Spectrum ⇒ Avengers [ 1 ]

Fight Club

"Heads up." I stagger backwards with a faint 'oomph' as Natasha throws a black bag at me. It catches me in the stomach, and it wrap my arms around it, trying not to fall over.
"What's in this thing? It weighs a ton." I complain, dropping it with a loud clatter.
She raises an eyebrow, amused. "You can lift oil tankers."
"Yeah, and do I look green to you at the moment?'" I retort, kneeling down next to the bag and unzipping it. "What's it- oh." I stare at the contents of the bag. Guns. Lots of guns. Actually, lots of weapons full stop. I count knives, throwing stars, batons, and- "Is that a sword?"
"Congratulations," Natasha says. "We're moving to weapons training."

Apparently I should be able to take people out with everything from a dagger to a teaspoon, because I stop being able to count of all the different things I try. Natasha tells me that she's looking for a weapon I feel comfortable with. I tell her that I probably won't feel comfortable with anything more than a butter-knife, and she laughs at me. Too bad I was serious.

"No," she decides, almost as soon as I pick up the sword tentatively.
"I haven't even moved with it yet!" I protest.
"You're acting like it's poisoned." She says. "And it's almost as big as you."
I glower. "I'm not that small."

Throwing knives, I find, is much nicer than trying to hit things with a big blade. I'm not the best at aiming (as we find when I try the guns) but there's something satisfying about the blades embedding themselves into their targets. However, I doubt I'd ever be able to throw one into a real human, which I tell Natasha, who purses her lips and takes them off me.
"Sorry." I say, looking at the ground.
"Don't be embarrassed of having humanity." She corrects, digging around in the bag. "Try this."

For one moment, I think she's giving me a lightsaber- it's a small tube of a similar shape and size to the iconic weapon. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if S.H.I.E.L.D could make one.
However, when she presses the small black button on the side, it isn't a beam of energy that pops put, but extended poles, until I'm effectively holding a staff.
"Trying to turn me into Gandalf?" I ask, gripping it.
She grins. "I hope you'll have a bit more agility than him."

Her leg whips around and catches me in the stomach, and I lurch backwards, still holding the stick tightly. As she runs at me, I lift the pole and block her as her hands come down at my head. We both shift from the impact, and she moves into a crouch.

Then we're sparring, and I move the stick as quickly as I can, trying to block her attacks. Most of them get through, knocking me side to side, but the staff also has a useful function as a support, so I don't fall. I'm going to have some serious bruising tomorrow.

She runs at me, and I plant the staff onto the ground, swinging around it out of the way, and kick her as hard as I can in the side. She slides over the floor and flicks her leg around, knocking the staff from the floor and sending me sprawling to the floor.

"I like the staff." She says. I groan, pressing the button, and the two longer sides slot back inside.
"Yeah, I lasted two seconds longer than usual."
"Two seconds between life and death," she reminds me, extending a hand. I take it, and she pulls me to my feet. "You're getting better."
"Doesn't feel like it." I mumble. She tilts her head for a moment, and then smiles.
"I'll prove it to you." She says, but doesn't elaborate. My eyes narrow.
"Okay, now I'm scared."

I don't hear anything about this 'proof' for several days, until I walk into the training room one day and find it's already occupied. Clint and Natasha stand to the side, talking to each other, and Sharon stands in front of a group of about ten men and women I've never seen before.

"Alright, recruits, this is Brynn," Sharon calls, just as I'm about to turn and leave. I freeze. "Brynn, these are S.H.I.E.L.D's new recruits. I've brought them in for combat training."
"Hi." I say awkwardly, as the group of twenty year olds stare at me, clearly wondering why I'm here.
"Brynn, do you want to go and get ready?" I stare at her in incomprehension.
"For what?"
"For the training." Natasha's voice breaks in. She strides across the room, across several crash mats, and hands me the staff, folded up. Then she looks at the recruits. "Think you can take her?"