Avengers Fic: "All In a Day's Work" (Coulson, PG-13)
Title: All In a Day's Work
Characters: Coulson, Thor, Tony, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Steve, Namor, Loki, Darcy, Pepper, mention of Fandral, Sif, Fury; mention of Loki/Darcy, Pepper/Tony and Thor/Jane
Rating: PG-13 for mild language, implied violence, mentioned adult situations
Length: 4,615 words
Notes: Follow-up of a sort to The Only Thing Harder Than Triplicate
Summary: Just another week at the office for one Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD.
The first major event of the week arrived in the form of a supervillain attack on greater downtown Los Angeles. The entire team was sent out in response.
Coulson had previously dismissed the Wrecking Crew as second-stringers at best, but afterward he had to mentally upgrade his estimation. Only a truly evil force would choose to stage full-scale city-wide devastation on a Monday morning.
After the altercation was reported as concluded successfully, he waited in front of the elevator leading from the jet’s hanger bay. His timing was almost perfect - the doors opened a mere two minutes later.
Thor and Stark strode out, too busy congratulating each other at first to notice anything else.
“Well, I have to give credit where credit is due, pal,” Stark was saying. “That really was some spectacular aim with the lightning rod effect on your part there.”
Thor smirked, tossing his hammer up and down so that it rotated in the air, yet never failing to catch it by the handle.
“Ah, but it would not have been nearly so successful a gambit if not for your timely distraction, my friend.”
He gave the other a hearty pat on the shoulder. Stark faltered a bit, but didn’t budge from where he had an arm draped companionably around Thor’s neck.
“Probably not.” Stark gestured with the glass tumbler he’d somehow already gotten hold of, ice cubes clinking. “But I had a perfect opening. Nice work with that pick-up, Bruce!”
“You’re welcome.” Dr. Banner followed his teammates out of the elevator with a slightly more subdued expression.
Taking in the fact he was wearing nothing but his shorts, Coulson made a mental note to add a building damages reimbursement form to the paperwork he would be filling out.
“Mr. Stark.” He stepped forward. “I believe it’s already been made clear to you - several times, in fact - what the leadership of the Initiative thinks about you drinking while you’re on the job.”
The three of them stopped mid-step, having been effectively caught by surprise.
“Technically I’m not on the job.” At least Stark had the good graces to throw ‘technically’ in there, considering the only part of the Iron Man armor he’d removed was the faceplate. “We’ve just come from the job. This is me after.”
Thor chortled. “Yes, and he has much to celebrate. Not only did we successfully vanquish our foes, but this good fellow has just won another round of ‘mission bingo’.”
“You can probably let it go over just one drink, Agent,” Dr. Banner added, with a wry observation: “I think Tony here was well-versed in holding his liquor by the time he was eighteen.”
“Please,” Stark objected primly. “Seventeen and a half.”
“‘Mission bingo’?” Coulson asked, backing the conversation up a bit. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar. Explain.”
The doctor coughed. “Well it was Clint’s idea, mostly-”
“Shocking,” Coulson interjected. “Where are Agents Barton and Romanoff, by the way?”
“Stayed behind to help supervise the clean-up,” Stark explained. There was another clink from his glass and, seriously, where did he manage to find both scotch and ice between there and the hanger bay? Coulson was going to have to look into this.
“I see. And Captain Rogers?”
“Oh, okay, see.” Both Stark and Thor were grinning, and even Dr. Banner seemed to be covering a laugh. “That’s getting back to your first question, actually.”
“In order to play this game, we each draw lots from a bag in turns,” Thor added. “Each lot has some different event written upon it.”
“Something that may or may not happen on the mission,” Banner picked up. “There are always four far more likely ones, like ‘Thor hits a thug in the face with Mjolnir’, or ‘Black Widow uses a chokehold’…the idea is whoever has the most things that happen, each time, is the winner.”
“But then we each also get one, much more significantly rarer possibility as well. And if that happens, it’s an instant victory.” Stark slapped Thor on the back, beaming. “And that’s why Steve isn’t here. See for yourself.”
With some difficulty he slid a tiny scrap of paper from one of the suit’s front compartments and handed it over.
Coulson read aloud, “‘Teammate helps deliver a baby’.”
“Can you believe it? What are the odds of there being a pregnant woman within range of the action to conveniently go into labor like that?” Stark shook his head. “Of course it was Steve that happened to cross paths with her - I mean, it would be.”
“He chose to accompany her along to the hospital afterwards, to be sure she was alright,” Thor affirmed, his tone indicating he approved of Captain America’s thoroughness and gallantry.
Coulson’s face remained a complete blank. “Well. Whatever celebratory measures you choose to partake in, I expect you all to have filled out your reports on this by the end of today.”
He got three variations on an affirmative mutter.
“Oh, and gentlemen?” Coulson held up the hand with the paper slip in it, and crumpled it. “No more gambling on the job.”
*
By Tuesday afternoon, Coulson had yet to receive a single report on the mission.
He was far from surprised but it was something of an aggravation. The moment he had time to spare, he walked through the base looking for Avengers.
Barton and Rogers were unreachable, as they had gone out jogging. Dr. Banner was nowhere to be found, but that turned out to not be important as his typed report was sitting in the middle of one of the tables in his lab inside an unlabeled manila folder. Apparently he simply forgot to turn it in, or hadn’t had the chance to.
One down, Coulson thought, three to go.
He found the rest in the area they considered their break room. Thor and Stark were seated in the leather couches surrounding the big screen, the television on mute as they chatted. Agent Romanoff had her back to them where she was writing something at a table on the opposite side of the room, seemingly doing her best to ignore her two teammates.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why, when it only took a few seconds of overheard conversation for Coulson to conclude they were swapping stories of their ‘conquests’.
“You have to be making up that last part.” Stark could barely speak around his sniggers.
“No! Truly! They were this big.” Thor cupped his hands largely, holding them out in front of them. “You should have seen the look on Fandral’s face.”
They both fell into boisterous laughter. The redheaded woman shook her head, rolling her eyes.
