Dance, Dance (PG)
Title: Dance, Dance
Rating: PG
Word Count: 727
Summary: He is a patient man, dressed in featureless suits. There is no expression upon his face and no one knows his story. Those that do... usually die.
Warning: Dark
Notes: based on Clark Gregg's on-set interview with Collider, where he said "They all work for me. Is that what you mean? (laughs) Nick Fury is my puppet government."
He didn’t want to be the face of anything, not even a para-military organization that operated in the shadows of the government. He had learned it was more effective to wield power from behind the scenes, to pull strings and make others dance beneath him at his bidding.
Fury was the first. He was sure that when people learned the truth (however short their life was once they obtained that knowledge), they would believe the one-eyed man was the hardest to control. What wasn’t made public, wasn’t written down except in the memory of two men, was that Fury could have lost his life the day he lost an eye. Fury still had honor and was a Good Man. He expected the same of others and so invoked a life debt. It amused him to see the man now, the man who others trembled in front of, and know that he was the one calling the shots.
The Russian assassin was next to fall in line. He made a trip to Bosnia, ruined her mission and the rescued her. She wasn’t thankful but he wasn’t expecting that from her. He offered her immunity in exchange for information, a promise she could keep to herself and continue the work for a larger purpose. He let Natasha slip in and out of the shadows like Death itself but was careful to remind her every so often who she belonged to.
The marksman was an interesting case. He had studied him as soon as a dossier was put together and knew he’d found the perfect partner for his little spider. The man was cocky, brash and sarcastic. He was aloof in the field and didn’t kiss ass. Too often, everyone beneath him went around like paying lip service would get them R&D’s latest tech sooner or allow them to be sent on optimal missions; the man in charge appreciated the candor from Clint Barton. He liked his employees with a little bit of fire.
Eyes were put on the scientist with the rage problem and he went to personally deal with the Consultant. The man was a terror for authority figures worldwide but a bonafide genius, a nice addition to his collection. He let Nick handle the end details, knowing the man had gravitas that Stark would respond to; He had business to attend to in New Mexico.
The god is a challenge, acting clueless and so human. It frustrates him, standing in the rain and overlooking the hammer which represents not only allies but passageway to the other realms. There is a plan and a timetable and it would be remiss to go astray when he’s come so far. “Donald Blake” is taken into custody and let go. A robot that is decidedly not Stark Industries decimates the small town and the blond man transforms, disappears in a flash of light. The scientist girl weeps and hardens her resolve. The god will be back on Earth before too long.
Natasha is sent after the scientist with a full strike team as back-up. It doesn’t matter how she gets him to HQ, only that she does. The report hits his desk eight days after she’s sent to India and it’s stored neatly away in a folder labelled AVENGERS INITIATIVE. Bruce Banner is given housing, clothes and a lab to work in. Nothing says the man cannot be some modicum of happy while he's working here.
Steve Rogers is found in the ice up north. He indulges his inner fanboy for a moment, because this will be the prize of them all. He speaks in quiet tones, unassuming manner at the forefront, of duty and honor, what the country expects and how SHIELD operates for the good of the national public. It’s not exactly lies he tells, but neither is it the full truth. Regardless, it is enough for Captain America to sign on and join the merry band of troublemakers he has assembled.
Phil Coulson leans back in his chair. He doesn’t have an office on the top floor, he is a middleman known for getting tasks done and not much more. There’s no way, no reason to assume, he will rise above. Only Phil Coulson knows that he controls the strings, twining and jerking, as everyone below dances to his tune. He loves when a plan comes together.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 727
Summary: He is a patient man, dressed in featureless suits. There is no expression upon his face and no one knows his story. Those that do... usually die.
Warning: Dark
Notes: based on Clark Gregg's on-set interview with Collider, where he said "They all work for me. Is that what you mean? (laughs) Nick Fury is my puppet government."
He didn’t want to be the face of anything, not even a para-military organization that operated in the shadows of the government. He had learned it was more effective to wield power from behind the scenes, to pull strings and make others dance beneath him at his bidding.
Fury was the first. He was sure that when people learned the truth (however short their life was once they obtained that knowledge), they would believe the one-eyed man was the hardest to control. What wasn’t made public, wasn’t written down except in the memory of two men, was that Fury could have lost his life the day he lost an eye. Fury still had honor and was a Good Man. He expected the same of others and so invoked a life debt. It amused him to see the man now, the man who others trembled in front of, and know that he was the one calling the shots.
The Russian assassin was next to fall in line. He made a trip to Bosnia, ruined her mission and the rescued her. She wasn’t thankful but he wasn’t expecting that from her. He offered her immunity in exchange for information, a promise she could keep to herself and continue the work for a larger purpose. He let Natasha slip in and out of the shadows like Death itself but was careful to remind her every so often who she belonged to.
The marksman was an interesting case. He had studied him as soon as a dossier was put together and knew he’d found the perfect partner for his little spider. The man was cocky, brash and sarcastic. He was aloof in the field and didn’t kiss ass. Too often, everyone beneath him went around like paying lip service would get them R&D’s latest tech sooner or allow them to be sent on optimal missions; the man in charge appreciated the candor from Clint Barton. He liked his employees with a little bit of fire.
Eyes were put on the scientist with the rage problem and he went to personally deal with the Consultant. The man was a terror for authority figures worldwide but a bonafide genius, a nice addition to his collection. He let Nick handle the end details, knowing the man had gravitas that Stark would respond to; He had business to attend to in New Mexico.
The god is a challenge, acting clueless and so human. It frustrates him, standing in the rain and overlooking the hammer which represents not only allies but passageway to the other realms. There is a plan and a timetable and it would be remiss to go astray when he’s come so far. “Donald Blake” is taken into custody and let go. A robot that is decidedly not Stark Industries decimates the small town and the blond man transforms, disappears in a flash of light. The scientist girl weeps and hardens her resolve. The god will be back on Earth before too long.
Natasha is sent after the scientist with a full strike team as back-up. It doesn’t matter how she gets him to HQ, only that she does. The report hits his desk eight days after she’s sent to India and it’s stored neatly away in a folder labelled AVENGERS INITIATIVE. Bruce Banner is given housing, clothes and a lab to work in. Nothing says the man cannot be some modicum of happy while he's working here.
Steve Rogers is found in the ice up north. He indulges his inner fanboy for a moment, because this will be the prize of them all. He speaks in quiet tones, unassuming manner at the forefront, of duty and honor, what the country expects and how SHIELD operates for the good of the national public. It’s not exactly lies he tells, but neither is it the full truth. Regardless, it is enough for Captain America to sign on and join the merry band of troublemakers he has assembled.
Phil Coulson leans back in his chair. He doesn’t have an office on the top floor, he is a middleman known for getting tasks done and not much more. There’s no way, no reason to assume, he will rise above. Only Phil Coulson knows that he controls the strings, twining and jerking, as everyone below dances to his tune. He loves when a plan comes together.