Chapter Text
You hadn't applied to the job so much as had been visited by men in suits who told you that you were in high consideration for a post as a personal physician to a certain government branch that you had never heard of.
Why you, though? True you weren't a storied veteran of your field, but you had been at the top of your class and seemed to have a gift for medicine, both in an office setting and in emergencies. You had started college at sixteen, earned your bachelor's at nineteen, and had gotten your MD at twenty-three. You had finished your residency rather recently and had dived into practice, where you excelled. At least that's what your superiors told you when making correct diagnoses one after the other. Indeed you were a doctor of internal medicine - with a good bedside manner, to boot. In fact, that seemed to be the only good quality that you could conjure up of yourself. You were nice. You didn't find yourself to be particularly pretty, you knew yourself to not be particularly witty, you weren't gifted with a good over-the-phone voice, but you were confident that you were on-point as a doctor. Then again, in a workplace surrounded by better doctors, being “smart” wasn't necessarily something to write home about. In short, you were a nice doctor, but nothing else to spark an interest terms of a background. Clean records, good credit rating, and zero affluence in terms of politics.
Perhaps that last one is why those men in suits offered to escort you to the center of D.C. for an immediate interview. Of course you declined. Again, you weren't stupid. There was no way that you were going to leave the hospital that particular day or week or month. Simply put, there was too much work to be done. The New York incident was very recent, a few weeks prior to this meeting. The overflow of patients from out of state created a large work schedule. You had pulled double shifts since day one of the attack, trying to get patients in and out of the hospital, and you might have killed someone if you had to do one more EMT trip in an ambulance. The two bald men did not seem to care that you had large bags under your eyes and you simply could not take an interview for a new job.
“So I'm afraid I cannot accept the position. Now if you two will excuse me, I have four patients that I need to tend to before I go home.” You gave a small nod before turning around, only to be stopped by a hand on the shoulder.
“Miss, we suggest you reconsider.” Was that a tone of desperation? You figured you had a certain upper hand in this moment and you used it to your advantage.
“Why? I don't do government work. You all have the best healthcare and doctors in the world! Why get my help?”
“Because your patient is particularly... picky when it comes to his doctors. The last few have quit or had to leave.”
“Had to leave?”
“Err... workplace hazards. It's espionage.”
That got your interest. Spy movies were always your favorite, and images of James Bond and George Smiley popped into your head. Still, they hadn't answered your question quite to your liking.
“Why me, though? Me in particular.” You weren't built for the spy life. You weren't fit, you didn't speak a billion languages, and you sure as hell weren't suave. Maybe these so-called government workers just sucked at their job.
“According to your superiors, your credentials are a good match for your future patient.” Okay, maybe not. “He needs a gentler touch, we believe,” the one said.
“A feminine touch,” the other added.
“Wow, that's kind of sexist,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your chin. “I don't have a day off for another two weeks, though. You saw what happened in New York! We've had patients flown in ever since those alien things came down.”
“Just a minute, miss.” One of the bald men took a few steps down the corridor and spoke through a transmitter. You looked over the other man's shoulder to try to get a glimpse. It really was something straight out of a spy movie! Maybe these two men were spies themselves, infiltrating hospital records to get information on you, a lowly doctor of internal medicine, for a secret job patching up an agent for missions. You thought that such a job would really be something a surgeon would do considering the wounds one could get from a mission gone wrong. Anyone could do patchwork though, but bullet holes and poison were entirely different fields. Broken bones you could splint, but maybe with the right materials you could do more.
You were so lost in your thoughts of secret meetings abroad and the thrill of a car chase when the other man came back.
“Your interview is for the Saturday after next at three in the afternoon. There will be a car waiting outside your apartment an hour previous.”
“How do I know you guys are really on the level anyway?” you asked, tilting your head. It was hard to read people at times, especially two large, imposing men with sunglasses. To your surprise, they handed you a business card.
“This will connect you with a member of SHIELD. There, you can ask any questions you like. Good day.”
Down the corridor they went, leaving you with a stethoscope around your neck and an utterly bemused look. SHIELD... that called for a Google search.
In the comfort of your apartment, you tried to do some research on whatever SHIELD was. That Edward Snowden had leaked some government files early last year, so some information on this organization was available. Basically it was trying to save the world, one really weird guy in a brightly colored uniform at a time. Not that you were complaining. There were very attractive Avengers members, like that Captain America and Thor. Very handsome indeed. At least Steve Rogers was living in Washington, and you sometimes saw him do small appearances at the pediatrics section of the hospital. You wished you had the courage to thank him for his deeds. Little kids lighting up at the sight of the shield always put a smile on your face. Steve was what you thought every man in the world should be: kind, a leader, a believer in justice, tough, and filled with goodness. One of these days you would go down to the Smithsonian and see the exhibit on the Howlin' Commandos, or whatever they were called.
But for now you were comforted that this secret government branch actually existed.