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“Have you seen this?” Steve asks, twisting briefly in his seat to face his team.
They’re all in various states of boredom at that moment. Tony’s been doodling some kind of schematic on his Stark Pad with Bruce looking over his shoulder and making comments every few moments. Thor is steadily making his way through the donuts a timid junior agent had brought them a few moments earlier, and T’Challa, their latest recruit, has been on the phone since they arrived — probably with Ororo, if the soft look in his eyes is any indication.
It’s a bit of a tight fit, all five of them crammed into Coulson’s tiny office, and they’re all a tad cranky at having to get up early the night after a fight for a meeting that has since been delayed by almost two hours. Steve figures the distraction will be welcomed, and he’s mostly right.
“…the fuck?” Tony says. He sets down his Pad and scoots his chair closer to get a better look.
The television Steve has been watching is currently set to a local news station, and at the moment, the the broadcast is showing what looks like a high school. There’s a huge crowd on the field in front of it, students and parents intermixed with uniformed police officers, firefighters, and other responders. About a dozen police cruisers, firetrucks, and ambulances can be seen in the foreground. The headline along the bottom reads “Science Experiment Gone Wrong?” and Steve turns the volume up so they can all hear.
“…have yet to release an official statement, but students and faculty reported seeing former science teacher Glenn Henderson in the science lab shortly before the explosion. The school has since been evacuated and the mutated animals have been contained.”
A photo of Henderson flashes on the screen.
“Well, he definitely looks like a crazy fuck.” Tony says.
“Tony.” Steve scolds.
The news shifts back to the studio broadcast, revealing an attractive blonde woman behind a desk.
“According to officials, no one was seriously hurt, something the students on campus attribute to the quick thinking of two of their classmates whose names authorities have declined to release. The cost of repairs…” she goes on from there, but they’re already tuning it out, mostly because from down the hall, they can suddenly hear the unmistakable voice of their liaison, although it’s louder and sharper than any of them are used to hearing.
“—irresponsible stunts… you could have gotten yourself killed!”
“Oh, come on!” A second voice protests, and all of them pause. This voice is young; too young to be in a building run by SHIELD. “What was I supposed to do, let them decimate the whole fucking school?”
“Watch your language.” Coulson snaps. “You had plenty of other options. You could have called me or Sitwell. You could have stayed put and waited for help.”
“They were going after the other students! I had to do something.”
“You threw yourself off of a building!”
“There was a tree right in my line of sight! Come on, give me some credit here. I’m not a moron!”
“That’s debatable.” A third voice chimes in. This one is softer, calmer, feminine, and most definitely just as young as the other.
“Hey!”
“Don’t get smart, Natasha. You’re in just as much trouble as he is.”
Natasha doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t need to, because at that moment she and the other two come into sight and the expression on her face is easy to read as disgruntled. She looks just as young as she sounds — she can’t be more than 16 years old, and even that seems on the generous side — and the boy beside her doesn’t look much older. They’re both in poor shape, clothes in disarray and hair tousled; the boy has one arm in a sling and a fresh row of stitches across his chin. Trailing just a step behind them is Coulson, who looks more frazzled than any of the Avengers have ever seen him.
The three of them stop in the doorway of Coulson’s office when they realize it’s already occupied. There’s a brief flicker of something across Coulson’s features that’s almost like pain.
The boy lets out a strange noise and then leans closer to the girl. “Holy shit.” He says. “Holy shit. Tash, that’s Iron Man!”
Natasha does not look nearly as excited. In fact, she looks mildly horrified as she turns back to look at Coulson and bites off something sharp in what sounds like Russian. The boy protests. Coulson sighs, long-suffering, and says, “Just… sit down. Both of you.”
“Uh, where?” The boy asks.
“Oh!” Steve says, realizing that he and the others have covered nearly every available surface. He stands quickly and motions for one of them to take his spot. Thor moves to follow his example, but before he can, Natasha is already easing herself down, wincing and rubbing at her thigh as she does so. The boy flops gracelessly to the floor at her feet and lets his head fall back against her leg. They both suddenly look very tired, the fight gone out of them.
Coulson rounds the desk and gives Tony a stern look. Tony gives him a look right back, but vacates the agent’s chair nonetheless. “Now,” Coulson says, once he’s seated and back in control. “What are all of you doing in my office?”
