Work Text:
-1-
There was a naked man in the corridor. Nick tucked the manila folder into his jacket, under his arm, and slipped the holdout pistol from its holster at the small of his back. He angled his right shoulder forward and cross-stepped closer to the wall as he thumbed off the safety.
"Hello."
The naked man turned, shoulders and then his hips, and he smiled. "Good morning, Colonel."
Well, Nick decided, something was definitely wrong. It wasn't like Steve to wander the facility naked.
"The uniform just not good enough for you anymore, Captain Rogers?" Nick shifted his gun to a one-hand hold and toggled the comm sewn into his jacket cuff. Maria needed to know about this. Maybe the med team. He wondered what kind of attack it was this time. Magic? Chemical?
Maybe Steve had just finally gone crazy.
"They decided not to call me Steve anymore, sir. It's too confusing." The naked captain was still smiling. He stepped forward and held his hand out.
Nick raised the gun before he realized what he was doing.
Steve laughed. "Right." He stepped back and dropped his hand, then gestured at himself. "They removed my weapons, sir, you don't have to worry about me. I was never built for the fighting, anyway."
"And just what were you built for?"
He glanced down at his crotch and laughed a little. "Isn't it obvious, sir?"
Obvious. Indeed. The pieces clicked into place and Nick swore. "What are you doing here?" He thought they'd destroyed the sexbots.
"Agent Romanoff said the team needed some support. It's my first day." He beamed.
Putting the gun down was probably the best course of action, Nick thought, but he left it up. Having the sexbot in his facility was too unsettling. Especially that one, built the way it was. And naked.
"Agent Romanoff said, huh." Natasha's pranks were getting out of control. The glitter was bad--this was worse.
"Yes, sir."
As if on cue, Natasha stepped into the corridor from the ready room, took in Nick aiming for the bot's chest, and smirked.
"Put the gun away, Nick. McDick isn't a threat. Well. Not to you, anyway."
Grudginly, Nick thumbed the safety back on and tucked the gun into its holster. "What are you doing, Natasha?"
"Relax. I'm just having some fun."
"At your boyfriend's expense, it looks like."
Natasha pouted. "I'd never be this mean to Sam, Nick. You of all people should know that."
Nick just shook his head. If he ever forgot the memory of McDick's equipment , it would be a miracle. "Make him put some clothes on. I don't want him scaring the new recruits." He paused. "Or making them feel inadequate ."
"He'll put some pants on later, I promise." Natasha turned to McDick.
McDick. Nick snorted. Of course she'd call him that.
"Come on in, big guy, everyone's waiting to meet you."
McDick nodded at Nick. "Let me know if you need anything, sir. I'm happy to do what I can."
"Thank you," he said automatically, then winced. There was no way in hell he was going to ask the sexbot for anything, not if he could help it.
Nick Fury could always find ways to help it.
McDick beamed at him, then turned back toward Natasha.
Even the way he walked was a show. Nick wondered if someone could do something about his programming. He wondered who he'd even bring that up with. Not Natasha--she was in full prank mode. Barnes, maybe.
"Have a good morning," Natasha said, and stepped aside to usher McDick into the ready room. To him, she said, "They're going to love you."
"I sure hope so, ma'am."
-2-
Maria's expression was grimmer and less-amused than usual. Nick hated when she looked like that. Usually it went very badly for him.
"Don't tell me," he said.
"I think you need to know, sir."
"I know what you think, Hill, I'm telling you I don't want to know."
Her fingers flew over her tablet, tapping out a set of commands he wished he didn't recognize, and the large screen on his office wall came to life.
He threw his hand up, blocking the sight of it. "Come on, Maria, I said I didn't want to know!"
"All the news channels are playing cropped and censored footage of this," she said. "Public Relations phones and faxes are jammed, and we've gotten so many emails since the story broke that our servers have crashed twice. A few of the Internet news sites have made the connection between some of the performers and the fight a couple of months ago. There are rumblings of at least one official federal inquiry."
Nick frowned. "We're not under federal jurisdiction anymore."
"We failed to disclose a clear and present threat to the government," Maria pointed out.