Coulson decided to leave the two for the moment. He strode in the female operative’s direction instead. “Agent Romanoff-”
“Working on it right now, Coulson,” she barked, not bothering to look up.
Stark was wiping his eyes. “Gotta love a big-boned Nordic woman,” he remarked in response to the tale Thor had been telling. The Asgardian made a sound of profound agreement. Stark glanced over at him, thoughtful. “You know, that brunette you’ve always got tagging along with you and your Viking boys, what’s her name, Sif-”
“She would slice you in half,” Thor cut him off, matter-of-fact, reaching for the bowl of pretzels nearby.
“Ah.” Stark frowned, as Thor took a big handful and stuffed them in his mouth at once. “Well. I guess you would know. I mean, you’ve only known her for, what…a couple hundred years…?”
Thor swallowed, craning his neck to look behind them. “What about you, Son of Coul?” he asked inquisitively. “Have you any fine tales of women to tell?”
Coulson leaned against the table the Black Widow was at, arms folded. “My father’s name was William, Thor.”
“That sounds like an evasion if I’ve ever heard one.” Stark glanced at him as well. “Come on, what about it? I’m sure you must have a few stories. Didn’t you use to be a spymaster general, or something?”
“Any activities I undertook of that nature would be classified,” Coulson stated. “As would Agent Romanoff’s for that matter - I’m surprised the two of you haven’t been bothering her with your questions.”
“Yeah, well.” Stark cleared his throat, shifting as he made a dismissive sound. “I don’t think Thor here and I would be nearly as interested in hearing the details about Natasha’s former dance partners.”
“Descriptions of romantic interludes are not as…evocative, when they are all about other men,” Thor chimed in, even more blunt.
Agent Romanoff still didn’t look up from her paperwork as she replied, flat, “Who said I only ever seduced men?”
Thor and Stark exchanged a look. And then in unison they both turned their heads to gaze at her with great interest.
Coulson let out a sigh.
*
On Wednesday, Coulson was still waiting for Iron Man and Thor to turn in their paperwork. He couldn’t even harass the two of them about it personally, the latter having taken the Bifrost back to Asgard and the former having mumbled something about a Victoria’s Secret party in Tokyo before disappearing.
Admittedly, however, the reports really weren’t at the top of Coulson’s lists of concerns just then, considering the nearly-sentient tidal wave that had just deposited a giant squid right at their front door.
The giant squid in turn had stretched out one tentacle, and down from it had stepped a tall, muscular, mostly humanoid-looking man, with arrogantly regal bearing and wearing nothing but fish scales.
The man marched forward, facing those that’d come running to see what all the commotion was.
Hawkeye had his compound bow out and ready to be aimed. Captain Rogers was missing his cowl but he still raised his shield. Loki, never one to miss out on the fun, was probably already planning a spell to cast.
Darcy Lewis, who had followed along after her visiting boyfriend, was just staring.
The merman didn’t even appear to have seen Coulson, who was standing about three feet to his right. Probably his physical appearance wasn’t sufficiently high-ranking enough to have warranted attention.
Instead he gazed haughtily at the four others, and launched immediately into a lengthy and verbose if admittedly quite eloquent speech.
The end sum of it, Coulson gathered from listening attentively, was that he was Namor, the self-proclaimed Prince of the Seas, and more importantly of an undersea kingdom he called, appropriately enough, Atlantis.
Having heard of the Avengers and their activity, Namor had journeyed to their present location in order to join their “little band” of warriors, so that he might better protect his people from the “dangers of the surface-dwelling world”.
Finished speaking, he drew his chin up, gazing at the targets of his discourse in a way that was unnervingly both fixated and dismissive.
“Any questions?” Namor demanded.
“Uh, yeah.” Barton stared at him with palpable disbelief. “Do they not have pants, where you’re from?”
“Oh, come on, Clint.” Ms. Lewis twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her gaze going somewhere that was definitely not Prince Namor’s face, or anywhere above his belt, for that matter, as she bit at her lower lip. “Don’t you know you should be accepting of other people’s…cultural differences.”
Loki, Barton and Rogers all slowly turned their heads in her direction. She didn’t appear to notice.
Barton’s incredulous expression was intended for Ms. Lewis, but the Captain’s raised eyebrows were aimed more at Loki. As if he was trying to silently say “She’s your girlfriend”.
Loki’s mouth twitched, and after a moment he raised a hand in front of Ms. Lewis’ eyes, blocking her view.
Coulson meanwhile had pulled out his cell phone.
“Get Director Fury,” he ordered into it. “There’s someone down here that I think he’s going to want to meet.”
Stealing a glance upward at the still-looming squid - and he hoped he imagined that it was giving him a dirty look - he couldn’t resist adding, “Immediately.”
*
By Thursday Coulson had in his possession one full mission report from Thor, slightly rumpled, and ink-spotted on the attached page where the Asgardian had found it necessary to sign with his full name in giant script and his royal insignia.
He still had nothing from Tony Stark, the last and final hold-out. By this point, Coulson had decided that he was going to sit on him until he did.
“Seriously, are you planning on following me everywhere?” Stark asked, notably discomfited when he exited to restroom to find Coulson still waiting for him. “All day?”
He started walking, and Coulson didn’t hesitate to fall into step alongside him.
“Because I can only imagine this is going to get incredibly tedious for us both.”
“I imagine you’re very correct in that assumption, Mr. Stark,” Coulson agreed unhesitatingly.
“Tell you what,” Stark began, gesturing expressively, as was his want. “Why don’t I-”
“No, I’ll tell you what,” Coulson interrupted. “You want me off your back, you know exactly what you have to do to get it. I have no intention of leaving you alone until you do. It’s really very simple.”
“Huh.” Stark gave him a considering look, but was otherwise apparently unmoved. “You know, I have to admire your determination, Coulson. I really do.”
“It has been cited as one of my strong points,” Coulson responded. “That, and my long-running record as a champion at Trivial Pursuit.”
“Wait, really?” Stark blinked at him. He shrugged.
“I was on the Academic Challenge team in high school. We placed first in our division three out of four years.”
