hole in the wall from the first shot is smoking lazily away. There was a big crashing sound from somewhere several rooms over right after the hole was made, and Cash is hoping the damned thing hasn't taken out a support pillar or anything, because the last thing he needs is ten out of eleven stories of SHIELD falling on him.
The official-ish agent thing isn't working very well, so Cash tries a different tactic. Maybe if he tries being friendly. Appeals to her nerdy nature. She did give her death ray a casing that's a pretty sweet rendering of the Death Star, after all. "Naw, doctor, I just want to take a look at it. Looks really cool, I wanna check out the detail work close up," Cash says companionably, lowering his weapon.
She seems to actually consider it for a moment, face going soft and thoughtful, but as soon as Cash takes a step forward, she goes sharp again. "You'll just steal it," she hisses. "Like they did, always stealing my projects, my ideas. Well, I'll show them! I'll show them all!" At which point she devolves into maniacal laughter because Cash's life is just one cinematic cliché after another.
Case in point: The door suddenly slams open and who should be standing there but Cash's old friend, Agent Not-Thor. "Dr. Berkshire? Are you alri-" Not-Thor's ducking and dodging to the side before he's finished his question, which is just as well, since the doctor broke off her cackling for a little target practice. Looks like she's never had any problem making it to the range for her required bimonthly-minimum practice session since she actually manages to nearly-wing Not-Thor, partially-disintegrating the sleeve of his jacket and making him drop his gun.
"D'you mind, y'know, not surprising the mad scientist already hanging by a thread?" Cash hisses.
"What are you even doing here," Not-Thor says, clearly exasperated as he tugs Cash sideways and behind a solid-looking lab table. Which, hey, is kind of nice-Cash likes cover, thinks it's probably a great idea in a normal firefight where you're not, y'know, up against a fucking death ray that eats through everything.
"Attempting to nip Dr. Berkshire's megalomaniac tendencies at the bud. Was unfortunately a little late-she shouldn't have had all the parts yet," Cash hisses. He hates that Agent Not-Thor seems to think he's a completely incompetent ass. Cash just has bad luck, that's all. Like how he stupidly assumed that the scientist must be patsy, buying the supplies for someone else without realizing the destructive potential since absurdly destructive death rays are so clearly outside her field.
Really, Cash should have known better than to make assumptions about someone else's areas of expertise.
"How do you even find this kind of stuff," Not-Thor wonders, sighing and shaking his head. On the other side of the table, Berkshire has moved on from cackling and shooting to outlining exactly how she plans to 'show them all.'
Cash quickly explains about expense reports and monthly lab equipment requests. "I tried to tell the higher-ups, but no one listens to me," he adds, and, "we should move. This won't actually protects us if she leaves off monologuing and starts shooting again." He starts crawling along behind tables and shelves, slowly getting closer to Berkshire and her laser.
Not-Thor raises his eyebrows, but follows without argument. "Gee, I wonder why. Do I want to know how you know what it takes to make a death ray?"
"It's my life dream to build a giant robot," Cash answers truthfully. The Iron Giant spoke to him when he was an impressionable ten-year-old, okay. It fucking changed his life.
He's expecting Not-Thor to shake his head and question Cash's realness again, but instead Not-Thor stills and holds up a hand. Now that he's paying attention, Cash realizes that he can't hear any monologuing. Yikes. There's no way can that be good.
Then Not-Thor is twiddling his fingers in a very deliberate manner, obviously expecting Cash to understand, and Cash is really wishing he'd actually bothered to learn the chapter about handsigns in his employee handbook. Frustrated, Not-Thor just points to the piece in Cash's hand, clearly expecting Cash to hand it over, and no. That's just. That can lead to nothing good, so Cash shakes his head. More pointing, more shaking, and finally Not-Thor just grabs it, pops up over the table they're currently behind, aims, and pulls the trigger.
Cash just barely manages to yank Not-Thor down before he gets caught in the resulting explosion.
---
"For the record," Cash says when Fury and a whole shitload of senior agents appear on the scene, "the explosion was Agent Not-Thor's fault, not mine. Oh, and Dr. Berkshire's. She started it."
