Work Text:
~o~
The room was deadly silent, not a sound from anything, living or otherwise.
Nick Fury snorted. If any of his subordinates could hear him right now, he had no doubt they'd probably assume he'd been replaced by an LMD.
"Sir, I don't think—"
"I'm not paying you to think, Doctor Lodgson," Fury growled. "I'm paying you to do as I say."
"But Mr. Stark—"
"Isn't here right now. I am."
Lodgson, a small, mousy man with large round glasses and a rumpled lab coat, visibly shrunk back for a moment. Fury's lips twitched, trying to form the beginnings of a smile before his iron will quelled the urge. He continued to stare at the diminutive scientist with his one good eye—well, not with that, but with the only eye he had left. Finally, Lodgson seemed to come to some decision, because he straightened up and nodded.
Fury silently let out the breath he'd been holding. He was taking a risk, but it was one he knew he had to take. He simply had no other choice.
"Proceed, Doctor."
Lodgson turned back to his console, muttering under his breath about autocratic dictators and the not-unreasonable suspicion that he had a dungeon somewhere at his disposal. Fury harrumphed a laugh at the scientist's words. He'd never expected any of this to be easy, but with the World Security Council breathing down his neck, the Avengers in disarray and a host of alien and not-so-alien threats lingering just beyond the horizon, he had no choice.
Oddly, of all those concerns, it was the Avengers that worried him the most. They'd come together to defeat Loki and the Chitauri, but then they'd scattered to the winds. Oh, he knew where each and every one of them had gone—he wasn't so lost without his 'one good eye' that he couldn't manage to keep tabs on five individuals, even if all of them had the ability and the resources to disappear—but he also didn't have the confidence that they'd come back when he needed them, no matter what he'd told Lieutenant Hill.
They'd needed a push, and he'd given them just that. Now, they might need another one, and he knew that, in this, there was only one person he could go to: the only person all five of them had ever really trusted.
"We're ready, Director Fury," Lodgson said.
Fury refocused his eye on the readouts in front of him. None of it meant anything to him, but he trusted that Lodgson knew what he was doing. He had to. Right now, he had no choice.
He nodded, and Lodgson turned to his assistant, a polite young woman by the name of Molly who'd barely spoken five words since he'd entered the room. She was scared as hell of him, as evidenced by her hands shaking minutely as she handed the doctor a tablet. He made one more perusal—and Fury really hoped he wasn't consulting the user's manual—before he nodded and turned back to the console. He flipped several switches, and then all attention turned to the body laying on the gurney between them.
Agent Phil Coulson looked like he was simply asleep, though his chest wasn't rising and falling under the hospital gown. He was pristine, not a scratch or scar on him, aside from those that were supposed to be there. The body before them was a marvel of modern medical and technological knowledge, a potential life-saving tool that could change the way the world worked.
If it worked.
The air in the room was laden with expectation, crackling with the potential only moments away. Nothing happened for a long moment, and Fury opened his mouth to urge Lodgson to get on with it, fix what was wrong, do something.
And then, it happened.
Or, more accurately, several things happened at once.
The machines surrounding Phil sparked to life all at once, alarms bleating out a strident cadence into the enclosed silence. At virtually the same moment, the body on the gurney took a deep breath, as if it were breaking the surface of the water and breathing great lungfuls of air for the first time in ages.
Lodgson and his assistant were a blur of activity, producing instruments from seemingly mid-air as they measured and called out figures, each one glancing at the bank of instruments around them for verification.
One by one, the alarms were shut down, the ensuing silence almost louder than their noisy counterparts had been. Phil continued to breathe steadily, the rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm beating out a cadence: alive, alive, alive.
No one in the room moved, spoke, dared to breathe, and for several long minutes, nothing happened. They watched as the body before them simply breathed. Fury wasn’t sure what exactly was supposed to happen, but he knew it was something more than this. His eye scanned over the readouts once more, though what he hoped to gain from it, he wasn't sure. The myriad of numbers and graphs and readouts was dizzying, and all in a language that he most definitely didn't speak.
"Doctor?"
That softly-spoken word made Lodgson jump. He turned fearful eyes to the Director, shaking his head and holding out a hand, palm up, as if he were asking for something, even though he knew that Fury didn't have what he was looking for.
"I don't know, all right?" he said, voice shaking. "It's not my area. It should have worked. It did work. But I just—maybe Mr. Stark—"
Whatever the doctor would have said was cut off, swallowed up by the sight of blue eyes, opening at last. The doctor fumbled at the bedside, finally finding the switch he was looking for. The head of the bed rose, just a bit, bringing Phil's confused frown into view.
"Sir?" he asked, glancing down his body, at the hospital gown and the sheet covering his legs before looking around at the equipment in the room. Finally, his gaze settled back on Fury, who was grinning like a loon.
It had worked!
He hoped.
"What do you remember?" he asked.
