Coulson Lives...
Fandom: Avengers, duh.
Summary: Coulson lives. And boy, is he pissed at what Fury did...
Notes: Um... so I was walking to work and thinking about all of the awesome Coulson Lives stuff that Clark Gregg has been retweeting (and you should all totes follow him because awesome) and then this all just popped into my mind and I wrote it on my phone at work whilst I was waiting for code to compile.
So. Unbetad. And, you know, I wrote it on my phone at work whilst I was waiting for code to compile.
Coulson blinked, screwing his eyes against the harsh white light. The word disinfectant floated around the back of his brain and it was a moment before he connected it to the smell that pervaded the air.
Ah. Hospital. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a hospital bed with no memory of how he'd got there, and, given his line of work, it probably wouldn't be the last, but it was never anything but utterly disorientating.
He tried to sit up, but the movement caused waves of pain to crash through his chest. He slumped back against the pillow. Whatever had landed him in here this time must have been a doozy.
A nurse bustled in.
"Oh, good, you're awake. Director Fury will be pleased." She smiled and busied herself with checking his vitals, or whatever it was nurses did at times like this.
"What happened?" Coulson asked, surprised at the effort it took to speak those two words.
"Don't you remember? You were stabbed in the chest. Punctured a lung, missed your heart by inches. You were lucky Director Fury found you when he did." She paused, casting an assessing eye over him. "Would you like to sit up?"
Phil nodded, and as she moved around him, carefully arranging his pillows, and even more carefully helping him to get somewhat upright, he thought back to the last thing he could remember.
He remembered fighting his way through the helicarrier. He remembered confronting Loki. He remembered sharp, hard, intense pain. He remembered nothing else.
Phil shook his head to banish the memories.
The nurse had finished arranging his bed to her liking.
"There you go. That's much better. If you need anything, just press that button." She gestured to a small button resting next to his hand. "I'm Nurse Carter, by the way."
Nurse Carter paused at the door. "I nearly forgot. Director Fury left this for you." She pulled a padded envelope from a drawer and handed it to him.
Phil looked at the packet, confused. What on earth was Fury sending him?
He ripped open the flap and tilted it over the bed. Out slid some cards, red splashes obscuring the faces. He picked them up to get a better look. It was a set of Captain America Cigarette Cards, and they were covered in what looked like blood. Phil frowned, confused. What on earth...? He tilted the envelope again, and a note fluttered out. He picked it up and read:
Coulson,
You're dead, officially. You were right. It was just the impetus they needed to work as a team. Thought you might want these.
Fury.
Coulson looked more closely at the cards. Yes, he recognised the foxing in the corner of one of them. They were definitely his cards and covered in what he assumed was his blood.
He looked back at the note. He looked back at the cards. He could almost picture it. Fury telling the team he was dead, playing on their grief and guilt, and then, to seal the deal, throwing these cards in their faces. Anger began to sweep through him. Fury had the... the gall to do this. To declare him dead and use him, use his possessions in this way. What gave him the right?
Phil glared at the note, wishing Director Fury was there so he could tell him exactly what he thought of such tactics.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Nick Fury stepped through the doorway at that moment, a pleased smile hinting about his face.
"Good to see you back with us, Agent."
Phil transferred his glare to the man standing in front of him.
"You son of a bitch. How dare you? What do you think gives you the goddammed right?" he said, the effort making each word come out staccato, hissed through gritted teeth.
Fury raised an eyebrow, his look plainly saying that the only reason Coulson was getting a pass on talking to him like that was that he was lying in a hospital bed
"Coulson, you know it was necessary. You said it yourself. They needed something to pull them together. They needed something to avenge. I will not apologise for saving the world and I will not apologise for killing you."
Phil waved him off. "I don't care about that. But they were my cigarette cards, weren't they?"
Fury frowned in confusion. "Yeah...?" He shrugged.
"They're vintage! Captain America was mint!" Phil was nearly shouting now, anger making him push through the pain of speaking. "And you... you... you... *defiled* them. Do you know how long they took me to collect? I had the full set! Do you know what they were worth? My grandad gave me my first one when I was 10!"
Fury waited for him to stop shouting and collapse back wearily on the pillows.
"Then it's a good job those are copies then, isn't it? He extracted a small bundle from his inside pocket and threw them on the bed, on top of the note. "There's your damn cards back. You done?"