Not-Thor shoots Cash a look as he shakily gets to his feet, a little singed, but none the worse for wear, and Cash suddenly realizes he accidentally said that aloud. Oops.
"Agent Bryar, report," Fury says, ignoring Cash like he always does.
"Agent Colligan discovered that Dr. Berkshire was requesting abnormal equipment in order to build a disintegrating ray device, sir," Not-Thor says and, oh, hey, nice to finally know his name. Cash'll have to get used to that now, he supposes, since Bryar's being awesome and actually giving credit where credit is due. "I was able to neutralize her and the device with Agent Colligan's, ah, unique sidearm." Bryar tentatively hands said sidearm back, and Cash happily accepts.
"You're not cleared for a firearm," Agent Sitwell gasps, stepping forward and obviously intent on confiscating this just like he did Cash's knife.
Cash spins around, points said weapon at the crater where Dr. Berkshire and the Death Star were minutes before, and pulls the trigger. A three-foot jet of flame shoots out, looking fucking spectacular. "Technically, sir, it's not a firearm," he says cheerfully. "It's a novelty lighter I got off eBay for $16." And possibly tweaked a little, because what's the point just having a gun-shaped lighter when you could have a gun-shaped flamethrower? "Dr. Berkshire apparently thought it was a good idea to decorate her death ray with magnesium ribbon. Didn't work so well with the whole open flame thing, especially since the ray's power pack was a bit unstable," Cash adds, just in case someone was wondering what the hell happened. Only a biologist would look at magnesium ribbon and think it would be great for detailing and not, y'know, a highly flammable substance.
The rest of the afternoon is consumed by one big run-around, with Fury demanding to know who's approving requests for equipment they aren't familiar with, and Hill ripping Cash a new one for both not reporting his findings to his superior-which, hello, not Cash's fault-and for bringing a lethal, experimental weapon into the building. Sitwell confiscates Cash's lighter, and something tells Cash he's not going to get his $16 reimbursed, even if he does fill out a lilac 32-B5a like he's supposed to.
It's all pretty fucked up, right down to the part where apparently Cash's clearance is still so low that he actually isn't supposed to read his own incident report, what the hell. On the plus side, something's finally going to be done about that, but apparently more because Cash knows how to make death rays and flamethrowers than due to the whole episode with Berkshire.
Cash is exhausted by the time he's finally told he can go, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he makes his way back to his desk to grab his coat. When he gets there, Agent Bryar is waiting for him.
"Hey?" Cash isn't too sure about this. Bryar may not be as big as Thor, but he's nothing to sniff at. He could seriously mess Cash up if he so chooses.
"Agent Not-Thor? Seriously, Colligan? Seriously?" Bryar asks, doing this weird, intense stare thing that is starting to kind of creep Cash out.
"It was Maybe-Thor originally, until I got a good look at him and saw you weren't as tall," Cash offers helpfully. "So. Not-Thor."
Bryar sighs and rubs his eyes with a bandaged hand, looking pretty beat. Which, hey, is probably a fair assessment, since he nearly got disintegrated and then pretty much accidentally lit his hands on fire. Sort of. So Cash wasn't as fast as he could have been, yanking Bryar down earlier-that's hardly his fault, he didn't want to give Bryar his flamethrower. "You couldn't have just asked me?" Bryar asks.
"Well." Obviously Cash couldn't have asked, because every time he's encountered Bryar in the past, Bryar has been all smug and competent and busy making Cash feel stupid and tongue-tied. "No?"
This answer produces a bark of laughter out of Bryar, which is surprising. "You're a death ray-building, flamethrower-wielding accountant who can‘t ask someone their name. How are even you real?" This time, the question sounds almost... admiring? Whoa, hey now. That's weird.
Cash decides that now is as good a time as any to try and answer. "If I could answer that," he says honestly, "I think my life would make a lot more sense."
"Yeah, well. Yours and everyone else's," Bryar agrees. "So. Post-op beer night?"
"It wasn't actually an op," Cash reminds him. "I'm not cleared for fieldwork."
"Whatever, kid. You saved all our asses today, you've earned it. C'mon, I'm buying." Bryar grabs his shoulder and yanks him along. Cash just barely has the presence of mind to grab his coat on the way.