This was the critical part. If any of Phil's memories had been damaged, this wouldn't be the man they all knew and loved, and there wouldn't be anywhere he could hide from the Avengers.
Phil cocked his head to one side, even as his hand drifted up to his chest, rubbing at the spot where Loki's spear pierced his chest.
"I remember… a guy with a really bad superiority complex." He looked at Fury, a grin blooming that said that Fury would be in for it later. "And I remember Loki. And his spear, too. What'd he do to me?"
Fury gusted out the breath he'd been holding, pointedly ignoring the last question for now. "It's good to have you back, Agent Coulson."
"Back?"
"You've been down for a while," Fury said. "We had to use some pretty impressive technology to bring you back."
Phil's gaze danced around the room again, taking in the menagerie of technology that had been assembled at Fury's insistence. He'd spared no expense, literally, but then again, if this hadn't worked, it wouldn't have mattered. The WSC would have found a way to shut them down, and he'd be just another guy with an eye patch and nothing better to do than go around scaring the pigeons in Central Park.
"Why'd you do it, Nick?" Phil asked, his gaze finally coming around to meet Fury's.
Fury glanced to where Lodgson and his assistant were standing, just a few paces away, looking at the tablet between them, but not really taking anything in. They were clearly focused on his conversation with Phil. He couldn't blame them. What they'd done was amazing, and it could change the world. But first, they had to prove it worked.
Fury reached out and laid a gentle hand on Phil's shoulder. "Because I can't go on without my one good eye."
Phil rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine and bright.
"So, when can I get out of here?" he asked.
"Let the Doc here look you over first, make sure all your working parts are in order," Fury said. "Then, we'll have you transferred to a private room and we can start talking about therapy and getting you back to work."
Phil scowled. He wasn’t the best of patients when he hadn't been seriously wounded. This wasn't going to be any better, and might be far worse. But they had no choice other than to take it slow. They were entering uncharted territory and they had to be careful.
"Don't argue with the Doctors," Fury said, pointing at his old friend. "Or I'll sick Captain America on you."
Phil held up his hands in surrender, though he still didn't look happy about it. "Fine, fine. I'll stop asking. Just, maybe someone could take the tube out? I'd like to get up and take a piss."
Fury barked out a laugh, startling the doctor and his assistant. "I'll see what I can do." He paused, then clapped Phil on the shoulder again. "It really is good to have you back."
"It's good to be back," Phil said. "I think."
Fury smiled and shook his head. He gave the doctor a long, measured look, then turned and strode from the room in a swirl of black leather, Lodgson hot on his heels. Once he'd cleared the door, he paused halfway down the hall to let the doctor catch up.
"Check him over, make sure everything's working the way it's supposed to," Fury said, though he was fairly sure he didn't need to. Lodgson would want to make sure he didn't screw this up, so he'd do anything he could to make sure it worked.
"Of course, sir."
"And under no circumstances is anyone to tell Agent Coulson what happened," he said, spearing Lodgson with his eye. "As far as he's concerned, Phil had surgery and woke up just a few minutes ago after a long period in a coma. If he pushes, tell him you had to use some unproven alien technology. Lie if you have to, just don't tell him what really happened. Got it?"
Lodgson nodded his head furiously. "Of course." He paused. "Sir, if I may? What about the Avengers?"
"What about the Avengers?"
"Well, sir, they've shown a particular aptitude for discovering your plans, even when you've taken measures to hide—"
He broke off at Fury's scowl. It would have been comical under normal circumstances, but even now, with the world barely hanging on after everything that had happened, he could take a moment to savor the fact that he still scared the shit out of just about everyone.
"I'll handle the Avengers," Fury finally said. "You just make sure that the LMD currently wearing my best friend's face makes it past its sell-by date. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," Lodgson stammered out. He backed away, turning and practically stumbling back into the room behind him.
Fury sighed, his shoulders slumping as the full magnitude of what he'd done settled over him. If Phil ever found out that his consciousness had been downloaded into a Life Model Decoy, he'd never forgive him. Phil was a staunch believer that when it was your time, it was your time. He wouldn’t be happy to know that Fury had moved heaven and earth to bring him back just because he couldn't face a future that didn't have Phil Coulson in it.
And Phil's reaction wouldn’t be the half of it. If the Avengers ever found out—especially Stark—there'd be hell to pay. He'd been accused of playing God—by a number of good people, some of them his friends—many times; this was the one time he was actually guilty. And for all that the Avengers were a group of highly trained and uniquely skilled operatives, they were still just human beings who wouldn't appreciate that he'd lied to them about their handler and friend.
But, what was done was done, and Fury would just have to move on and work extra hard to make sure his secret never got out. He'd done it before; he'd just have to do it again. And it would be worth it if it worked; if Phil was returned to his side. Having him back was worth just about any price, and that was the bottom line, no matter what anyone else said.
Squaring his shoulders, he strode down the hall, headed for the elevator and his office. He had too much paperwork to be hanging around second-guessing himself.
~Finis