We Still Thought We Lost, Chapter Four
Title: The Harpy Eagle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 683
Pairings: eventual Clint Barton(Hawkeye)/Phil Coulson
Fandom: The Avengers (2012/MCU)
Series Name: Shades: Asphyxiation on Ao3 and on LJ
A/N: Yes, So another fandom without updating the original H50 stories, I'm sorry. It's been slow going but I am working on one right now.
Nicholas Fury sighed and rubbed at the scarred empty socket that once held his eye, trying to ward away the headache throbbing at his temples, threatening to become a migraine.
The battle had been successful-Loki defeated, the Chitari beaten back, and their numbers decimated-but there were hundreds dead or unaccounted for and damages that needed to be assessed so that repairs could begin.
That was all beyond the part where one of his best agents, one of the few people he could have possibly called a friend, had been killed. During battle he was rock steady, understood that casualties happened and he couldn't do anything about what he wasn't there for. After the battle-after the action and all that was left was dealing with paper work and determining what to do with the wannabe megalomaniac that tried to enslave the human race-he let the knowledge penetrate and he couldn't quite quell the desire to go and shoot Loki several times for killing Phillip Coulson, so instead he downed a tumbler full of aged scotch and stared at the wall of his office and let his thoughts fall into buzzing white noise.
It was one of the few times Nick Fury let his shoulders slump and a heartfelt sigh hiss out in weary grief.
Four days after the battle and he had finally managed to make time to debrief the members of the Avengers Initiative. They were all sitting there, quiet and sombre, recognizing that someone was missing. Neither Agent Barton or Stark attempted to make inappropriate quips as they normally would, one filled with guilt and the other respecting the man who'd once rode herd on him when he was dying.
Maria Hill sat next to him, just as quiet as the others, taking rigorous notes of what each person said, doing the job of a man they all missed-even of only peripherally.
Having only one eye made glaring much easier, the absence of the other lending him a dark and menacing aura. So much so that when he turned it on the young woman in nurses' scrubs that entered the conference room she almost visibly quaked.
The nurse tried to keep her breathing steady as she struggled to find the words to tell them of their discovery, of the coroner beginning to prep the body only for blood to well from the beginnings of the standard 'Y' incision as if it were still alive. The startling revelation that Phillip Coulson had an extremely slow, but steady pulse shocked them all. Their equipment had barely picked it up, and it wouldn't have if they hadn't turned the sensitivity up to its highest.
Telling the Director, telling the heroes in front of her, that their fallen member was in fact alive and healing well despite the seriousness of the injury that felled him was daunting. So many thing could still go wrong, so many almost did and she shivered slightly and felt sick rise up her throat at the thought of the coroner not noticing the way Agent Coulson's blood still flowed and continuing what would have then been a vivisection, she was scared about the effect it would have on the people gathered here to regain their teammate only to lose him in the end.
After stuttering for several minutes and the Director's glare getting worse she finally just swallowed down everything she was feeling and spit it out.
The silence that followed was deafening.
And the cacophony of noise after that could be felt in one's bones.
The nurse fled as soon as she could.
Nicholas Fury was not often surprised by the things that happened in life. He was a spy; he'd seen and done things that few could ever claim but learning that someone you trusted to get the job done, who was supposed dead, had been alive while being kept with the casualties was still shocking.
He'd have to commend Coulson when he awoke for somehow managing to trick them all; after he yelled at him for 'dying' in the first place, of course.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 683
Pairings: eventual Clint Barton(Hawkeye)/Phil Coulson
Fandom: The Avengers (2012/MCU)
Series Name: Shades: Asphyxiation on Ao3 and on LJ
A/N: Yes, So another fandom without updating the original H50 stories, I'm sorry. It's been slow going but I am working on one right now.
Nicholas Fury sighed and rubbed at the scarred empty socket that once held his eye, trying to ward away the headache throbbing at his temples, threatening to become a migraine.
The battle had been successful-Loki defeated, the Chitari beaten back, and their numbers decimated-but there were hundreds dead or unaccounted for and damages that needed to be assessed so that repairs could begin.
That was all beyond the part where one of his best agents, one of the few people he could have possibly called a friend, had been killed. During battle he was rock steady, understood that casualties happened and he couldn't do anything about what he wasn't there for. After the battle-after the action and all that was left was dealing with paper work and determining what to do with the wannabe megalomaniac that tried to enslave the human race-he let the knowledge penetrate and he couldn't quite quell the desire to go and shoot Loki several times for killing Phillip Coulson, so instead he downed a tumbler full of aged scotch and stared at the wall of his office and let his thoughts fall into buzzing white noise.
It was one of the few times Nick Fury let his shoulders slump and a heartfelt sigh hiss out in weary grief.
Four days after the battle and he had finally managed to make time to debrief the members of the Avengers Initiative. They were all sitting there, quiet and sombre, recognizing that someone was missing. Neither Agent Barton or Stark attempted to make inappropriate quips as they normally would, one filled with guilt and the other respecting the man who'd once rode herd on him when he was dying.
Maria Hill sat next to him, just as quiet as the others, taking rigorous notes of what each person said, doing the job of a man they all missed-even of only peripherally.
Having only one eye made glaring much easier, the absence of the other lending him a dark and menacing aura. So much so that when he turned it on the young woman in nurses' scrubs that entered the conference room she almost visibly quaked.
The nurse tried to keep her breathing steady as she struggled to find the words to tell them of their discovery, of the coroner beginning to prep the body only for blood to well from the beginnings of the standard 'Y' incision as if it were still alive. The startling revelation that Phillip Coulson had an extremely slow, but steady pulse shocked them all. Their equipment had barely picked it up, and it wouldn't have if they hadn't turned the sensitivity up to its highest.
Telling the Director, telling the heroes in front of her, that their fallen member was in fact alive and healing well despite the seriousness of the injury that felled him was daunting. So many thing could still go wrong, so many almost did and she shivered slightly and felt sick rise up her throat at the thought of the coroner not noticing the way Agent Coulson's blood still flowed and continuing what would have then been a vivisection, she was scared about the effect it would have on the people gathered here to regain their teammate only to lose him in the end.
After stuttering for several minutes and the Director's glare getting worse she finally just swallowed down everything she was feeling and spit it out.
The silence that followed was deafening.
And the cacophony of noise after that could be felt in one's bones.
The nurse fled as soon as she could.
Nicholas Fury was not often surprised by the things that happened in life. He was a spy; he'd seen and done things that few could ever claim but learning that someone you trusted to get the job done, who was supposed dead, had been alive while being kept with the casualties was still shocking.
He'd have to commend Coulson when he awoke for somehow managing to trick them all; after he yelled at him for 'dying' in the first place, of course.