"Yeah, okay," Cash says, and he can't keep the grin off his face as he's pulled away.
Author: clarityhiding
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4880
Summary: Cash Colligan, Certified Public Accountant of SHIELD, at your service.
Disclaimer: Still making up stuff, still fiction-the only things that are real are the names. Avengers, Thor, etc., are property of Marvel and, along with the Death Star, the Mouse.
Thanks to belle_bing for encouragement, betaing, and name. Additional note: I'm posting this while on vacation, so if something comes up wonky, I might not be able to fix it for a few days, sorry.
"How are you even real?" asks someone, and Cash turns and twists, trying to see whoever is standing behind him. It's kind of impossible to do, since he's ankle-deep in surprisingly sticky orange goo that refuses to let him loose, no matter how much he struggles. That the goo is stuck to the ceiling just makes things worse, since he's been here for almost twenty minutes now. He's starting to feel a little light-headed.
"Sorry?" Cash says, because he's not sure how you're supposed to respond to a question like that. "Um. I don't suppose you could, y'know. Tell someone I'm here?" His phone fell out of his hands and skittered down the hall when he was in the middle of texting Johnson to come rescue him. He's not sure if he managed to hit send before it escaped, but he's thinking he probably didn't. It's been twenty minutes, after all, and this is the first person to come by.
"Are you sure you want me to?" his maybe-savior asks, coming around to Cash can see him, apparently for no reason other than to better gloat at him. "I mean, I'm pretty sure that getting stuck to the ceiling is a sure way to make it on Director Fury's shit list. How did you end up there, anyway?"
The gloating asshole is blond, built, and kind of rugged and Cash's first thought is, Oh shit, when did Fury recruit Thor, because even though the whole Puente Antiguo thing is way above Cash's paygrade, Sitwell totally runs his mouth off if you get enough tequila in him and starts showing off all kinds of classified photos and stuff he has on his phone. Plus, Cash thinks he might've motorboated Dr. Foster's assistant during spring break of freshman year. He isn't positive, though-that entire week kind of passed in a haze, ending with him waking up in his dorm Sunday morning with hickies in places he hadn't thought of in years, a new tattoo, and almost fifty new followers on Twitter.
"Localized interruption in Earth's gravity field. I know it looks bad, okay, but honestly, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." It's also the third time Cash has been a victim of wrong place, wrong time since he started here five weeks ago, but this guy doesn't know that. Hopefully.
At least Cash hasn't been backed into a corner by rogue office supplies this time. He's pretty sure Agent Coulson's secretary is never going to let him live that one down. Which isn't fair, really, since he's, like, 80% sure she was to blame for the three hole punch chasing him under a desk.
"And the orange stuff?" Agent Maybe-Thor eyes the goo critically. The goo raises a blob and gives a friendly wave. To his credit, Maybe-Thor doesn't react beyond taking a step back.
"Carl is an ambassadorial attache with fondness for really kick-ass sneakers," Cash explains. "He's quite nice, otherwise."
"Blrppbt," Carl agrees, making happy little sucking noises as he shifts around to better molest Cash's shoes.
"Wow. Just... wow. I thought the guys in R&D were pretty crazy, but you totally have them beat for Most Ridiculous Agent," Maybe-Thor says.
"Hey," Cash protests. "Hey, no way is that true. I mean, DeLeon's here too."
---
The thing about SHIELD is that they pretty much pick agents using the MIB handbook-sure, there are a bunch that get pulled from the ranks of the CIA, FBI, Air Force, Army, Navy, whatever, but some are regular schmucks who kept their heads under truly ludicrous circumstances and survived to see the next day.
That said, Cash has no idea how he ended up here.
Well. Not entirely true. There was that whole fiasco with music theory professor who went off in the deep end and figured out which notes to hit in order to turn a class full of undergrads into his willing puppet slaves and maybe Cash had sort of freaked the fuck out and bashed the guy in the head with his laptop-which just goes to prove that Marshall was wrong and there totally is a legit reason to keep your earbuds in during boring-ass lectures-but. But that was more like him being lucky and not as careful as he should be with his electronics.
