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Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.



TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Stiles/Clint
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?


Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 30/30

He absolutely despises these meetings, they make his skin crawl.

He makes his skin crawl.

But he comes and alone, leaving his gun at the door with a kid barely out of his teens wearing a sneer that he desperately wants to smack off his face.

“Agent Markoff, do what do I owe the honor?” he’s bent over a table and as he gets closer he can see that he’s looking at the pictures organized there.

The boy that had caused all the fuss is in one of them, he recognizes some of the others from the dead kids.

“I need to know how you want me to handle the questions that SHIELD is asking?”

He smiles at him, white teeth gleaming a bit and they look sharp and dangerous, more dangerous even then the knife by his hand.

“Why you’ll tell them the truth, I’m sure,” he says, he straightens, folding his arms over his chest, smiling in a way that makes his blood run cold.

He picks up the knife, tip tapping on the table, on the pictures; it goes back and forth touching every one until only the boy, the survivor is the one left untouched.

“Their hope for the future,” he says, he presses the tip against the curve of the boys’ neck. “Do you know why these ones, these particular children, were chosen for my little experiment?”

“Um…”

“They, together would have been enough to fight what is coming, but now…”

“Now they’re all dead,” Markoff says, there’s a lump in his throat, they were all kids, not a one of them over the age of eighteen.

“All but this one,” he drives the knife into the middle of the picture, between the boys’ eyes and Markoff takes a step back.

“Witches,” he snarls, his eyes gleam black as night for a moment before fading back to the blue they normally are.

“How do you…?”

“Know that? I’ve reviewed the data of course, none of the others supplied much information, they could only be prodded so far before their little brains gave out, but him… what do you know of your little assistant?”

“Crawford? He’s a paper pusher,” Markoff says, and one that he’d been saddled with as well, he’d not requested any assistance. Staying under the radar and being able to supply information was a lot easier when he wasn’t trying to also duck an assistant whose sole purpose seemed to be making him go to meetings he didn’t want to attend in the first place.

“He’s the left hand,” he says, he comes around the table and Markoff goes to back up again, move out of the way.

“The kid doesn’t even know him,” Markoff manages to stutter out.

“Not yet, no, but at some point, in the very near future, he will,” he smiles at him, Markoff swallows thickly. “I think our partnership has come to its natural conclusion, you need not report in again.”


********************************************************



Steve spends a week after Stiles’ father takes him back home reviewing what footage Tony is able to pull from the VR tech, it starts very abruptly when he’s in college.

“Wouldn’t he have noticed that he was missing like four years of his life?” he asks and Tony just shakes his head.

“Probably where the program started up, he would have still been confused, disoriented from the kidnapping I’m sure, by the time he would have been in the right frame of mind to determine there was something wrong I’m fairly sure he was completely locked into it.”

Steve nods slowly, he’s still not sure he understands.

“We tested his blood, he’s not a mutant,” Tony adds like an afterthought. “Though I’m fairly sure he’s got to have some psychic abilities of some sort.”

“Why do you say that?”

Tony taps his own screen a couple of times and Crawford’s picture pops up, he and Stiles are sitting together on the floor of what Steve knows was their office.

“Crawford.”

Steve sighs, he knows Tony doesn’t have any answers to the multitude of questions that he wants to be asking, he still wants to ask them.

“Someone should go talk to him, see if we can get him to admit to anything,” Tony says.

Steve nods slowly, “I think we can both agree that whoever that person is it shouldn’t be Clint?”


********************************************************



Clint is standing on his doorstep, he looks casual, t-shirt, jeans, beat up leather jacket that Stiles has a sudden sense memory of wrapping himself up in.

Stiles doesn’t know what he’s doing there and that’s the reason that it takes him a split second longer than it should to slam the door closed, Clint gets his foot then his body through the door while Stiles is gawking at him.

Rayden is gone, off doing whatever it is he does when he’s not annoying his dad. Liu had somehow managed to convince his dad to go to a gym four towns over so they could work out without anyone seeing them and then subsequently asking where and when the Sheriff learned any sort of martial arts.

He’s here alone until Lydia arrives in, he glances over at the clock on the wall in the kitchen, he can barely see it so he has to lean a little, she’ll be there in 14 minutes. He psychically screams at her to hurry the fuck up. But he’s not psychic, not even a little so…

“Did you, um, need something?” he asks weakly, he smiles brightly to try and compensate for the internal freaking out and Clint rolls his eyes at him and snorts a little.

“The truth maybe?”

“Uh.”

