Flashbacks and Hard Choices
New York
February 2011
“No, I will not force her to speak with you,” Tony Stark snapped.
The man on the screen scowled. “Stark-”
“Fury, I highly recommend investing in blood pressure medication, but right now I have other things to do.”
“Stark!”
“Please hold,” Tony said in a fake-polite voice, and cut off the SHIELD director’s next words as he dramatically slapped a button on his desk.
“I have told you, sir, it would be much more efficient to transfer the holding command to my network,” JARVIS said.
“Yeah, but the button is so much more satisfying,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair. “If I don’t get to dramatically slam my flip phone closed anymore, I’m definitely keeping the button. What’s next?”
“Ms Potts has informed me that you have a meeting in eleven minutes with the financial team.”
“Yeah, no thanks. What else?”
“Sir, I get the distinct impression that you wish to cancel any remaining appointments today and continue working on the Mark II.”
Tony paused. “Damn, I did a good job programming you. Yes. Do that. I’ll be in my lab.” He stood up and began to walk out of the room.
“Tony!”
Shit.
“Pepper!” he said, smiling wide and turning to embrace his girlfriend.
She dodged him neatly, looking sleek and perfect as always in her business skirt, matching jacket, and heels. “Tony, have you prepared to meet with the financial team?”
“Ah, about that-”
“No,” she said.
“Come on. Just - it’s one day.”
“And you do this every day. You are going to that meeting.”
He eyed the red-headed woman cleverly. “Well, what if I skipped?”
“I’m locking down the lab,” she said instantly. “I’m CEO. I can do that.”
“And I own a stock majority, so…”
“Go to the financial meeting and I’ll let you off the hook with Merges and Acquisitions this afternoon.”
“Done. JARVIS, find me a suit.”
“In your office, sir.”
“Excellent. Pepper, we’re going to dinner tonight.”
“Tony, I have-”
“JARVIS, cancel whatever of Ms Potts’ appointments is clashing with my dinner plans.” Tony spun and walked backwards while pointing at his girlfriend, whose face was caught somewhere between smiling and angry. “Seven o’clock. There’ll be a limo out front. Be there.”
“Tony-”
“Enjoy Merges and Acquisitions!” he fired over his shoulder, and disappeared down the hallway.
As he walked, the dark-haired man couldn’t help whistling, hands stuffed in his pockets. He’d shut down Fury, gotten out of half his meetings, and arranged things with Pepper. This was the happiest he’d been in a long time, since-
The flashback came on fast and brutal, slamming into his senses. In less than a second he was back in the desert.
Blistering wind. Hot as hell. Staring a missile with his name on it in the face and thinking with hysteria that this had to be the biggest irony in a life littered with them.
Tony snapped back to the present and found himself leaning on the wall, breathing hard.
“Sir, are you-”
“I’m fine, JARVIS,” Tony growled, good mood effectively ruined. “And find me a restaurant with a table for two at seven-thirty. Something expensive.”
“Consider it done.”
He absently rubbed his fingers over the arc reactor through his T-shirt as he stepped into his other office to change.
Washington, D.C., United States
February 2011
Nick Fury pegged the phone across the room.
It slammed into the far wall, bounced off, and hit the floor. It was the latest in smartphone tech, a piece that was far from available to the general public, and luckily did not break.
“Agent Hill!” he bellowed.
The brunette woman was in his office in seconds; she’d been waiting for the call to finish. “Yes?”
“Pull Coulson off Widow watch and kick him over to Stark’s place. I need to speak with Jane Foster yesterday.”
“Yes, sir. Who would you like to replace him on Widow watch?”
“Pick someone. And send Agent Barton to track Banner’s exact location; you can take his place with Selvig's team." Might as well fulfill a request while he was punting people around. "No contact, surveillance only. He’s to stay undetected at all costs.”
“Barton is Romanoff’s partner.”
“She doesn’t get a say. Her choice to drop off the grid. I want it done yesterday.”
Hill’s face tightened, but she gave him a sharp nod, spun on her heel, and left.
Fury sighed and rubbed his forehead.
Everything was so unstable right now. The Widow had dropped off the grid two weeks ago, as she occasionally did, and though she’d given him almost a decade of extremely successful service, it still made him jumpy every time. If Barton knew where she was, the Hawk wasn’t telling.
Then there was the erratic and narcissistic Stark, the matter of keeping track of Banner without revealing his location, the question of Captain America, and now this whole mess with the Foster woman. He knew she was distraught about her alien boyfriend but he had no patience for the sentiment. Fury needed answers.
And then there was the cube.
“Agent Lang,” he said, sticking his head out the door.
The agent who served basically as a secretary looked up from his computer. “Sir?”
“Get me a progress report on Phase Two, stat.”
“Yes, sir.” Lang stood up and jogged out of the room.
Fury stepped back into his office, shut the door, and pulled up the live feed and updates about Captain America’s status. The man was in a medically induced coma, vitals stable.
On another screen, Fury saw the live window from Widow watch, the task force he’d assembled to try and keep track of the Widow every time she went off-grid between ops. They were only nominally successful. The last word of her had been a reported sighting in Chita in southeast Russia, and that had been thirty-one hours ago. She could be anywhere by now, if it had even been Romanoff - the report was unconfirmed.
And Barton was acting odd. Fury tapped his fingers pensively on the desk, examining the file with the latest psych analysis of the agent known as Hawkeye. Barton had been withdrawn, less talkative than previous years, and more close-lipped, particularly when asked questions about the Widow. There was nothing concrete, nothing certain, but Fury had years of experience managing his agents, and there was a niggling suspicion that Barton had been compromised in a permanent way.
The clock on Widow watch switched from thirty-one to thirty-two hours since the last suspected sighting.
Fury moved decisively, taking three sharp strides across the room and snatching his phone from the floor. He flipped through his contacts and made a call.
“This is Director Fury. Authorization Delta nine zero Omega black.” He paused. “It’s time to wake the Captain.”