Agent Coulson
Today was a bad day. It was the kind of day that began with one’s alarm gong off an hour late, and proceeded by rain with no umbrella, a broken car, and an overly cramped subway. Topping the morning off was being splashed by a passing car, ruining his suit and rapidly cooling coffee. By the time Coulson reached SHIELD headquarters, he was prepared to taser anybody who didn’t get out of his way. So, the last thing he wanted was to be bombarded by frantic junior agents scrambling around the floors shouting for directions and red alerts.
“Good of you to join us this morning…whoa, what happened to you?”
“Nothing,” Coulson sighed, pushing past Hawkeye who looked far too amused given the general panic levels. “What’s going on here, Clint?”
He shrugged as he fell in step with Coulson.
“Loki is my guess,” he answered.
Coulson paused mid-step and looked up. Sure as this day sucked, every bit of furniture was now on every surface except for the ground. He shook his head and continued towards his office. Everybody panicked far too easily these days. Speaking of panicked, a young man, probably a new recruit, ran up to him and saluted. Coulson couldn’t figure out why he was being saluted, or when they even adopted a salute in the first place. Clint coughed, or laughed, into his hand.
“Sir! All the furniture has been…altered!” he shouted.
“’Altered?’ It’s stuck to the ceiling. I think we’re past altered,” Coulson corrected, his patience running thin.
“Er…yes, sir…What should we do?”
“Yeah, Coulson, what should we do?” Clint asked far too seriously to be anything but serious.
Slapping Clint upside the head, Coulson didn’t take time to revel in the look of surprise on his face. Instead, he focused in on the agent.
“Will the furniture come off?” Coulson asked, already knowing the answer.
“No, everything just…stays where it is.”
“Then we do nothing,” he explained. “Just tell everybody to calm down and go about their regular duties.”
That should have been that, but of course, it never worked that way. When he should have been scurrying off and doing as he was told, the new agent remained where he was, in Coulson’s way.
“But what about the perpetrator? It’s obvious this is the work of Loki,” the agent pressed. “Shouldn’t we do something about our security?”
Whether he did it out of the goodness of his heart, or some pathological need to harass new recruits, Clint grabbed the young man by the shoulder, leading him away from coulson while explaining how Loki had no concept of security or personal space, and that if he was vandalizing their headquarters, he wasn’t off enslaving their planet.
Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Coulson continued trudging towards his office, stopping by Director Fury’s office as was customary.
“The director is expecting you,” the secretary said as he approached the double doors.
Nodding his head politely, Coulson knocked on the door, letting himself in before any verbal confirmation. Regardless of the flurry of activity elsewhere, Fury’s office was its usual quiet calm, the director sitting behind his desk, his little tabby glaring down its obscenely cute pink nose.
“Rough morning?” Fury asked, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Gravity defying furniture is the least ‘rough’ part of my morning,” Coulson answered truthfully.
Fury made some noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, motioning for Natasha to step forward. For all his preparedness for any situation, Coulson could still be surprised when the Black Widow manifested, unassuming from some dark shadow. She held out a thick folder brimming with paperwork. Too much of a professional to sigh aloud, Coulson reached upwards to take the folder from her, who smiled sympathetically for a brief moment before rejoining Fury at his desk.
“These are current reports from our intel on Doom’s activity in the past few months,” Fury explained. “We suspect he may be preparing another weapon. Look into it and see if we need to send anybody over.”
The conversation was over, and when one was ignored, one was dismissed. Coulson tucked the folder under his arm, idly wondering how both Fury and Natasha could look even more dignified on the veiling than on the floor. He waved at the secretary sitting on the wall, typing away at her computer.
Finally giving into the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, Coulson paused a moment to collect himself. Even though he had given order to ignore the current situation in headquarters, the newer agents were still scrambling around while the more seasoned agents continued about their regular business, whether it be on one of the walls or the ceiling. Everybody wanted to get their work done before Loki decided gravity needed to work again, and all their hard work and desks were unceremoniously broken on the floor.
Coulson sincerely hoped his desk was on the wall. He didn’t feel like climbing up to the ceiling until the magic gravity kicked in, and left him there. Maybe when all this was done, he could get a new desk and finally have it face the window.
When he reached his office door, he paused, hand hovering over the handle. Taking a deep breath and telling himself his day could not get any worse, he twisted the knob. The door swung open, revealing nothing, or at least, nothing out of the ordinary. Coulson stared dumbly at his office, eyes roving over every nook and cranny, searching for the prank that had to be waiting for him. But, the longer he stared, the ore he was aware that there was no magical trap waiting for him.
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, Coulson walked into his office, shutting the door lightly behind. It was silent, more silent than was possible with all the excitement everywhere else. Coulson felt some of the tension bleed out of his shoulder as he set the seemingly lighter feeling folder on his desk.
Sitting down, he realized there was a delicious smell wafting from one of his desk drawers. With a bit more gusto than he would ever admit to, Coulson opened the drawer to find a cup of steaming hot coffee from his favorite shop, accompanied by a plate with a powdered and chocolate frosted doughnut. Coulson pulled the objects out reverently, fnally noticing the plain white envelope underneath.
His name was written on the front, the neat, almost superfluous script making it obvious who it was from. Taking a sip and savoring the flavor of his coffee, Coulson picked the envelop up, examining it. Setting the coffee down, he opened the envelope and pulled out a single photograph. The subject was of Doom lunging for the camera, diabolical looking robots standing clearly in the background. Coulson hummed happily, leaning back in his chair, admiring the perfect view out his window.