He raised an eyebrow. "No we did not. They've known about Doom for years--we neutralized this threat before it became a threat."
Maria gave him a look .
"Natasha and Barnes cleared them, they're not threats anymore," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Bots are easier to deprogram than people, there's a better chance of Barnes--"
"The point is, this isn't going away, sir," Maria cut in. "I have a few possible solutions. I'd like your input."
Nick sighed through his nose. He'd come back as a courtesy. (Because being retired was boring as shit.) He'd come back because he liked this team, he liked these people, he believed in their work, and he was a good leader. They needed a leader. He hadn't taught them everything he knew, so he still had enough to offer.
And this was the thanks he got: sexbot orgies.
"Do whatever you think is best," he said.
Maria finally quirked a smile. "I think we should edit and distribute it. We could use the income. The sooner we're independent of Stark, the better."
"You want us to sell pornography to fund a team of superheroes."
"I have two California studios asking about a Saturday-morning cartoon based on the little bot," she said. "Terminator meets Transformers meets the old canceled Earth's Mightiest Heroes. I'm hoping we won't be relying solely on the porn."
Nick looked at her, then nudged his chair away from his desk just far enough to reach the bottom drawer. He unlocked it with his thumb pressed to the keypad, and when it opened, he removed his old service pistol and a box of its custom ammunition.
"I'll be down at the range," he said. He stood up. "You take care of this."
-3-
Despite the rumors to the contrary, Nick was both very much alive and very much human, and he hadn't lived as long as he had without learning fast that when the doctors tell you to do something, you do it.
But he he still didn't want an audience while he was doing those things.
That was why he liked to use the gym late. Very late. So late he rarely saw anyone else, and when he did, it was usually someone else who didn't want to be seen (the notable exception, of course, was Natasha; Nick was still trying to repair the damage he'd done with her, so if sometimes he found himself in the gym the same nights she did, well, maybe it wasn't always an accident). He liked it that way.
What he did not like was knowing that certain members of his team liked to use the gym for exercise that had nothing to do with any of the state-of-the-art equipment.
He also could have lived the rest of his life very happily not knowing the particular details of the way Steve Rogers flexed his ass when he fucked.
-4-
He should have known better than to enter any room in the new Avengers facility without paying full attention, but, no, he'd been lulled into a sense of security that allowed him to just conveniently forget about dangers that weren't security breaches and international disasters.
The team was out. He spent so much time trying not to think about the bots that it didn't occur to him they wouldn't be out; it was an easy fight, the team didn't need the backup, and the bots were only last-line support.
So there they were, McDick behind the bar (no shirt, but at least he'd been convinced to wear pants), cleaning glasses and making notes for the weekly order, and Tinybot perched on one of the stools in front of him.
"I just miss her," McDick was saying. "Not that being with you and Bucky isn't great, but--"
"We're not her," Tinybot said. "I get it. You got someone in mind? Because I don't think any of Bucky's dames are interested."
McDick's wince was unnervingly human. "Yeah. I know." He sounded so morose .
"Hey, you know I didn't mean it like that." Tinybot frowned at him. "Want to go out? I bet we can find you someone. Just look at you."
"I don't want someone ," McDick said. "And remember the last time we went out?" He grinned at Tinybot. "That didn't go so well."
Tinybot huffed, shoulders coming up and chest puffing out. "No means no , pal. I know you were tryin' to be nice, but he didn't deserve nice. He deserved what I gave him."
Nick cleared his throat.
Tinybot didn't even look at him. "We know you're there, sir. We got sensors. Get what you came for and go."
"Steve!" McDick looked scandalized. He frowned at Tinybot, wearing a remarkably accurate replica of Steve's stern expression of disapproval. He glanced at Nick. "We weren't being rude, sir," he tried to explain. "I just know how you--" feel about us went unsaid as he paused. "Can I get you something?"
Many, many years before, when Nick had first started at the CIA, fresh out of the Army and newly aware of just how fucking weird the world really was, he could not have imagined this.
"I did just come in for coffee," Nick said. "But now--"
"You want something a little harder, sir?" McDick turned away from the bar and reached up for a bottle of top-shelf bourbon.
