Work Text:
Coulson leaned against the crumbling warehouse wall and examined the remains of his hand. Fitz and Mack had done a great job with the prosthesis--it had lock-picks, a small switchblade, and a literal thumb drive, and it still looked human under a glove. But it couldn't punch through a steel door and remain entirely unscathed.
The left phalanges and metacarpals dropped into the rubble at his feet.
Yeah, Mack was going to give him a very pointed look.
Coulson retrieved the bits he could find and pulled out his cell phone to arrange retrieval and the cleanup of a few dead Hydra agents.
"We have a team enroute for cleanup, Director." From the background noise, Phil suspected that May was flying them in herself. "But you're going to have to wait a while for repairs to your hand. Mack and Fitz are in quarantine. Remember the Kree artifact we retrieved last week?"
"The one I specifically told them not to touch?"
"Right."
"They touched it, didn't they."
"Of course they touched it, Phil. Your quinjet wasn't even out of sight when Fitz opened the case. What did you think would happen?"
"I left them six new Hydra weapons and a flying Asgardian longboat to examine!"
"Yes, but they can work on those when you're around."
Coulson caught the tip of his ring finger as it dropped (it had a personal hotspot; he could get wifi literally anywhere and Skye was disturbingly jealous). "Well, I can't go to the meeting with General Talbot like this. You know what he's like when he thinks he senses weakness."
"You do have another option."
"No, May."
"Newark's not that far from Manhattan."
"Stark was not thrilled about Fury's motivational gambit. I'm pretty sure he wants to see me even less than usual."
May rolled her eyes and said, "Just wave the remainder of your prosthesis under his nose and ask if he can figure out how to fix it. He'll be too busy being miffed at the implication that he might not be up to it to care about the past. He'll probably give you rocket launchers."
"That sounds painful." And kind of awesome, he didn't add.
"Or you can just put your arm in a sling and tell Talbot you broke it punching out a reinforced steel door."
"No, too much truth isn't good for our relationship. I'll . . ." he sighed. "I'll go ask Stark for a favor."
* * *
Coulson made it past the lobby of Stark Tower without any problem. He got through the penthouse with a long hug from Pepper and a slight smile from Agent Romanov. Then, with a resigned sigh, he went down to the workshop and stopped dead outside the glass door.
Bucky Barnes glared at him from a chair next to Stark's workbench.
Bucky Barnes was glaring at him. In Stark's workshop.
Bucky Barnes was . . . Bucky Barnes . . .
Before Coulson could slip entirely into an endless mental loop, Stark turned from the mechanical arm on his workbench and pointed a soldering iron at him. "This is a 'no zombies allowed' zone, Agent!"
"Bucky Barnes is . . . ."
"Technically, he never died, so that doesn't count. Besides, he brought me a present," added Stark, gesturing at the arm.
Coulson raised his arm and wiggled the remaining fingers (half a lock-pick, the thumbdrive, and a syringe leading to the gel chromatograph in his trapezoid). Stark's eyes narrowed. The door opened. "Get in here."
* * *
Tony poked at the remains of Coulson's hand. "This is actually kind of decent work. What did you do to it?"
"Punched through a steel warehouse door."
"Yeah, no. If you want to punch with the big boys, by whom I mean me and maybe Rhodey who is almost as awesome, you're going to need more than a basic titanium-vanadium alloy in the support structure."
Barnes' glare deepened a bit and turned on Stark. "Is my arm boring you, Stark?"
"Relax, Snowy Sergeant. The fabrication units will be working on the replacement relays for a bit longer. And there are a couple of things in this hand that we might want to consider."
"I don't need it to whistle show tunes, Stark. It just needs to hold a knife."
"You're breaking my heart. Seriously, I might cry on your circuits, and soggy circuits never . . . ." Coulson stepped between them and extended his remaining hand toward Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes. It's an honor to meet you. I'm Phil Coulson, Director of SHIELD." Barnes looked at his hand for a moment and then shook it.
"Director of SHIELD? I'm pretty sure your cyclopean predecessor is still raising the mizzenmast on a helicarrier now and then," said Stark, as he turned back to the workbench.
"Fury considers himself to be in an emeritus role."
Bucky looked between them. "Do all SHIELD directors need to sacrifice a body part?"
Coulson considered the question for a moment. "Well, it's not in the official job description. But we both think it's good for leaders to sacrifice a bit of themselves instead of a lot of others."
Stark gestured toward the sofa on the other side of the workshop. "Take your deeply sincere transformative leadership discussion over there while I work on this."
Five hours, two pizzas, and a six pack later, Bucky and Phil (it took less than half an hour of ganging up on Stark for them to become Bucky and Phil) stood in front of a target with their new prostheses. Bucky pointed his middle finger and a bullet punched a hole in the target's center. Phil carefully aimed his little finger and pointer finger to create two laser holes above it (he could hear Skye saying "Rock on, boss" in his head). Bucky finished with a whip-line slashing a curve below.
Stark looked at the smiley face carved on the target and nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what I hoped you'd use a couple of million dollars’ worth of cutting edge technology for. Please remember the ulnar styloid makes a great bottle opener."
"Is that your way of saying we should get another six pack?" asked Bucky.
"No. Well, yes, but upstairs. Pepper texted me that Director Agent is not allowed to leave without some sort of competent people bonding ritual, which had better be either a lot less kinky than I made it sound or a lot more; I haven't decided yet."