Cash is pretty sure SHIELD sends recruitment letters to half the people they do because unlike MIB, they still haven't figured out how to wipe someone's memory.
He only ever followed up on that letter because he wasn't too keen about jumping into the exciting world of certified public accounting straight out of school. Plus, the peer pressure thing. All his friends were doing it, and he didn't want to get left behind.
The biggest problem with SHIELD's recruitment process, though, is that no matter where new recruits are coming from, they have to start at the same level. Which meant that Cash was dropped right in with a shitload of veteran, stone-cold motherfuckers from a veritable alphabet of armed forces. He was probably out of his league before he even walked through the front door.
---
Considering he wrote a very convincing and thoroughly-researched paper arguing the effectiveness of video games in honing coordination and reaction time, Cash thinks it's vastly unfair that Hill writes him up for the whole Galaga thing. He's still a (junior) junior agent, so he's only been at this for four months now, and as a result he has no idea how half the equipment he's supposed to be using on the Helicarrier even works. Every time he tries to go to the range to do his required weapons training, he gets sidetracked. He has to get his target practice in somehow, or that dick Iero is never going to stop hazing him.
Cash is really getting tired of having his shaving cream replaced with Cheez Whiz. Seriously, how does that even work?
Of course then the fucking Helicarrier gets attacked and his workstation goes kaboom before he can snap photographic proof of his record-breaking high score. Cash comes out okay despite the close hit, but that mainly happens because the blast threw him clear of most of the danger. He ends up landing at the feet of Agent Not-Thor (definitely not Thor, because Cash has seen the real thing now and damn, but that man is big) in the most undignified position possible, with his chin on the floor and his ass in the air. Because this is Cash's life.
"You okay?" Not-Thor asks, helping Cash up for once instead of just being all schadenfreude about it. Apparently when actual lives are threatened he's less of a dick, which is probably good to know.
"Yeah," Cash says, feeling a little jittery, but not too bad. Narrow misses are pretty frequent occurrences in Cash's life; he thinks he might've broken a mirror when opening an umbrella inside while under a ladder in front of a black cat sometime. It's the only scientific explanation for how this shit keeps happening to him. Still. "So. I guess we're being attacked?" he tries, grabbing the edge of a desk and clinging for dear life as everything rocks in a very unsettling way.
"Looks like it." Not-Thor is so totally blasé about this that he just leans the other way when the floor tilts. Even though he's wearing combat boots that shouldn't provide any sort of traction, Not-Thor doesn't move an inch. Man, senior agents are totally badass.
Cash gulps, glancing at the giant hole in the window. Missing chunk of wall. Whatever. "Do you think there'll be any hostiles onboard? Only, I haven't actually been cleared to carry any sort of firearm, yet? And Agent Sitwell confiscated the one knife I own after the thing with the pretzels and the knock-out gas, even though that totally wasn't my fault and DeLeon is a lying liar who lies."
Not-Thor gives Cash a look and sighs. "Kid, are you for real?"
---
While Cash signed up with SHIELD in hopes of achieving his lifelong dream of being the real-life equivalent of a badass action/adventure hero, the way things are going, he probably would've had a more exciting time of it taking a job at some podunk little town in the middle of Nowhere, USA. Right now, Cash still hasn't managed to make it to even one combat training course, he's pretty sure SHIELD has janitors with higher security clearance than him, and the most exciting thing he's had happen to him was when he nearly got blown up that one time.
Most of Cash's days are spent shuffling through endless stacks of expense reports for other agents' missions, since SHIELD is still stuck in the twentieth century and hasn't figured out how to use the agency intranet to streamline form submission and save Cash from typing up ridiculous things like $2,000 worth of explosive ammo, $300 evening gowns that are more air than cloth, and something called an 'aerial Alouatta defense system' for $6.99. Cash is pretty sure the last one is just that stupid flying monkey thing ThinkGeek sells.
It's supremely unfair that Cash is stuck looking at spreadsheets all day while the Alexes are all becoming super secret agents. Considering that the only reason SHIELD recruited them was because they took down the USDA's servers for, like, three weeks once for shits and giggles, it's ridiculous. Who even cares about the stupid Agriculture Department, really? Ugh, Alexes.