Coulson nodded, somewhat sheepishly.
"Good," said Fury, sitting down next to the bed. "Cos I didn't come here to be shouted at. I came here to discuss your miraculous resurrection."
He flashed a quick grin and pulled a Stark phone tablet from his pocket.
Coulson blinked, screwing his eyes against the harsh white light. The word disinfectant floated around the back of his brain and it was a moment before he connected it to the smell that pervaded the air.
Ah. Hospital. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a hospital bed with no memory of how he'd got there, and, given his line of work, it probably wouldn't be the last, but it was never anything but utterly disorientating.
He tried to sit up, but the movement caused waves of pain to crash through his chest. He slumped back against the pillow. Whatever had landed him in here this time must have been a doozy.
A nurse bustled in.
"Oh, good, you're awake. Director Fury will be pleased." She smiled and busied herself with checking his vitals, or whatever it was nurses did at times like this.
"What happened?" Coulson asked, surprised at the effort it took to speak those two words.
"Don't you remember? You were stabbed in the chest. Punctured a lung, missed your heart by inches. You were lucky Director Fury found you when he did." She paused, casting an assessing eye over him. "Would you like to sit up?"
Phil nodded, and as she moved around him, carefully arranging his pillows, and even more carefully helping him to get somewhat upright, he thought back to the last thing he could remember.
He remembered fighting his way through the helicarrier. He remembered confronting Loki. He remembered sharp, hard, intense pain. He remembered nothing else.
Phil shook his head to banish the memories.
The nurse had finished arranging his bed to her liking.
"There you go. That's much better. If you need anything, just press that button." She gestured to a small button resting next to his hand. "I'm Nurse Carter, by the way."
Nurse Carter paused at the door. "I nearly forgot. Director Fury left this for you." She pulled a padded envelope from a drawer and handed it to him.
Phil looked at the packet, confused. What on earth was Fury sending him?
He ripped open the flap and tilted it over the bed. Out slid some cards, red splashes obscuring the faces. He picked them up to get a better look. It was a set of Captain America Cigarette Cards, and they were covered in what looked like blood. Phil frowned, confused. What on earth...? He tilted the envelope again, and a note fluttered out. He picked it up and read:
Coulson,
You're dead, officially. You were right. It was just the impetus they needed to work as a team. Thought you might want these.
Fury.
Coulson looked more closely at the cards. Yes, he recognised the foxing in the corner of one of them. They were definitely his cards and covered in what he assumed was his blood.
He looked back at the note. He looked back at the cards. He could almost picture it. Fury telling the team he was dead, playing on their grief and guilt, and then, to seal the deal, throwing these cards in their faces. Anger began to sweep through him. Fury had the... the gall to do this. To declare him dead and use him, use his possessions in this way. What gave him the right?
Phil glared at the note, wishing Director Fury was there so he could tell him exactly what he thought of such tactics.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Nick Fury stepped through the doorway at that moment, a pleased smile hinting about his face.
"Good to see you back with us, Agent."
Phil transferred his glare to the man standing in front of him.
"You son of a bitch. How dare you? What do you think gives you the goddammed right?" he said, the effort making each word come out staccato, hissed through gritted teeth.
Fury raised an eyebrow, his look plainly saying that the only reason Coulson was getting a pass on talking to him like that was that he was lying in a hospital bed
"Coulson, you know it was necessary. You said it yourself. They needed something to pull them together. They needed something to avenge. I will not apologise for saving the world and I will not apologise for killing you."
Phil waved him off. "I don't care about that. But they were my cigarette cards, weren't they?"
Fury frowned in confusion. "Yeah...?" He shrugged.
"They're vintage! Captain America was mint!" Phil was nearly shouting now, anger making him push through the pain of speaking. "And you... you... you... *defiled* them. Do you know how long they took me to collect? I had the full set! Do you know what they were worth? My grandad gave me my first one when I was 10!"
Fury waited for him to stop shouting and collapse back wearily on the pillows.
"Then it's a good job those are copies then, isn't it? He extracted a small bundle from his inside pocket and threw them on the bed, on top of the note. "There's your damn cards back. You done?"
Coulson nodded, somewhat sheepishly.
"Good," said Fury, sitting down next to the bed. "Cos I didn't come here to be shouted at. I came here to discuss your miraculous resurrection."
He flashed a quick grin and pulled a Stark phone tablet from his pocket.