“Huh. Fascinating. You know, I never would’ve pegged you for the type.”
Without inflection, Coulson responded, “I’m a deep well.”
Rounding the corner they came across Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton standing in a half-circle around a large cardboard box. Rogers was eyeing the box with dubious concern, Black Widow had her arms crossed, and Barton was looking at what appeared to be an unfolded set of instructions.
“Well this looks promising,” Stark observed, heading over to join them. “Hey guys, what’s this all about?”
“Oh, the uh, desk we all chipped in and decided to get for Bruce, since he doesn’t really have a good one in his lab, finally arrived,” Rogers told him.
Stark gave the still unopened package a look. “Desk, huh?”
“Yeah.” Rogers’ look was hovering somewhere between sheepish and mildly amused. “Desk.”
Stark pointed. “Well I’m no carpenter, but I think I can tell you what your problem is.”
“Some assembly required,” Barton deadpanned. He held up the instructions. “Remind me again whose idea it was to order this thing from IKEA?”
“Hey, not mine.” Rogers shook his head, chuckling. “I was all for paying extra for the one that was already made.”
“It’s not too late to change our minds,” Romanoff said offhandedly.
Barton grimaced. “Actually, I think I might’ve voided the return policy when I cut through the plastic covering thingy.”
“You guys are horrible,” Rogers exclaimed. “You know what, Bruce is a genius, why don’t we just give it to him like this as a present and he can put it together himself? I mean, I know that’s rude, but I’d rather keep the general principle of the gift intact than try to build this thing and ruin it.”
“Are you kidding me? Stand aside, boy scout.” Stark nudged him. “I think I can figure out a few written directions. I mean I only graduated summa cum laude from MIT, for crying out loud.”
“MIT doesn’t even have a summa cum laude degree,” Romanoff complained.
Stark froze as both Rogers and Barton gave him surprised looks.
“Wait, seriously?” The Captain’s brow rose in disbelief. “Is that true?”
“You’ve been lying about a certification that doesn’t even exist, just to impress people?” Hawkeye snorted. “What, because the fact you graduated from MIT wasn’t good enough all on its own.”
“I’m sorry, weren’t we doing something here?” Stark interjected pointedly, aggravated. “Did you want to get this furniture for our occasionally avocado-colored friend assembled or not?”
Rogers held up his hands in surrender. Barton only shook his head. The Black Widow’s face remained perfectly blank.
Stark wasn’t even looking at Coulson anymore.
“Alright then.” He opened the box and started pulling out small wooden pieces. “Steve - hold these. Arrowhead, if, and I realize this is a difficult proposition, but if you could possibly attempt to not be a smartass for a few minutes without exploding, lay some instructions on me.”
Barton smirked tightly, but he did as he was bid anyway. “Okay,” he cleared his throat, reading straight from the paper; “‘For to arrange in this order resolute desk with much ambition gracefully-'”
Stark’s head shot up. “Oh, you have got to be joking.”
Agent Romanoff snatched the instructions from her partner’s hands.
“Give me that!” Flipping them over she began reading the untranslated side. “‘But before unpacking’…dammit, Clint.”
Coulson made himself comfortable where he had his back pressed against the wall, and he pulled out his smartphone to start returning some important emails. Something told him he was going to be there for a while.
*
Stark had finally given in to the repetitive hounding and finished his paperwork. Coulson suspected it was as much a result of the coming weekend and a desire to keep his social calendar free as it was from anything the agent actually did.
He wondered if it was petty of him to hope Dr. Doom decided sunny Fridays were a perfect time to launch a robot attack on Malibu.
In any case, at least now he had what he needed. He still had parts to look over before he could turn the reports in, along with his own assessment, but he wasn’t waiting on anyone else. That was always something of a comfort.
Friday was typically the day optimistic subordinate agents would approach him about requesting last-minute time off, so Coulson always made it a point to not be in his office. The main conference room would usually do.
Except that when he arrived, the room appeared to be already occupied.
Pepper Potts stood with her back to the door, arms folded as she was explaining something - mostly, it seemed, to Agent Romanoff.
Coulson looked past the women to the pile of objects on the table behind. He blinked, bemused. Comic books?
“So you can see why I thought this might be a cause for concern,” Ms. Potts was concluding.
“I’ll say.” Flipping through one, Captain Rogers shook his head. “This artwork is plain awful. I can’t even tell what this is supposed to be a picture of.”
Ms. Potts glanced at the cover. “Try turning it the other way.”
He did as suggested. And then his expression rapidly went from puzzled, to incredulous, to wide-eyed.
“Is that a…no. It can’t be a…”
“I don’t doubt it,” Agent Romanoff cut him off. She turned to Ms. Potts, hands on her hips. “I understand why you might find the existence of this sort of thing distasteful, considering the whole public image factor-”
“I’m used to finding all sorts of unsavory and outlandish accusations about my significant other in public forums,” the other woman interrupted her crisply. “Believe me, that’s got nothing to do with it. But last I checked the likenesses of Iron Man and the other Avengers in their superhero personas were licensed property owned by Stark Industries and a branch of SHIELD, specifically so it could be ensured that the majority of the profit off their merchandise goes to charity.”
She pointed at the comics which, on closer inspection, Coulson realized seemed to written entirely in Japanese.
“I certainly know none of these are ‘approved product’. So doesn’t that mean we have cause for a copyright infringement lawsuit?”
“Technically, perhaps,” Romanoff told her. “But you have to understand, doujinshi has been around for a long time. It’s considered something of a cultural institution. And while thanks to the internet it’s been rising in mainstream popularity, most of the original artists create only self-published limited runs, which keep their profits so low it basically falls under Fair Use.”
She shrugged.
“It’s not a battle worth fighting, believe me. But, hey.” She smiled sardonically. “Thanks for bringing them in. I’m sure the guys are thrilled to see what kind of attention they’re getting from their ‘fans’.”
The ‘guys’ she referred to were Rogers, Dr. Banner, Thor, and his brother, who visited the base so damn often nobody batted an eye anymore.