Just yesterday Marshall stopped by to show Cash how he can now disarm a man in under ten seconds. "Agent Romanoff is really something else," he gushed while standing over Cash, whom he just flipped flat on his back. Cash didn't bother getting up until Marshall was gone.
Cash hasn't even met any of the Avengers, yet. He's just seen them from a distance, and then Tony Stark ratted him out to Fury for playing Galaga engaging in combat practice on the bridge of the Helicarrier, so even that experience was the exact opposite of awesome. Though he's pretty sure that if he actually made it to combat training and had a chance to meet Agent Romanoff, he'd spend the entire time staring at her boobs, which would probably be just as bad for his life expectancy as missing every training session. For now, he's crossing his fingers and hoping that SHIELD's land-based headquarters are never invaded, because he's still not cleared to carry anything more dangerous than a stapler around the base.
If there's ever a zombie apocalypse, Cash is so completely screwed. He's pretty sure you can't take out the undead with careful application of paperwork, no matter what Agent Coulson claims in SHIELD orientation meetings.
"You're in Accounting? Really? Wow, you really do not strike me as an accounting kind of guy, but okay. I guess it's better than you being a field agent. You probably wouldn't last five minutes," someone says, a stack of paperwork plopping down in Cash's already too-full inbox. When he glances up, Agent Not-Thor is hanging over the wall of his cubicle. Not-Thor isn't as big as Real-Thor, but he's still pretty built, and Cash's cubicle really isn't appreciating the extra stress being put on it. Even in his spiffy, official-looking agent-y suit Not-Thor's arms are straining at the seams and really distracting. It takes Cash a minute to collect his wits and respond.
"Shut up, Accounting is awesome," Cash grumbles, because he's a little touchy about people making derogatory comments about his chosen vocation. He's tired of being picked on by Not-Thor, so he pulls out the big guns. "And anyway I can totally take care of myself. I single-handedly saved five hundred people from a music theory prof gone mad with power." It sounds super-impressive when Cash says it like that, he even impressed Iero the first time he mentioned it. Then Johnson came along and explained the rest of the story and suddenly Cash found himself pantsed in the middle of the hall, hands cuffed behind his back, just in time for end of some seminar on sexual harassment in the workplace. It's against protocol and a really fucking stupid idea to haze ridiculously skilled agents with issues up the wazoo, so jokers like Iero get their laughs by tormenting the administrative staff. Or, well. Tormenting Cash, because all the rest of SHIELD's office staff and receptionists are just as scary as the agents.
"You just keep telling yourself that, kiddo," Not-Thor says, and totally makes to ruffle Cash's hair, what the fuck. He ducks his head just in time, thankfully; it takes a lot of effort to make his hair look this good, like hell Cash is going to let this idiot fuck it up.
---
In college, Cash went through three different majors before settling on Accounting, so it's not like he thinks numbers are the be-all and end-all of things. They're interesting, sure, and he's not going to deny that he feels smugly superior every April when DeLeon begs him for tax help, but Cash definitely doesn't think he's better than anyone else just because he can make the numbers dance.
What he does want is for someone to acknowledge the fact that finance isn't his only field of expertise. Just because Cash can balance a checkbook like a mofo doesn't negate the fact that he was in the computer club in high school, the chess club in college.
Of course, considering some of the other extracurriculars he got up to at UNLV before CompSci kicked him out of their department, maybe Cash doesn't want the secretive intelligence organization to take too much of an interest in what-all he used to get up to in his free time.
---
The problem with being the only CPA in the base is that with Agent Coulson missing no one is willing to listen to Cash when he's found something that needs the attention of a senior agent, ASAP.
He tries Hill first, because hey, he likes the ladies, and she's the closest he can get to Fury, but he's repeatedly ignored and blown off. Apparently Agent Hill is busy enough and important enough that he can't be allowed to waste her time. Whatever.