“Why, Agent. Have you forgotten? We had a meeting today.” Tony’s got his best shit-eating grin on, the one he always wears when he’s found a new piece of information he wants to exploit. He’s also still preening at the fact that he apparently has a fan. Steve is less than gentle when he nudges Tony in reprove.
“I remember that just fine.” Coulson assures him with a glare. “What I don’t remember is having that meeting moved from Conference Room 4 to my office.”
“The Fourth Room of Conference is very dull, Son of Coul.” Thor informs him grimly.
Bruce offers a sheepish smile. “Hill yelled as us for playing with the television, so we came here.”
“This is so awesome.” The boy says, grinning in apparent delight.
“Clint, don’t encourage them.” Coulson chides.
“Yeah, that’s going to work.” A voice says from the doorway, and they all turn. Nick Fury stands there in all his eye-patched and black leather glory, and he’s eying the two teenagers with a look that’s an even mix of frustration and amusement. “I’m assuming that was your handiwork?” He says, pointing at the television.
Clint and Natasha both swivel their heads to look in that direction. Clint grins and nudges back against Natasha. “Hey, check it out. We made the news!”
Natasha doesn’t respond, but she looks pleased. Coulson runs a hand down his face and addresses Fury, “I’m still trying to think up a suitable punishment.”
“You could make them do their own damn paperwork for once.”
“What?” Clint sits up a little bit straight, suddenly worried as he looks at Coulson pleadingly. “No! Dad, no. I’d rather be grounded.”
Coulson holds up a hand to stem off any further protests. “We’ll talk about it later. For right now, I want you both to go down to Medical and get checked out. Would you mind taking them, Sir?” He looks to Fury, who smirks and nods.
Clint groans. Natasha frowns. “We’re not children.” She points out. “We don’t need an escort.”
“Maybe not.” Coulson agrees. “But I don’t trust your brother not to ditch and go down to the range instead, and I don’t trust you not to terrorize the medical staff without someone there to supervise.”
That seems to silence any further complaints. Natasha looks disgruntled, but doesn’t contradict him. Instead she stands and then reaches down to help Clint up as well. The two begin to shuffle out of the room, slower and more carefully now that the adrenaline has apparently worn off.
“Clint.” Coulson calls before they’re gone. The boy turns back. “I mean it about the range; I don’t want you picking up a bow again until your shoulder heals.”
Clint rubs his neck, looking a little bit disappointed but not really surprised. “Yeah, okay.” He agrees. He waits a moment to see if Coulson has anything else to add. When it becomes apparent that he doesn’t, Clint ducks his head and goes to join Natasha, who has stopped in the hall to wait. Fury follows, and the sound of Clint trying to wheedle ‘Uncle Nick’ into letting them stop by the cafeteria on the way can be heard up until they reach the elevator.
Now cleared of teenagers and directors, the office is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Coulson doesn’t give anyone a chance to comment. “One word, Stark.” He warns, and although it’s in line with his usual brand of threats, there’s an undercurrent of severity to it that suggests this time he really will follow through.
Tony raises his hands defensively. “I didn’t say anything!”
“You never mentioned a family.” Bruce comments thoughtfully, looking in the direction Clint and Natasha went. “They seem like good kids.”
“Good secret agent kids.” Tony corrects. And then, with a grin, “Good secret agents kids with excellent taste. You must be so proud, Agent.”
Coulson looks pained. “Can we please just get through this?” They all stare at him. (With the exception of T’Challa, who has abandoned the conversation in favor of making corrections to Tony’s work on the Stark Pad. There will be an argument about that later.) Coulson sighs in defeat. “Apparently not.”
“I wasn’t aware SHIELD was in the habit of employing children.” Steve says suddenly. There’s an unhappy expression on his face, the pinched one he gets when he finds something morally objectionable. His tone is guarded but considering.
“We’re not.” Coulson assures him. “Clint and Natasha’s history with SHIELD is… complicated. And classified.” He adds in Tony’s direction, cutting off whatever question Tony had been formulating. “But they do not work for us. They’re only here right now because it’s the only place with doctors they actually trust.”
“So, that was…?” Bruce waves at the television, which has since moved on to a weather broadcast.
Coulson pinches the bridge of his nose and looks, at that moment, very much like a harried father trying to keep his kids under control. “Their most recent attempt at giving me an aneurysm, I’m sure.”
“And the comment about paperwork…?”
“Form 468-B. Incident involving the family of a SHIELD agent where said family provided ‘assistance.’”