And Coulson could only assume she was being incredibly sarcastic, because he wouldn’t have used the word ‘thrilled’.
The Captain was holding his book sideways, fingers frozen, growing increasingly red and flustered as he looked at some image.
“I…that’s…” he stammered. “Tony…I would never…”
Banner adjusted his glasses, mouth twitching grimly as he looked over Rogers’ shoulder. He pointed a finger. “I’d just like to point out, that is completely anatomically impossible.”
Loki’s expression was more composed as he looked at a different copy, if a bit sour. But he was holding the cover too tightly and at an angle guaranteed to crack its spine. And considering what a bibliophile he was, that was fairly noteworthy.
Thor was staring at the same book. Coulson wondered if he should be concerned for the man’s health, as he looked utterly shell-shocked and seemed to have been rendered completely silent. In fact, he appeared catatonic.
“I don’t quite understand this phrase,” Loki murmured. “What does ‘oniisama’ mean?”
“‘Older brother’, I think,” Agent Romanoff told him.
“Oh, so they do know that we’re brothers, then,” Loki remarked, voice going shrill. “I couldn’t help but wonder, considering some of the things that they have us do.”
Thor’s mouth slowly opened, made a dry gasping sound, and then rapidly shut again.
Coulson cleared his throat. Romanoff and Ms. Potts looked up at him.
“Do I even want to know?” he inquired.
“No,” both women and all four men answered him, firmly, at once.
He got the hint. Turning around he left the room without another word.
*
Coulson couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t had to work on a weekend.
He was hardly the only one. Still, there was something that just felt inherently depressing about walking down the same hallways in the base, wearing his crisp dark suit, while being vaguely aware it was a Saturday.
The mission reports to Fury had been filed and delivered. He didn’t expect to hear anything back on them until the beginning of next week.
If he heard anything at all - and if he’d done his work right and everything was in order, he wouldn’t. That was just how federal employment tended to work.
With one task complete there was simply nothing to do but move on to the next. Getting off the elevator on the level outside Dr. Banner’s lab, Coulson was already speaking as he raised his hand to open the door.
“Dr. Banner, I need to go over a minor discrepancy that’s been noted in your latest expense report-“
His instincts kicked in and he stepped back just in time as the door flung open from the inside and Banner stumbled out into the hallway, doubled over.
Letting out harsh, low growls he tore at the buttons of his shirt, which was already beginning to tear apart from the back as his muscles rippled and swelled, the color of his skin rapidly changing.
One of his assistants appeared in the doorway shaking, eyes fixated widely on the doctor, a walkie-talkie clutched in his hand.
“CODE GREEN, CODE GREEN!” he screamed. “GET THE RESPONSE TEAM DOWN HERE IMMEDIATEDLY! REPEAT, CODE GREEN, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”
Banner was starting to roar as the elevator opened again and a dozen agents decked out in riot gear piled out armed with tear gas and tranquilizer guns.
Coulson moved out of their way, letting out the briefest sigh as he stepped backward into the now-vacant elevator.
“I’ll come back later.”
*
On Sunday Coulson finally got out of the office. Of course, it was only a business trip.
His cell rang and he picked it up, answering by the second ring. “What is it?”
“Uh, yeah,” Agent Barton’s voice began, impatient. “There’s something that’s come up with another emergency, and I was wondering-”
“Whatever it is I’m sure the six of you can handle it yourselves, Barton,” Coulson interrupted. “After all, wasn’t that exactly what Stark was saying just last week? ‘I could run this entire operation any day, no sweat’.”
“Well-“
“And I believe there was something else about his eyes closed and one arm restrained.”
“Oh come on, that’s Tony. You can’t actually take anything he says-”
“And before that, it was Captain Rogers.” Though admittedly that had been more of a disgruntled mutter. And at least he had followed it up with a ‘No disrespect, sir’. “And before that…well, I think it was you, Barton. Am I not right?”
“What? Man, I was pissed off that day. You’re gonna bust me over something I said, what, two months ago in a fit of rage, right after I broke my hand punching a wall?”
“I have no intention of ‘busting’ anyone,” Coulson said smoothly. “My point is simply that you’re going to have to be on your own for this one. It can’t be that hard.”
“Hey man, I thought this was your job. You can’t get back here and-”
“Barton.” Coulson sat up straight. His voice took on the firm, cool tone that permitted absolutely no argument. “I am currently in the middle of a crucial diplomatic negotiation on the behalf of SHIELD. Under no circumstances am I leaving until my mission has been successfully completed. Not for anything. That’s the final say.”
“But, Coulson.” There was an odd strained note in the other agent’s voice now. “Steve and Natasha got in an argument so now they’re not speaking to each other, and I don’t know where Thor is and Jane’s still ticked off at me so she won’t tell me where he’s gone, and Bruce-”
“Whatever it is I’m sure you can figure it out. Goodbye.” Coulson ended the call.
Switching his phone over to silent, he tossed it on top of his jacket where he’d piled it neatly along with his tie and dress socks and shoes. Coulson leaned back in his deck chair with an exhale of relaxation, wiggling his toes a bit in the sand.
Paranoid as he was about protecting the sanctity of Atlantis, of course Namor had refused to let any surface-dwelling agent of SHIELD come visit it. So for the discussion of terms for his admission into the Avengers, he had chosen a small remote tropical island as the location instead.
And being that he was a conceited prince, Namor clearly had every intention of making his ambassador wait awhile before he showed up to actually speak with them. But having formality, he had no intentions of being a poor host, and had left strict instructions that his guest should be treated with utmost hospitality until he arrived.
A distinctly underage-looking Atlantean girl, with flowing golden locks and clad in a tiny green bikini, padded toward him across the pristine white beach.
“Would you like another drink?” She bent forward with a smile as she offered her pitcher.
“As a matter of fact, I would.” Coulson held out his glass for a refill of the hot pink concoction that tasted strongly like a margarita. “Thank you, Namorita.”
She giggled, brushing hair away from her eyes. “You may refer to me as Nita, agent. Most do.”
He took a sip of his drink, and listened to the waves roll gently against the shore and the far-off cry of seabirds.