Cash tries Sitwell next, because they are totally bros, okay, they meet up at the bar down the street and commiserate about Iero and the Alexes while drinking large quantities of liquor at least once a month. Sitwell is totally Cash's homie, except for right now, apparently, because Sitwell's having to do all of Coulson's work until Coulson comes back from the dead/is released from Medical/gives up on his quest for his spirit animal/whatever the hell the man's up to these days. It's bad enough that Cash has lost his drinking buddy for the foreseeable future, but now he can't even take advantage of the one senior agent who might actually give him the time of day? Well, fuck.
"It's not like I can take it to the Alexes or something," Cash explains to Carl. They're hanging out in the air vents, because Carl promised to show Cash how it is that an orange blob of goo from the sixth dimension has the full run of SHIELD headquarters. "I mean, last time I did that, they totally stole all the credit." If Cash could just free Johnson from DeLeon's wiles he might have a chance, but DeLeon's wiles are really, really tricky.
"Glbrtphth," Carl says sadly, patting Cash on the shoulder and pretending like he's totally not eying Cash's shoes with intent to molest.
"Well, duh, of course I can't tell you. You're an extra-dimensional secretary and, like, one of the biggest security risks in this entire joint," Cash says, rolling his eyes. Carl's a great guy, but kind of slow on the uptake at times. He sighs. "Maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away." Cash doesn't think that's likely, though, since other people ignoring it is kind of what caused the problem in the first place. No one ever thinks to actually apply logic and reasoning to expense accounts beyond checking to make sure that no one's ordering golden toilet seats or something equally ludicrous. No one else looks at a long list of routine lab equipment and notices the five things that, when put together with the seven things that were included on last month's list, and the six things from the list the month before that, could be used to build an incredibly powerful death ray.
No one except for Cash, apparently, since he's the only one who ever has to read through all these stupid lists, typing up each item and plugging it into the seriously archaic accounting software he's forced to use.
But, yeah. Someone in R&D is probably building a death ray. Now, normally Cash would just assume that it's a totally legit death ray, since this is SHIELD and they like their big, shiny weapons, but if that were the case, why wouldn't whoever it is order all the parts at the same time? Why slip them in between pipettes and PCR tubes and things? Which is the other issue, see-these are obviously equipment lists for a bio lab, but the parts that caught Cash's attention really don't have any use in a bio lab. At least, not that Cash is aware of.
Cash was originally going to ignore the whole thing, because while they can be a bit nutty down in R&D, none of the science-y types would be stupid enough to try and build an illicit superweapon on SHIELD's dime, right? Then his conscience got the better of him, and he convinced himself that this is part of why he's going through all these stupid expense reports, to catch stuff like this. It's pretty much his duty to tell someone about it, before SHIELD is toppled from the inside and, like, Cash gets eaten by elite ninja zombie warriors. Right.
Of course, this being his life, Cash is pretty sure that's exactly what's going to end up happening.
---
Everything in life is a potential learning experience, according to Cash's mom, at least. He's trying to remind himself of that right now, but he really can't see how he can take any sort of comfort out of the fact that he's probably-definitely going to be obliterated into nothing because he thought he could handle a biologist with a half-finished death ray.
As it is, this chick is clearly completely off her rocker with a looks-totally-pleasant-but-secretly-dismembers-small-children-and-keeps-pieces-of-them-in-her-freezer vibe that's way too reminiscent of Cash's first girlfriend to be comfortable, because how is this his life. "Step away from the miniature Death Star, doctor," Cash says, trying to sound authoritative and not at all like he's about to piss his pants. "I'm sure we can work something out." At least, he hopes they can. He has no idea how this is supposed to go, it's not like he's had any training. He's just watched too many action hero films, that's all.
"No! You'll take it away! It's mine and I built it and you can't have it!" the doctor insists, grabbing the handles on the thing and yanking it so it'll hit Cash straight in the chest instead of just sort of nearly taking out his leg like it did the first time she fired. Apparently the good doctor must be getting parts from other sources in addition to SHIELD, since the damned ray is definitely not missing key components the way the equipment lists implied it should be. An inch or so to the left of Cash, the hole in the wall from the first shot is smoking lazily away. There was a big crashing sound from somewhere several rooms over right after the hole was made, and Cash is hoping the damned thing hasn't taken out a support pillar or anything, because the last thing he needs is ten out of eleven stories of SHIELD falling on him.