“…there’s a form for that?”
“There didn’t used to be.” And that’s all Coulson will say on the matter. “Anymore questions?”
“Oh, lots.” Tony assures.
Bruce elbows him. “Tony.”
“But—I’m such a busy man. Very busy. Got a company to run, you know? I can’t just spend all day listening to you chat about your kids, Coulson. That would be irresponsible. So come on, let’s get this over with.”
Coulson looks relieved. “Gladly.”
x———x
There’s a knock at his door and a second later it opens to reveal Clint and Natasha. They both look apprehensive. Coulson waves at them.
“Come in,” he says. “I’m almost done.”
The two share a nervous look before doing as their told, closing the door behind them. Coulson continues to work diligently, letting the silence stretch out. Clint and Natasha are quiet, sitting side by side on the couch. Clint keeps fidgeting; he prefers to perch when he has the opportunity, especially when he’s anxious or uncomfortable, but he knows he’ll get in trouble if he tries it with the sling. Natasha is perfectly poised, one ankle crossed over the other with her hands in her lap, but she has her own sort of tells that Coulson has grown adept at recognizing.
Finally, after nearly ten minutes of silence, Clint breaks. “You’re not really angry at us, are you?”
Coulson stills, one finger still hovering over the F on his keyboard. “I am a little upset, yes.” He tells them. Honesty has always been the best policy where they’re concerned; Coulson has only ever lied to them once, years earlier when he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with two children who had seen more death than most adults would in their entire lives. The response when they’d found out had been swift and devastating; it had taken him months to win them back over. He’s never repeated that mistake.
Clint makes a wounded noise. Natasha’s fingers clench. “We didn’t mean to disobey you.” She says. “We didn’t have a choice, they were—”
“I’m not angry because you disobeyed.” Coulson interrupts. He pauses, then exhales and stands up from his desk. This is not a conversation he wants to have from behind a barrier. Coming around to stand in front of them, he crouches down so he’s closer to their level. “You two showed a lot of initiative, doing what you did. You saved a lot of people. I’m proud of you for that.” He waits for that to sink in before continuing. “What I’m upset about is the fact that you put yourselves in danger and showed a callous disregard for your own safety.”
Clint and Natasha share another look, this one uncertain. Coulson will never stop hating the people that made them both so quick to doubt the idea that someone might care about them enough to be concerned.
“I love you both,” he tells them firmly, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “I just don’t want to see anything happen to you.”
They watch him for a long moment. Coulson is familiar with the expressions on their faces; he knows they’re searching him for any sign of insincerity, looking for even just a hint that he could be feeding them a line. Finally, in a small voice, Clint says, “We’re sorry.”
Coulson nods, regarding them both with a kind look. He knows they mean it; he also knows they won’t hesitate to do the exact same thing again if the situation crops up. It’s always been like this between the three of them; give and take, push and pull. One moment they’re thriving under his direction and the next they’re bucking at it. It’s something he doesn’t think will ever really fade.
Strangely, he’s okay with that.
“Come on,” Coulson says, straightening up and trying not to wince at the way his joints pop. “It’s about time we headed for home.”
They wait for him to send off the Form and shut down his computer. Then he collects his jacket and ushers them out. As they head towards the parking garage, Natasha comments, “So, those were the Avengers.”
Coulson smiles at the blatant distraction. “Yes, those were the Avengers.” He presses the DOWN button on the elevator. “What did you think?”
“Tony Stark is kind of a dick.” Clint says, and Coulson snorts. Ordinarily he’d scold Clint for the language; just this once, he thinks he’ll let it pass.
“He’s still your favorite, though?”
Clint gives him a look that suggests he thinks Coulson was dropped on his head as an infant. It’s one that’s been showing up with increasing regularity over the years. The elevator dings as the doors swing open and they all begin to make the trek to Coulson’s SUV. Standard black, of course.
“’Course not.” Clint grumbles. “You’re my favorite. Duh. Iron Man’s just got kickass toys.”
Coulson falters. Clint and Natasha reach the car before he does and turn to wait. “I’m not an Avenger.”
Both teens snort derisively. “Keep telling yourself that, Pops.” Clint tells him.
“Can we get pizza for dinner?” Natasha adds.
Coulson hesitates. Then he shakes his head, unlocks the car doors, and slides into the driver’s seat.
He doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grin on the way home.