Nick refused to see the way Tinybot ogled McDick's rear end. (Sometimes when he closed his eyes he still saw Steve's ass.)
"Thanks," he said, as McDick poured his drink. He inclined his head at McDick and then at Tinybot when he took it, and he turned to make his retreat.
"What about Kristen in Statistics?" Tinybot said. "She's got a thing for the other one, probably wouldn't say no to you."
"You have to stop calling him the other one ."
-5-
He missed the days when briefings happened in small rooms, or when they happened right there on the bridge of his helicarrier and he could immediately go back to supervising the bridge. Now things were more businesslike, less military, and briefings took place in conference rooms or war rooms with more people (and bots) present than he felt was strictly necessary.
Nick doubted he'd ever really be comfortable with it.
He skimmed the report on his tablet as he made his way to the conference room, slowly sipping his coffee. Regardless of McDick's other programming, the bot sure knew how to make a cup of coffee.
(And a drink.)
Nick pressed his palm flat to the security panel at the conference room and the door slid aside for him. And he heard it. He heard it, but he didn't recognize what he was hearing until he saw it.
How many times could he see Steve Rogers' naked ass before it became some kind of workplace violation and he could complain about it?
+1
Nick stretched out on the bed, wrapped in the borrowed robe and feeling, for the first time in years, like he could actually relax. It was a strange feeling. Welcome, but strange.
He reached for the remote and the channel guide. He didn't watch a lot of TV. Or movies, for that matter. But he was on vacation and he'd forbidden himself from watching the news. He'd swept the room for bugs and he'd very carefully vetted the place before he'd ever booked. It was as safe as it could be. So he turned on the TV.
Intellectually, he had been aware that the production company Maria had set up had been very busy over the last few months. He'd known that many of the bots had been brought out of storage, reprogrammed, and re-commissioned.
Knowing did not prepare him for what he saw.
Not just on one channel, either. It was on all of the premium channels. Nick stared. There Steve Rogers was on every channel, every version of him that the dirtiest minds could dream up, doing things unspeakable and private. Some things Nick had even had the misfortune of accidentally witnessing in real life, and now, here they were in stunning high definition and crystal-clear surround sound.
No.
Nick shut off the television. Steve might ruin his chance to relax with the TV, he could get over that. It was odd that porn was the only thing on any of the premium channels, but this was an adult resort. Maybe that was just one of the perks he'd failed to notice.
(Nick Fury never failed to notice anything. Or so he thought.)
He got off the bed and went to get dressed. If he couldn't watch people on TV, he'd watch them in real life. He got dressed, carefully, black on black on black. He thought of Natasha, and briefly reconsidered the burgundy dinner jacket, but this was not about being friendly or approachable, this was about being invisible enough to observe.
Nick liked people-watching. He liked seeing the people he was working to protect.
He pocketed his room key but he left his phone; he didn't want the distraction. He made his way down to the lobby via the stairs instead of the elevator. The place was meant to be enjoyed, to be admired. Nick didn't want to see the inside of another elevator.
There were people all over, in the hall and on the staircase and in the lobby. It wasn't until he got into the restaurant and was at the bar, in a corner, drink in hand, before he realized.
Some of the guys were big and some were much smaller, but most of them fell somewhere in the middle. Blond, all of them-- all of them , even the ones who clearly were not natural blonds. There was an awful lot of touching.
And the costumes.
So many costumes.
The stars and stripes and the stealth suit, suits and jogging shorts and casual jeans and t-shirts and exact replicas of the blue motorcycle jacket. Nick scanned the room, from the doors that opened to the lobby to the private booths tucked into the very back of the restaurant. As he looked, he felt a sinking sensation.
He'd heard of these. Conventions, gay and gay-leaning men with Captain America fetishes. Cosplayers with a particular kink, like furries but just for one person.
And here he was, the only Nick Fury in a sea of Steve Rogerses.
Nick leaned forward and flagged down the bartender.
"I'm going to need to cancel my stay and check out," he said. "I'd like to do it from my room."