The official-ish agent thing isn't working very well, so Cash tries a different tactic. Maybe if he tries being friendly. Appeals to her nerdy nature. She did give her death ray a casing that's a pretty sweet rendering of the Death Star, after all. "Naw, doctor, I just want to take a look at it. Looks really cool, I wanna check out the detail work close up," Cash says companionably, lowering his weapon.
She seems to actually consider it for a moment, face going soft and thoughtful, but as soon as Cash takes a step forward, she goes sharp again. "You'll just steal it," she hisses. "Like they did, always stealing my projects, my ideas. Well, I'll show them! I'll show them all!" At which point she devolves into maniacal laughter because Cash's life is just one cinematic cliché after another.
Case in point: The door suddenly slams open and who should be standing there but Cash's old friend, Agent Not-Thor. "Dr. Berkshire? Are you alri-" Not-Thor's ducking and dodging to the side before he's finished his question, which is just as well, since the doctor broke off her cackling for a little target practice. Looks like she's never had any problem making it to the range for her required bimonthly-minimum practice session since she actually manages to nearly-wing Not-Thor, partially-disintegrating the sleeve of his jacket and making him drop his gun.
"D'you mind, y'know, not surprising the mad scientist already hanging by a thread?" Cash hisses.
"What are you even doing here," Not-Thor says, clearly exasperated as he tugs Cash sideways and behind a solid-looking lab table. Which, hey, is kind of nice-Cash likes cover, thinks it's probably a great idea in a normal firefight where you're not, y'know, up against a fucking death ray that eats through everything.
"Attempting to nip Dr. Berkshire's megalomaniac tendencies at the bud. Was unfortunately a little late-she shouldn't have had all the parts yet," Cash hisses. He hates that Agent Not-Thor seems to think he's a completely incompetent ass. Cash just has bad luck, that's all. Like how he stupidly assumed that the scientist must be patsy, buying the supplies for someone else without realizing the destructive potential since absurdly destructive death rays are so clearly outside her field.
Really, Cash should have known better than to make assumptions about someone else's areas of expertise.
"How do you even find this kind of stuff," Not-Thor wonders, sighing and shaking his head. On the other side of the table, Berkshire has moved on from cackling and shooting to outlining exactly how she plans to 'show them all.'
Cash quickly explains about expense reports and monthly lab equipment requests. "I tried to tell the higher-ups, but no one listens to me," he adds, and, "we should move. This won't actually protects us if she leaves off monologuing and starts shooting again." He starts crawling along behind tables and shelves, slowly getting closer to Berkshire and her laser.
Not-Thor raises his eyebrows, but follows without argument. "Gee, I wonder why. Do I want to know how you know what it takes to make a death ray?"
"It's my life dream to build a giant robot," Cash answers truthfully. The Iron Giant spoke to him when he was an impressionable ten-year-old, okay. It fucking changed his life.
He's expecting Not-Thor to shake his head and question Cash's realness again, but instead Not-Thor stills and holds up a hand. Now that he's paying attention, Cash realizes that he can't hear any monologuing. Yikes. There's no way can that be good.
Then Not-Thor is twiddling his fingers in a very deliberate manner, obviously expecting Cash to understand, and Cash is really wishing he'd actually bothered to learn the chapter about handsigns in his employee handbook. Frustrated, Not-Thor just points to the piece in Cash's hand, clearly expecting Cash to hand it over, and no. That's just. That can lead to nothing good, so Cash shakes his head. More pointing, more shaking, and finally Not-Thor just grabs it, pops up over the table they're currently behind, aims, and pulls the trigger.
Cash just barely manages to yank Not-Thor down before he gets caught in the resulting explosion.
---
"For the record," Cash says when Fury and a whole shitload of senior agents appear on the scene, "the explosion was Agent Not-Thor's fault, not mine. Oh, and Dr. Berkshire's. She started it."
Not-Thor shoots Cash a look as he shakily gets to his feet, a little singed, but none the worse for wear, and Cash suddenly realizes he accidentally said that aloud. Oops.