“Call me Phil.”
Characters: Coulson, Thor, Tony, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Steve, Namor, Loki, Darcy, Pepper, mention of Fandral, Sif, Fury; mention of Loki/Darcy, Pepper/Tony and Thor/Jane
Rating: PG-13 for mild language, implied violence, mentioned adult situations
Length: 4,615 words
Notes: Follow-up of a sort to The Only Thing Harder Than Triplicate
Summary: Just another week at the office for one Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD.
The first major event of the week arrived in the form of a supervillain attack on greater downtown Los Angeles. The entire team was sent out in response.
Coulson had previously dismissed the Wrecking Crew as second-stringers at best, but afterward he had to mentally upgrade his estimation. Only a truly evil force would choose to stage full-scale city-wide devastation on a Monday morning.
After the altercation was reported as concluded successfully, he waited in front of the elevator leading from the jet’s hanger bay. His timing was almost perfect - the doors opened a mere two minutes later.
Thor and Stark strode out, too busy congratulating each other at first to notice anything else.
“Well, I have to give credit where credit is due, pal,” Stark was saying. “That really was some spectacular aim with the lightning rod effect on your part there.”
Thor smirked, tossing his hammer up and down so that it rotated in the air, yet never failing to catch it by the handle.
“Ah, but it would not have been nearly so successful a gambit if not for your timely distraction, my friend.”
He gave the other a hearty pat on the shoulder. Stark faltered a bit, but didn’t budge from where he had an arm draped companionably around Thor’s neck.
“Probably not.” Stark gestured with the glass tumbler he’d somehow already gotten hold of, ice cubes clinking. “But I had a perfect opening. Nice work with that pick-up, Bruce!”
“You’re welcome.” Dr. Banner followed his teammates out of the elevator with a slightly more subdued expression.
Taking in the fact he was wearing nothing but his shorts, Coulson made a mental note to add a building damages reimbursement form to the paperwork he would be filling out.
“Mr. Stark.” He stepped forward. “I believe it’s already been made clear to you - several times, in fact - what the leadership of the Initiative thinks about you drinking while you’re on the job.”
The three of them stopped mid-step, having been effectively caught by surprise.
“Technically I’m not on the job.” At least Stark had the good graces to throw ‘technically’ in there, considering the only part of the Iron Man armor he’d removed was the faceplate. “We’ve just come from the job. This is me after.”
Thor chortled. “Yes, and he has much to celebrate. Not only did we successfully vanquish our foes, but this good fellow has just won another round of ‘mission bingo’.”
“You can probably let it go over just one drink, Agent,” Dr. Banner added, with a wry observation: “I think Tony here was well-versed in holding his liquor by the time he was eighteen.”
“Please,” Stark objected primly. “Seventeen and a half.”
“‘Mission bingo’?” Coulson asked, backing the conversation up a bit. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar. Explain.”
The doctor coughed. “Well it was Clint’s idea, mostly-”
“Shocking,” Coulson interjected. “Where are Agents Barton and Romanoff, by the way?”
“Stayed behind to help supervise the clean-up,” Stark explained. There was another clink from his glass and, seriously, where did he manage to find both scotch and ice between there and the hanger bay? Coulson was going to have to look into this.
“I see. And Captain Rogers?”
“Oh, okay, see.” Both Stark and Thor were grinning, and even Dr. Banner seemed to be covering a laugh. “That’s getting back to your first question, actually.”
“In order to play this game, we each draw lots from a bag in turns,” Thor added. “Each lot has some different event written upon it.”
“Something that may or may not happen on the mission,” Banner picked up. “There are always four far more likely ones, like ‘Thor hits a thug in the face with Mjolnir’, or ‘Black Widow uses a chokehold’…the idea is whoever has the most things that happen, each time, is the winner.”
“But then we each also get one, much more significantly rarer possibility as well. And if that happens, it’s an instant victory.” Stark slapped Thor on the back, beaming. “And that’s why Steve isn’t here. See for yourself.”
With some difficulty he slid a tiny scrap of paper from one of the suit’s front compartments and handed it over.
Coulson read aloud, “‘Teammate helps deliver a baby’.”
“Can you believe it? What are the odds of there being a pregnant woman within range of the action to conveniently go into labor like that?” Stark shook his head. “Of course it was Steve that happened to cross paths with her - I mean, it would be.”
“He chose to accompany her along to the hospital afterwards, to be sure she was alright,” Thor affirmed, his tone indicating he approved of Captain America’s thoroughness and gallantry.
Coulson’s face remained a complete blank. “Well. Whatever celebratory measures you choose to partake in, I expect you all to have filled out your reports on this by the end of today.”
He got three variations on an affirmative mutter.
“Oh, and gentlemen?” Coulson held up the hand with the paper slip in it, and crumpled it. “No more gambling on the job.”
*
By Tuesday afternoon, Coulson had yet to receive a single report on the mission.
He was far from surprised but it was something of an aggravation. The moment he had time to spare, he walked through the base looking for Avengers.
Barton and Rogers were unreachable, as they had gone out jogging. Dr. Banner was nowhere to be found, but that turned out to not be important as his typed report was sitting in the middle of one of the tables in his lab inside an unlabeled manila folder. Apparently he simply forgot to turn it in, or hadn’t had the chance to.
One down, Coulson thought, three to go.
He found the rest in the area they considered their break room. Thor and Stark were seated in the leather couches surrounding the big screen, the television on mute as they chatted. Agent Romanoff had her back to them where she was writing something at a table on the opposite side of the room, seemingly doing her best to ignore her two teammates.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why, when it only took a few seconds of overheard conversation for Coulson to conclude they were swapping stories of their ‘conquests’.
“You have to be making up that last part.” Stark could barely speak around his sniggers.
“No! Truly! They were this big.” Thor cupped his hands largely, holding them out in front of them. “You should have seen the look on Fandral’s face.”
They both fell into boisterous laughter. The redheaded woman shook her head, rolling her eyes.