Summary: Coulson lives. And boy, is he pissed at what Fury did...
Notes: Um... so I was walking to work and thinking about all of the awesome Coulson Lives stuff that Clark Gregg has been retweeting (and you should all totes follow him because awesome) and then this all just popped into my mind and I wrote it on my phone at work whilst I was waiting for code to compile.
So. Unbetad. And, you know, I wrote it on my phone at work whilst I was waiting for code to compile.
Coulson blinked, screwing his eyes against the harsh white light. The word disinfectant floated around the back of his brain and it was a moment before he connected it to the smell that pervaded the air.
Ah. Hospital. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a hospital bed with no memory of how he'd got there, and, given his line of work, it probably wouldn't be the last, but it was never anything but utterly disorientating.
He tried to sit up, but the movement caused waves of pain to crash through his chest. He slumped back against the pillow. Whatever had landed him in here this time must have been a doozy.
A nurse bustled in.
"Oh, good, you're awake. Director Fury will be pleased." She smiled and busied herself with checking his vitals, or whatever it was nurses did at times like this.
"What happened?" Coulson asked, surprised at the effort it took to speak those two words.
"Don't you remember? You were stabbed in the chest. Punctured a lung, missed your heart by inches. You were lucky Director Fury found you when he did." She paused, casting an assessing eye over him. "Would you like to sit up?"
Phil nodded, and as she moved around him, carefully arranging his pillows, and even more carefully helping him to get somewhat upright, he thought back to the last thing he could remember.
He remembered fighting his way through the helicarrier. He remembered confronting Loki. He remembered sharp, hard, intense pain. He remembered nothing else.
Phil shook his head to banish the memories.
The nurse had finished arranging his bed to her liking.
"There you go. That's much better. If you need anything, just press that button." She gestured to a small button resting next to his hand. "I'm Nurse Carter, by the way."
Nurse Carter paused at the door. "I nearly forgot. Director Fury left this for you." She pulled a padded envelope from a drawer and handed it to him.
Phil looked at the packet, confused. What on earth was Fury sending him?
He ripped open the flap and tilted it over the bed. Out slid some cards, red splashes obscuring the faces. He picked them up to get a better look. It was a set of Captain America Cigarette Cards, and they were covered in what looked like blood. Phil frowned, confused. What on earth...? He tilted the envelope again, and a note fluttered out. He picked it up and read:
Coulson,
You're dead, officially. You were right. It was just the impetus they needed to work as a team. Thought you might want these.
Fury.
Coulson looked more closely at the cards. Yes, he recognised the foxing in the corner of one of them. They were definitely his cards and covered in what he assumed was his blood.
He looked back at the note. He looked back at the cards. He could almost picture it. Fury telling the team he was dead, playing on their grief and guilt, and then, to seal the deal, throwing these cards in their faces. Anger began to sweep through him. Fury had the... the gall to do this. To declare him dead and use him, use his possessions in this way. What gave him the right?
Phil glared at the note, wishing Director Fury was there so he could tell him exactly what he thought of such tactics.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Nick Fury stepped through the doorway at that moment, a pleased smile hinting about his face.
"Good to see you back with us, Agent."
Phil transferred his glare to the man standing in front of him.
"You son of a bitch. How dare you? What do you think gives you the goddammed right?" he said, the effort making each word come out staccato, hissed through gritted teeth.
Fury raised an eyebrow, his look plainly saying that the only reason Coulson was getting a pass on talking to him like that was that he was lying in a hospital bed
"Coulson, you know it was necessary. You said it yourself. They needed something to pull them together. They needed something to avenge. I will not apologise for saving the world and I will not apologise for killing you."
Phil waved him off. "I don't care about that. But they were my cigarette cards, weren't they?"
Fury frowned in confusion. "Yeah...?" He shrugged.
"They're vintage! Captain America was mint!" Phil was nearly shouting now, anger making him push through the pain of speaking. "And you... you... you... *defiled* them. Do you know how long they took me to collect? I had the full set! Do you know what they were worth? My grandad gave me my first one when I was 10!"
Fury waited for him to stop shouting and collapse back wearily on the pillows.
"Then it's a good job those are copies then, isn't it? He extracted a small bundle from his inside pocket and threw them on the bed, on top of the note. "There's your damn cards back. You done?"
Coulson nodded, somewhat sheepishly.
