Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers and the usual disclaimers.

Phil Coulson fidgeted in his seat. He had a spotless record, cleaner than the inside of a whistle yet he was called to report to the Director himself today. Only vagrants and never-do-wells were summoned by the Director in order to give them a month's compensation to leave the agency. He was never a screw up like that rat Sitwell or the clearly unhinged Armin Zola but he might have imitated Fury's "Matrix-nostalgic" walk in the lunchroom a couple of weeks back. Or perhaps it was because he startled Hill while she was in target practice by tapping on her shoulder, making her break her bullseye streak. Regardless of the reason, he was here now like many before him. His sweaty palms did nothing to alleviate the situation. He considered wiping it on Fury's chair as he was clearly about to be booted off anyway, why not get off with a bang in the form of a sweaty handprint that he will never notice and will probably stay there for god knows how long? It will stay there for a year or two, patting the Director on the back as if to say 'you let go of a nice man, Fury, what have you done?'

"Agent Coulson."

Phil jumped out of his seat as an eye patch loomed before him. Was he talking out loud? "Director Fury, I can explain," he began praying to the gods for forgiveness for whatever it is that he had done wrong.

"Stop acting constipated, Agent. You were summoned here because-"

"It was a good impression, Director, believe me. I took acting classes in university. Imitation is the highest form of flattery!" he stuttered before the other man could get a word in.

Nick's eyebrows rose. "Howard Stark and his wife were murdered less than two hours ago."

It took a moment for Phil to comprehend what Fury was saying. "Howard Stark of-"

"Stark Industries." The Director went on with a grim expression "founder of this very agency."

"Murdered?" Phil repeated in disbelief. "By whom?"

"We don't know yet, Coulson. Evidence points to foul play but for the public, the cause of death was a car crash, are we clear?"

"Yes, sir." Phil snapped to professional mode.

"The reason I'm telling you all this is because I need you to do something."

Coulson held his breath. To think a moment ago he thought that he would be gone forever, ka-put, jobless, eating ice cream in front of his barely-used television set mourning the one thing he ever knew how to do and here he was in Director Fury's confidence, his secret circle!

"Anthony Stark, only son and heir of Stark industries, currently twelve years old is left in the care of his butler and trusted aide, Jarvis. Now I know that this might seem absurd-"

"I can assure you, Director that I will succeed!"

"His only extracurricular at the moment that he seems interested in is hockey."

"I'm sorry Director, I didn't quite catch you, did you say hockey?"

Fury cleared his throat. "Yes, Agent. Now if you would stop interrupting me, let's continue this conversation."

Phil blinked twice. "I'm no professional player but I did play for my junior varsity team."

"Coulson." Fury levelled with him with his one good eye. "Anthony has little friends, he alienates every kid on the block with his eccentric persona. He wants to play hockey, form a team, guide him."

"Sir?" Phil stammered. "You are asking me to be a babysitter?"

"Coulson, remember your first day on the job? The time when you thought you'd never amount to anything?"

"Very clearly Sir. Hill was wearing that fabulous off shoulder black dress, I couldn't for the life of me have expected that she could carry herself with an air of femininity! In Vino Veritas, indeed."

"Probae esti in segetem sunt deteriorem datae fruges, tamen ipsea suaptae enitent." (a good seed, planted in poor soil will bear rich fruit according to its nature)

That was a low blow and he knew it. His father's dying words as he expressed his wish for him to be a morally upstanding citizen one day. Another faceless victim of a drive-by shooting for the cops, another homicide for the lawyers but to Phil it meant the end of his childhood. Phil's throat tightened. "Yes Sir, I remember telling you that and it clearly is being used against me right now for emotional blackmail."

Fury softened. "This is not blackmail, Coulson. We owe a lot to Stark, if it weren't for him, we would have gone to another war. Now that he's gone, we need to make sure that Anthony Stark gets the proper guidance and support to mature into a conscientious citizen not driven mad by abandonment."

Phil sighed. He understood. "Not to be annoying, Director but I think you misread the quote its-"

"I know what it means, Agent. Keep him out of bad soil because he's been through enough."

"Yes, Director." Phil fixed his tie. "When do I start?"

"You start today, your bags are packed, the limo is waiting, you'll be living with Anthony and Jarvis until further notice."

"Sir, how long is this mission?"

Fury patted him on his back. This was bad, Fury never does that unless agents sign up for a suicide mission. Phil had chils down his spine. "As long as it takes, Coulson. I'll be in touch."

"Sir-" Did they pack his toothbrush? He preferred the soft bristles.

"Oh by the way, Coulson. You still haven't got that Fury-swag."

Phil sighed. This was going to be a long one.