Coulson decided to leave the two for the moment. He strode in the female operative’s direction instead. “Agent Romanoff-”
“Working on it right now, Coulson,” she barked, not bothering to look up.
Stark was wiping his eyes. “Gotta love a big-boned Nordic woman,” he remarked in response to the tale Thor had been telling. The Asgardian made a sound of profound agreement. Stark glanced over at him, thoughtful. “You know, that brunette you’ve always got tagging along with you and your Viking boys, what’s her name, Sif-”
“She would slice you in half,” Thor cut him off, matter-of-fact, reaching for the bowl of pretzels nearby.
“Ah.” Stark frowned, as Thor took a big handful and stuffed them in his mouth at once. “Well. I guess you would know. I mean, you’ve only known her for, what…a couple hundred years…?”
Thor swallowed, craning his neck to look behind them. “What about you, Son of Coul?” he asked inquisitively. “Have you any fine tales of women to tell?”
Coulson leaned against the table the Black Widow was at, arms folded. “My father’s name was William, Thor.”
“That sounds like an evasion if I’ve ever heard one.” Stark glanced at him as well. “Come on, what about it? I’m sure you must have a few stories. Didn’t you use to be a spymaster general, or something?”
“Any activities I undertook of that nature would be classified,” Coulson stated. “As would Agent Romanoff’s for that matter - I’m surprised the two of you haven’t been bothering her with your questions.”
“Yeah, well.” Stark cleared his throat, shifting as he made a dismissive sound. “I don’t think Thor here and I would be nearly as interested in hearing the details about Natasha’s former dance partners.”
“Descriptions of romantic interludes are not as…evocative, when they are all about other men,” Thor chimed in, even more blunt.
Agent Romanoff still didn’t look up from her paperwork as she replied, flat, “Who said I only ever seduced men?”
Thor and Stark exchanged a look. And then in unison they both turned their heads to gaze at her with great interest.
Coulson let out a sigh.
*
On Wednesday, Coulson was still waiting for Iron Man and Thor to turn in their paperwork. He couldn’t even harass the two of them about it personally, the latter having taken the Bifrost back to Asgard and the former having mumbled something about a Victoria’s Secret party in Tokyo before disappearing.
Admittedly, however, the reports really weren’t at the top of Coulson’s lists of concerns just then, considering the nearly-sentient tidal wave that had just deposited a giant squid right at their front door.
The giant squid in turn had stretched out one tentacle, and down from it had stepped a tall, muscular, mostly humanoid-looking man, with arrogantly regal bearing and wearing nothing but fish scales.
The man marched forward, facing those that’d come running to see what all the commotion was.
Hawkeye had his compound bow out and ready to be aimed. Captain Rogers was missing his cowl but he still raised his shield. Loki, never one to miss out on the fun, was probably already planning a spell to cast.
Darcy Lewis, who had followed along after her visiting boyfriend, was just staring.
The merman didn’t even appear to have seen Coulson, who was standing about three feet to his right. Probably his physical appearance wasn’t sufficiently high-ranking enough to have warranted attention.
Instead he gazed haughtily at the four others, and launched immediately into a lengthy and verbose if admittedly quite eloquent speech.
The end sum of it, Coulson gathered from listening attentively, was that he was Namor, the self-proclaimed Prince of the Seas, and more importantly of an undersea kingdom he called, appropriately enough, Atlantis.
Having heard of the Avengers and their activity, Namor had journeyed to their present location in order to join their “little band” of warriors, so that he might better protect his people from the “dangers of the surface-dwelling world”.
Finished speaking, he drew his chin up, gazing at the targets of his discourse in a way that was unnervingly both fixated and dismissive.
“Any questions?” Namor demanded.
“Uh, yeah.” Barton stared at him with palpable disbelief. “Do they not have pants, where you’re from?”
“Oh, come on, Clint.” Ms. Lewis twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her gaze going somewhere that was definitely not Prince Namor’s face, or anywhere above his belt, for that matter, as she bit at her lower lip. “Don’t you know you should be accepting of other people’s…cultural differences.”
Loki, Barton and Rogers all slowly turned their heads in her direction. She didn’t appear to notice.
Barton’s incredulous expression was intended for Ms. Lewis, but the Captain’s raised eyebrows were aimed more at Loki. As if he was trying to silently say “She’s your girlfriend”.
Loki’s mouth twitched, and after a moment he raised a hand in front of Ms. Lewis’ eyes, blocking her view.
Coulson meanwhile had pulled out his cell phone.
“Get Director Fury,” he ordered into it. “There’s someone down here that I think he’s going to want to meet.”
Stealing a glance upward at the still-looming squid - and he hoped he imagined that it was giving him a dirty look - he couldn’t resist adding, “Immediately.”
*
By Thursday Coulson had in his possession one full mission report from Thor, slightly rumpled, and ink-spotted on the attached page where the Asgardian had found it necessary to sign with his full name in giant script and his royal insignia.
He still had nothing from Tony Stark, the last and final hold-out. By this point, Coulson had decided that he was going to sit on him until he did.
“Seriously, are you planning on following me everywhere?” Stark asked, notably discomfited when he exited to restroom to find Coulson still waiting for him. “All day?”
He started walking, and Coulson didn’t hesitate to fall into step alongside him.
“Because I can only imagine this is going to get incredibly tedious for us both.”
“I imagine you’re very correct in that assumption, Mr. Stark,” Coulson agreed unhesitatingly.
“Tell you what,” Stark began, gesturing expressively, as was his want. “Why don’t I-”
“No, I’ll tell you what,” Coulson interrupted. “You want me off your back, you know exactly what you have to do to get it. I have no intention of leaving you alone until you do. It’s really very simple.”
“Huh.” Stark gave him a considering look, but was otherwise apparently unmoved. “You know, I have to admire your determination, Coulson. I really do.”
“It has been cited as one of my strong points,” Coulson responded. “That, and my long-running record as a champion at Trivial Pursuit.”
“Wait, really?” Stark blinked at him. He shrugged.
“I was on the Academic Challenge team in high school. We placed first in our division three out of four years.”
“Huh. Fascinating. You know, I never would’ve pegged you for the type.”