"Good," said Fury, sitting down next to the bed. "Cos I didn't come here to be shouted at. I came here to discuss your miraculous resurrection."
He flashed a quick grin and pulled a Stark phone tablet from his pocket.
Coulson blinked, screwing his eyes against the harsh white light. The word disinfectant floated around the back of his brain and it was a moment before he connected it to the smell that pervaded the air.
Ah. Hospital. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a hospital bed with no memory of how he'd got there, and, given his line of work, it probably wouldn't be the last, but it was never anything but utterly disorientating.
He tried to sit up, but the movement caused waves of pain to crash through his chest. He slumped back against the pillow. Whatever had landed him in here this time must have been a doozy.
A nurse bustled in.
"Oh, good, you're awake. Director Fury will be pleased." She smiled and busied herself with checking his vitals, or whatever it was nurses did at times like this.
"What happened?" Coulson asked, surprised at the effort it took to speak those two words.
"Don't you remember? You were stabbed in the chest. Punctured a lung, missed your heart by inches. You were lucky Director Fury found you when he did." She paused, casting an assessing eye over him. "Would you like to sit up?"
Phil nodded, and as she moved around him, carefully arranging his pillows, and even more carefully helping him to get somewhat upright, he thought back to the last thing he could remember.
He remembered fighting his way through the helicarrier. He remembered confronting Loki. He remembered sharp, hard, intense pain. He remembered nothing else.
Phil shook his head to banish the memories.
The nurse had finished arranging his bed to her liking.
"There you go. That's much better. If you need anything, just press that button." She gestured to a small button resting next to his hand. "I'm Nurse Carter, by the way."
Nurse Carter paused at the door. "I nearly forgot. Director Fury left this for you." She pulled a padded envelope from a drawer and handed it to him.
Phil looked at the packet, confused. What on earth was Fury sending him?
He ripped open the flap and tilted it over the bed. Out slid some cards, red splashes obscuring the faces. He picked them up to get a better look. It was a set of Captain America Cigarette Cards, and they were covered in what looked like blood. Phil frowned, confused. What on earth...? He tilted the envelope again, and a note fluttered out. He picked it up and read:
Coulson,
You're dead, officially. You were right. It was just the impetus they needed to work as a team. Thought you might want these.
Fury.
Coulson looked more closely at the cards. Yes, he recognised the foxing in the corner of one of them. They were definitely his cards and covered in what he assumed was his blood.
He looked back at the note. He looked back at the cards. He could almost picture it. Fury telling the team he was dead, playing on their grief and guilt, and then, to seal the deal, throwing these cards in their faces. Anger began to sweep through him. Fury had the... the gall to do this. To declare him dead and use him, use his possessions in this way. What gave him the right?
Phil glared at the note, wishing Director Fury was there so he could tell him exactly what he thought of such tactics.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Nick Fury stepped through the doorway at that moment, a pleased smile hinting about his face.
"Good to see you back with us, Agent."
Phil transferred his glare to the man standing in front of him.
"You son of a bitch. How dare you? What do you think gives you the goddammed right?" he said, the effort making each word come out staccato, hissed through gritted teeth.
Fury raised an eyebrow, his look plainly saying that the only reason Coulson was getting a pass on talking to him like that was that he was lying in a hospital bed
"Coulson, you know it was necessary. You said it yourself. They needed something to pull them together. They needed something to avenge. I will not apologise for saving the world and I will not apologise for killing you."
Phil waved him off. "I don't care about that. But they were my cigarette cards, weren't they?"
Fury frowned in confusion. "Yeah...?" He shrugged.
"They're vintage! Captain America was mint!" Phil was nearly shouting now, anger making him push through the pain of speaking. "And you... you... you... *defiled* them. Do you know how long they took me to collect? I had the full set! Do you know what they were worth? My grandad gave me my first one when I was 10!"
Fury waited for him to stop shouting and collapse back wearily on the pillows.
"Then it's a good job those are copies then, isn't it? He extracted a small bundle from his inside pocket and threw them on the bed, on top of the note. "There's your damn cards back. You done?"
Coulson nodded, somewhat sheepishly.
"Good," said Fury, sitting down next to the bed. "Cos I didn't come here to be shouted at. I came here to discuss your miraculous resurrection."
He flashed a quick grin and pulled a Stark phone tablet from his pocket.