“You know a good host offers beverages, possibly some cookies.”

“Sorry, fresh out of everything, dad went to the store, he should be back any minute,” it’s time like these, confronted with boyfriends from realities that haven’t happened, that he wishes that the werewolves hadn’t listened when he threw his fit and made them promise to stop checking up on him.

“Kitchen through there,” Clint ambles towards the direction of the kitchen and Stiles is pretty much helpless to do anything to stop him. He could scream but if he does that the pack will show up and it’ll be pretty much blood and claws and his dad will yell about cleaning it all up.

“I told them back at the hospital…” Stiles starts, he looks at a spot over Clint’s shoulder.

Clint snorts again and reaches into the pocket of his jacket, Stiles takes a step back just in case Clint turns out to be some sort of homicidal lunatic.

He lays a picture on the table and Stiles has to kind of reach for the counter to steady himself.

“I found that in a hidey hole that me and one other person know about,” Clint pulls out a chair, turns it around and sits down, resting his arms against the back, staring at him.

“Maybe she’s messing with you?”

“I think we both know that Nat doesn’t mess around with me like that,” he says, “well I know that, and I’m not sure how but I’m pretty sure that you do as well. That’s me in the picture, couple years older from what I can figure, and that’s you in the picture, definitely a couple years older because I don’t touch jailbait and you pretty much epitomize jailbait at the moment.”

His chest hurts, his heart aching because he knows, he knows he should lie and he doesn’t want to.

“VR stuff,” Stiles says, he waves his hand in the air. “It’s just VR stuff.”

“Yeah, that’s what Stark says,” Clint looks at him and Stiles thinks he’s really seeing him, he doesn’t know why Clint is even bothering to try. “I’m not sure I actually believe that.”

“Uh…”

Lydia saves him, swinging open the back door like she she’s a resident of the house and doesn’t need to knock.

“Oh my,” she says and she has wide eyes that turn smooth and calculating, it takes her a second but she turns on the charm. “Well hello there, am I interrupting something?” she blinks her eyes at Clint and he sort of look at her stupidly like he can’t figure out what her angle is.

“Clint was just leaving,” Stiles says, Clint looks over at him, eyes narrowing and finally he just huffs an annoyed breath and stands.

“You can keep the picture, it’s a copy,” Clint says he brushes past Lydia and stops right in front of Stiles.

“I’ll, um, show you out.”

Clint stops at the door, hand on the knob as he turns to look at him.

“You’re lying to me,” he says after a moment, “I just can’t figure out if you’re doing it to protect us or to protect yourself.”

It’s a stupid move, he knows he shouldn’t but when Clint goes to open the door he stops him, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I’m sorry that I can’t give you the answers that you want.”

Clint looks down at his hand, looks back at him.

“Yet.”

“What?”

“You can’t give me the answers I want yet, that’s what you meant to say,” Clint says, he leans in close, brushes his lips against Stiles’ ear. “But you will, eventually.” He straightens, winks at him. “I’ll see you around.”

Then he’s gone and when Stiles looks out the front door he doesn’t see any sign of him.

“So that was Clint Barton,” Lydia says, Stiles hangs his head for a moment then turns, shutting the door and locking it as he does. She’s standing in the doorway holding the picture up, like she’s comparing the Stiles in picture to the one that’s standing in front of her.

“Give me that,” he says, she hands it over without a fight, just a raised eyebrow as he walks past her to the stairs. “We’ll need to sweep for bugs, does Danny have something that’ll…” he waves a hand.

“Sweep for bugs,” he can hear the laughter in her voice, she’s the only one that doesn’t treat him like fragile glass that would break into a million tiny shards from just the wrong tap. “I’m sure he does and if he doesn’t he can find something.”

Stiles opens the door to his bedroom, he was alone in the house so he hadn’t locked it when he went downstairs. Derek and the others know better than to try and come through his bedroom window. Allison had given him stuff to make sure they’d use the front door and only the front door.

“You could have just told him,” Lydia says, she shuts the door, locking it for good measure.

“Told him what? They all think it was VR tech, I think it’s safer, for now, for them to think it was VR tech,” Stiles says. He sits down in his chair. “It’s far better than trying to explain alternate realities and bridge tech that I don’t even understand, not really.”

“But you still marked him,” Lydia says softly.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I still marked him.”

Stiles looks at the picture in his hands, he brushes fingers across Clint’s face, his face, both smiling and happy. He opens the top drawer of his desk and puts the picture there, face down, for now.

For now.


********************************************************






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