Without inflection, Coulson responded, “I’m a deep well.”
Rounding the corner they came across Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton standing in a half-circle around a large cardboard box. Rogers was eyeing the box with dubious concern, Black Widow had her arms crossed, and Barton was looking at what appeared to be an unfolded set of instructions.
“Well this looks promising,” Stark observed, heading over to join them. “Hey guys, what’s this all about?”
“Oh, the uh, desk we all chipped in and decided to get for Bruce, since he doesn’t really have a good one in his lab, finally arrived,” Rogers told him.
Stark gave the still unopened package a look. “Desk, huh?”
“Yeah.” Rogers’ look was hovering somewhere between sheepish and mildly amused. “Desk.”
Stark pointed. “Well I’m no carpenter, but I think I can tell you what your problem is.”
“Some assembly required,” Barton deadpanned. He held up the instructions. “Remind me again whose idea it was to order this thing from IKEA?”
“Hey, not mine.” Rogers shook his head, chuckling. “I was all for paying extra for the one that was already made.”
“It’s not too late to change our minds,” Romanoff said offhandedly.
Barton grimaced. “Actually, I think I might’ve voided the return policy when I cut through the plastic covering thingy.”
“You guys are horrible,” Rogers exclaimed. “You know what, Bruce is a genius, why don’t we just give it to him like this as a present and he can put it together himself? I mean, I know that’s rude, but I’d rather keep the general principle of the gift intact than try to build this thing and ruin it.”
“Are you kidding me? Stand aside, boy scout.” Stark nudged him. “I think I can figure out a few written directions. I mean I only graduated summa cum laude from MIT, for crying out loud.”
“MIT doesn’t even have a summa cum laude degree,” Romanoff complained.
Stark froze as both Rogers and Barton gave him surprised looks.
“Wait, seriously?” The Captain’s brow rose in disbelief. “Is that true?”
“You’ve been lying about a certification that doesn’t even exist, just to impress people?” Hawkeye snorted. “What, because the fact you graduated from MIT wasn’t good enough all on its own.”
“I’m sorry, weren’t we doing something here?” Stark interjected pointedly, aggravated. “Did you want to get this furniture for our occasionally avocado-colored friend assembled or not?”
Rogers held up his hands in surrender. Barton only shook his head. The Black Widow’s face remained perfectly blank.
Stark wasn’t even looking at Coulson anymore.
“Alright then.” He opened the box and started pulling out small wooden pieces. “Steve - hold these. Arrowhead, if, and I realize this is a difficult proposition, but if you could possibly attempt to not be a smartass for a few minutes without exploding, lay some instructions on me.”
Barton smirked tightly, but he did as he was bid anyway. “Okay,” he cleared his throat, reading straight from the paper; “‘For to arrange in this order resolute desk with much ambition gracefully-'”
Stark’s head shot up. “Oh, you have got to be joking.”
Agent Romanoff snatched the instructions from her partner’s hands.
“Give me that!” Flipping them over she began reading the untranslated side. “‘But before unpacking’…dammit, Clint.”
Coulson made himself comfortable where he had his back pressed against the wall, and he pulled out his smartphone to start returning some important emails. Something told him he was going to be there for a while.
*
Stark had finally given in to the repetitive hounding and finished his paperwork. Coulson suspected it was as much a result of the coming weekend and a desire to keep his social calendar free as it was from anything the agent actually did.
He wondered if it was petty of him to hope Dr. Doom decided sunny Fridays were a perfect time to launch a robot attack on Malibu.
In any case, at least now he had what he needed. He still had parts to look over before he could turn the reports in, along with his own assessment, but he wasn’t waiting on anyone else. That was always something of a comfort.
Friday was typically the day optimistic subordinate agents would approach him about requesting last-minute time off, so Coulson always made it a point to not be in his office. The main conference room would usually do.
Except that when he arrived, the room appeared to be already occupied.
Pepper Potts stood with her back to the door, arms folded as she was explaining something - mostly, it seemed, to Agent Romanoff.
Coulson looked past the women to the pile of objects on the table behind. He blinked, bemused. Comic books?
“So you can see why I thought this might be a cause for concern,” Ms. Potts was concluding.
“I’ll say.” Flipping through one, Captain Rogers shook his head. “This artwork is plain awful. I can’t even tell what this is supposed to be a picture of.”
Ms. Potts glanced at the cover. “Try turning it the other way.”
He did as suggested. And then his expression rapidly went from puzzled, to incredulous, to wide-eyed.
“Is that a…no. It can’t be a…”
“I don’t doubt it,” Agent Romanoff cut him off. She turned to Ms. Potts, hands on her hips. “I understand why you might find the existence of this sort of thing distasteful, considering the whole public image factor-”
“I’m used to finding all sorts of unsavory and outlandish accusations about my significant other in public forums,” the other woman interrupted her crisply. “Believe me, that’s got nothing to do with it. But last I checked the likenesses of Iron Man and the other Avengers in their superhero personas were licensed property owned by Stark Industries and a branch of SHIELD, specifically so it could be ensured that the majority of the profit off their merchandise goes to charity.”
She pointed at the comics which, on closer inspection, Coulson realized seemed to written entirely in Japanese.
“I certainly know none of these are ‘approved product’. So doesn’t that mean we have cause for a copyright infringement lawsuit?”
“Technically, perhaps,” Romanoff told her. “But you have to understand, doujinshi has been around for a long time. It’s considered something of a cultural institution. And while thanks to the internet it’s been rising in mainstream popularity, most of the original artists create only self-published limited runs, which keep their profits so low it basically falls under Fair Use.”
She shrugged.
“It’s not a battle worth fighting, believe me. But, hey.” She smiled sardonically. “Thanks for bringing them in. I’m sure the guys are thrilled to see what kind of attention they’re getting from their ‘fans’.”
The ‘guys’ she referred to were Rogers, Dr. Banner, Thor, and his brother, who visited the base so damn often nobody batted an eye anymore.
And Coulson could only assume she was being incredibly sarcastic, because he wouldn’t have used the word ‘thrilled’.
