Phil Coulson glared pointedly at the tall, eye-patched man who sat across from him at the worn dining room table. Fury, Nick Fury was the name of the interloper. He hated the sound of the name almost as much as the hand that the man held out expectantly. A sign of friendship? He didn't want any token of civility from the man who was stealing his mother from him. His glare only intensified as he took the man's hand in his own, only after intense, urging looks from his mother. "13 years! She raises me from infancy to 13 years old completely alone and she suddenly decides to marry a man who is not my father!" he thinks, anger beginning to swell in the pit of his stomach.
Now if Phil was being honest, which was his natural inclination, he would admit that he remembered next to nothing about his biological father. He had only the vaguest memories of dark hair and a deep voice saying that he loved him. Even so, he would stay loyal to his father. He wouldn't sulk or fall to the dramatics of most his age; it wasn't his style, but that didn't mean he would have to accept Eyepatch with open arms either.