"Agent Bryar, report," Fury says, ignoring Cash like he always does.
"Agent Colligan discovered that Dr. Berkshire was requesting abnormal equipment in order to build a disintegrating ray device, sir," Not-Thor says and, oh, hey, nice to finally know his name. Cash'll have to get used to that now, he supposes, since Bryar's being awesome and actually giving credit where credit is due. "I was able to neutralize her and the device with Agent Colligan's, ah, unique sidearm." Bryar tentatively hands said sidearm back, and Cash happily accepts.
"You're not cleared for a firearm," Agent Sitwell gasps, stepping forward and obviously intent on confiscating this just like he did Cash's knife.
Cash spins around, points said weapon at the crater where Dr. Berkshire and the Death Star were minutes before, and pulls the trigger. A three-foot jet of flame shoots out, looking fucking spectacular. "Technically, sir, it's not a firearm," he says cheerfully. "It's a novelty lighter I got off eBay for $16." And possibly tweaked a little, because what's the point just having a gun-shaped lighter when you could have a gun-shaped flamethrower? "Dr. Berkshire apparently thought it was a good idea to decorate her death ray with magnesium ribbon. Didn't work so well with the whole open flame thing, especially since the ray's power pack was a bit unstable," Cash adds, just in case someone was wondering what the hell happened. Only a biologist would look at magnesium ribbon and think it would be great for detailing and not, y'know, a highly flammable substance.
The rest of the afternoon is consumed by one big run-around, with Fury demanding to know who's approving requests for equipment they aren't familiar with, and Hill ripping Cash a new one for both not reporting his findings to his superior-which, hello, not Cash's fault-and for bringing a lethal, experimental weapon into the building. Sitwell confiscates Cash's lighter, and something tells Cash he's not going to get his $16 reimbursed, even if he does fill out a lilac 32-B5a like he's supposed to.
It's all pretty fucked up, right down to the part where apparently Cash's clearance is still so low that he actually isn't supposed to read his own incident report, what the hell. On the plus side, something's finally going to be done about that, but apparently more because Cash knows how to make death rays and flamethrowers than due to the whole episode with Berkshire.
Cash is exhausted by the time he's finally told he can go, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he makes his way back to his desk to grab his coat. When he gets there, Agent Bryar is waiting for him.
"Hey?" Cash isn't too sure about this. Bryar may not be as big as Thor, but he's nothing to sniff at. He could seriously mess Cash up if he so chooses.
"Agent Not-Thor? Seriously, Colligan? Seriously?" Bryar asks, doing this weird, intense stare thing that is starting to kind of creep Cash out.
"It was Maybe-Thor originally, until I got a good look at him and saw you weren't as tall," Cash offers helpfully. "So. Not-Thor."
Bryar sighs and rubs his eyes with a bandaged hand, looking pretty beat. Which, hey, is probably a fair assessment, since he nearly got disintegrated and then pretty much accidentally lit his hands on fire. Sort of. So Cash wasn't as fast as he could have been, yanking Bryar down earlier-that's hardly his fault, he didn't want to give Bryar his flamethrower. "You couldn't have just asked me?" Bryar asks.
"Well." Obviously Cash couldn't have asked, because every time he's encountered Bryar in the past, Bryar has been all smug and competent and busy making Cash feel stupid and tongue-tied. "No?"
This answer produces a bark of laughter out of Bryar, which is surprising. "You're a death ray-building, flamethrower-wielding accountant who can‘t ask someone their name. How are even you real?" This time, the question sounds almost... admiring? Whoa, hey now. That's weird.
Cash decides that now is as good a time as any to try and answer. "If I could answer that," he says honestly, "I think my life would make a lot more sense."
"Yeah, well. Yours and everyone else's," Bryar agrees. "So. Post-op beer night?"
"It wasn't actually an op," Cash reminds him. "I'm not cleared for fieldwork."
"Whatever, kid. You saved all our asses today, you've earned it. C'mon, I'm buying." Bryar grabs his shoulder and yanks him along. Cash just barely has the presence of mind to grab his coat on the way.
"Yeah, okay," Cash says, and he can't keep the grin off his face as he's pulled away.