The Captain was holding his book sideways, fingers frozen, growing increasingly red and flustered as he looked at some image.
“I…that’s…” he stammered. “Tony…I would never…”
Banner adjusted his glasses, mouth twitching grimly as he looked over Rogers’ shoulder. He pointed a finger. “I’d just like to point out, that is completely anatomically impossible.”
Loki’s expression was more composed as he looked at a different copy, if a bit sour. But he was holding the cover too tightly and at an angle guaranteed to crack its spine. And considering what a bibliophile he was, that was fairly noteworthy.
Thor was staring at the same book. Coulson wondered if he should be concerned for the man’s health, as he looked utterly shell-shocked and seemed to have been rendered completely silent. In fact, he appeared catatonic.
“I don’t quite understand this phrase,” Loki murmured. “What does ‘oniisama’ mean?”
“‘Older brother’, I think,” Agent Romanoff told him.
“Oh, so they do know that we’re brothers, then,” Loki remarked, voice going shrill. “I couldn’t help but wonder, considering some of the things that they have us do.”
Thor’s mouth slowly opened, made a dry gasping sound, and then rapidly shut again.
Coulson cleared his throat. Romanoff and Ms. Potts looked up at him.
“Do I even want to know?” he inquired.
“No,” both women and all four men answered him, firmly, at once.
He got the hint. Turning around he left the room without another word.
*
Coulson couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t had to work on a weekend.
He was hardly the only one. Still, there was something that just felt inherently depressing about walking down the same hallways in the base, wearing his crisp dark suit, while being vaguely aware it was a Saturday.
The mission reports to Fury had been filed and delivered. He didn’t expect to hear anything back on them until the beginning of next week.
If he heard anything at all - and if he’d done his work right and everything was in order, he wouldn’t. That was just how federal employment tended to work.
With one task complete there was simply nothing to do but move on to the next. Getting off the elevator on the level outside Dr. Banner’s lab, Coulson was already speaking as he raised his hand to open the door.
“Dr. Banner, I need to go over a minor discrepancy that’s been noted in your latest expense report-“
His instincts kicked in and he stepped back just in time as the door flung open from the inside and Banner stumbled out into the hallway, doubled over.
Letting out harsh, low growls he tore at the buttons of his shirt, which was already beginning to tear apart from the back as his muscles rippled and swelled, the color of his skin rapidly changing.
One of his assistants appeared in the doorway shaking, eyes fixated widely on the doctor, a walkie-talkie clutched in his hand.
“CODE GREEN, CODE GREEN!” he screamed. “GET THE RESPONSE TEAM DOWN HERE IMMEDIATEDLY! REPEAT, CODE GREEN, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”
Banner was starting to roar as the elevator opened again and a dozen agents decked out in riot gear piled out armed with tear gas and tranquilizer guns.
Coulson moved out of their way, letting out the briefest sigh as he stepped backward into the now-vacant elevator.
“I’ll come back later.”
*
On Sunday Coulson finally got out of the office. Of course, it was only a business trip.
His cell rang and he picked it up, answering by the second ring. “What is it?”
“Uh, yeah,” Agent Barton’s voice began, impatient. “There’s something that’s come up with another emergency, and I was wondering-”
“Whatever it is I’m sure the six of you can handle it yourselves, Barton,” Coulson interrupted. “After all, wasn’t that exactly what Stark was saying just last week? ‘I could run this entire operation any day, no sweat’.”
“Well-“
“And I believe there was something else about his eyes closed and one arm restrained.”
“Oh come on, that’s Tony. You can’t actually take anything he says-”
“And before that, it was Captain Rogers.” Though admittedly that had been more of a disgruntled mutter. And at least he had followed it up with a ‘No disrespect, sir’. “And before that…well, I think it was you, Barton. Am I not right?”
“What? Man, I was pissed off that day. You’re gonna bust me over something I said, what, two months ago in a fit of rage, right after I broke my hand punching a wall?”
“I have no intention of ‘busting’ anyone,” Coulson said smoothly. “My point is simply that you’re going to have to be on your own for this one. It can’t be that hard.”
“Hey man, I thought this was your job. You can’t get back here and-”
“Barton.” Coulson sat up straight. His voice took on the firm, cool tone that permitted absolutely no argument. “I am currently in the middle of a crucial diplomatic negotiation on the behalf of SHIELD. Under no circumstances am I leaving until my mission has been successfully completed. Not for anything. That’s the final say.”
“But, Coulson.” There was an odd strained note in the other agent’s voice now. “Steve and Natasha got in an argument so now they’re not speaking to each other, and I don’t know where Thor is and Jane’s still ticked off at me so she won’t tell me where he’s gone, and Bruce-”
“Whatever it is I’m sure you can figure it out. Goodbye.” Coulson ended the call.
Switching his phone over to silent, he tossed it on top of his jacket where he’d piled it neatly along with his tie and dress socks and shoes. Coulson leaned back in his deck chair with an exhale of relaxation, wiggling his toes a bit in the sand.
Paranoid as he was about protecting the sanctity of Atlantis, of course Namor had refused to let any surface-dwelling agent of SHIELD come visit it. So for the discussion of terms for his admission into the Avengers, he had chosen a small remote tropical island as the location instead.
And being that he was a conceited prince, Namor clearly had every intention of making his ambassador wait awhile before he showed up to actually speak with them. But having formality, he had no intentions of being a poor host, and had left strict instructions that his guest should be treated with utmost hospitality until he arrived.
A distinctly underage-looking Atlantean girl, with flowing golden locks and clad in a tiny green bikini, padded toward him across the pristine white beach.
“Would you like another drink?” She bent forward with a smile as she offered her pitcher.
“As a matter of fact, I would.” Coulson held out his glass for a refill of the hot pink concoction that tasted strongly like a margarita. “Thank you, Namorita.”
She giggled, brushing hair away from her eyes. “You may refer to me as Nita, agent. Most do.”
He took a sip of his drink, and listened to the waves roll gently against the shore and the far-off cry of seabirds.
“Call me Phil.”