Just a one-shot my messed up brain concocted. It's pretty sad, but also has a sprinkling of cute so have fun.
WARNING: mentions of character death.
Phil was lost.
Not physically, he knew exactly where he was - travelling underneath New York City in one of the stickiest subway seats he had ever sat in. He was lost mentally, had been for the last two weeks. His mind wouldn't, couldn't focus on anything for more than a minute or two accept work and the fact that his life had derailed.
'Things were never supposed to work out this way' he told himself in the dark of his room nearly every night now. He was the oldest. He had been in the spy game the longest. For Christ's sake, he had already died once. He was perfectly okay with that. Phil had long ago resigned himself to dying first. Maybe not the way he had (a man could always hope for natural causes,) but when he did die the two agents he had handled since their respective first days at SHIELD would live on. Preferably to avenge his death, should it come at the hands of another.
Life hadn't worked out that way though. He was still alive, riding the subway to Stark Tower so that he could collect the possessions of two people he had considered family. Clint and Natasha had died first.
He pushed the thought and the pain that accompanied it to the back of his mind, as he had every waking moment since he received the news of the mission gone wrong. Death was the inevitable end to their line of work. He couldn't afford distractions. There were new agents to train, people to rescue, people to kidnap, worlds to save. There was no time for him to mourn.
The train jerked to a stop and he stood to leave. He let all the other passengers off first, avoiding the bustle of rushing people. For all his talk of 'no time to waste' he didn't feel the urge to get to his destination quickly. The crowds of people dictated his movements once he was out of the car. He let himself blend with the flow of commuters, drifting through the underground station until he reached the stairs. Step by step he rose into the streetlamp lit world of Midtown Manhattan. Rising above the streets, shining brighter than any of the lights was Stark Tower.
It was the second "edition" of the building, built years ago when the first was damaged in the Manhattan invasion. Surprisingly it was still standing, large blue lettering still spelling "STARK" for the city just in case they forgot who lived there. It took him no time at all to reach the structure; the metro exit was practically at the foot of the tower.
He walked through the front doors, gave a curt nod to the receptionist, and continued across the lobby. Most people on Stark's staff knew him well enough to let him pass without question. He took his SHIELD issue electronic "master key" from his pocket when he reached Tony's private elevator. He always had to override the system to gain access to the housing levels of the tower; it was a game he had played with Stark since the billionaire first built the place. To his surprise, the doors slid open without any effort on his part.
"Master Stark has been expecting you Agent Coulson," a calm English voice called from inside the elevator.
No asinine tricks? This couldn't bode well.
"Thank you JARVIS."
Once he stepped in the lift doors closed and the elevator rose, presumably to whatever floor Tony was waiting for him on. Coulson was confused when it stopped a few floors up somewhere in the research and development section of the tower. He didn't think Stark would be here this time of night, and he was right. When the doors opened, Pepper walked in. She looked surprised to see him, but did her best to put on a smile.
"Nice to see you again Phil."
They hadn't been in the same room together since the funeral.
"A pleasure as always Miss Potts."
Then they were silent. She only rode three floors up before exiting. Business hours may have just ended at Stark Industries, but Coulson knew Pepper worked for at least two hours after closing time. He rose the elevator alone until it stopped once again, closer to the top this time.
"Master Stark is in the lounge."
To the lounge he went. Whatever Stark had to say must be important. He had figured that the man would just let him slip in and out without notice. Stark had never been big on sharing feelings.
The first thing Coulson noticed was the emptiness. The lounge had always been the center point of the tower, filled with people and laughter. After the whole team had moved in it became their living room where they all hung out together watching TV, or rested after group missions. It was empty now save for Stark who sat at the small bar on the far side of the room.
He heard the elevator open, but didn't turn to great Coulson until the suited man was only a few feet away from him.
"Hello Agent."
He had a glass of something in his hand, scotch maybe, and looked as if he hadn't slept in a week.
"What brings you here today?" he asked.
Officially he was here to get any classified files Barton and Romanoff may have been in possession of. Stark was either pretending not to know the reason for his visit or had drunk a bit too much.
"I was sent to collect files." He was already regretting his decision to come. Any other agent with enough clearance could have been sent over. It probably would have been a better choice of action.
"Oh right."
Stark looked down at his glass, swirling its contents as he did so.
"Anything new on the bastard that got them?"
Coulson tried not the flinch at the inevitable question. Stark had fixated on the warlord that had finally gotten the drop on Hawkeye and Black Widow, just as Coulson had fixated on his work. He racked his brain, trying to find an answer for Stark. He knew that SHIELD had a huge file on the man in question and it was growing every moment. Half of the agency's analysts had be reassigned to tracking him once he had been designated a priority. Last time he had checked on the progress they had been close to finding his location.
He also knew that SHIELD's database had been accessed by an unauthorized outside source yesterday morning.
"Nothing that you don't already know."
"I figured as much," Stark mumbled into his glass.
He tipped the tumbler up and swallowed the entirety of its contents. Absently, he reached for the bottle resting on the bar. With his free had he waved towards the elevator.
"Well their stuff is still in the same room. Goodbye Agent."
He turned away and poured himself more of whatever he was drinking. Phil wondered if Pepper knew about this.
The agent didn't linger for long. He walked away from the bar and back to the elevator had had entered from. He was at the sliding metal doors when he heard Stark call his name, his actual name.
"Phil," he called a second time, softer now that Coulson stopped walking. "They… they were together, right?"
Coulson had been one of the few allowed in the room where the man had left them, still tied to their chairs sitting back to back. Every inch of that room was ingrained in his mind. He could still smell the damp mildew that coated the crumbling concrete walls, see the stains from previous "interrogations" conducted in the room. The medical report left on his desk was still untouched; he didn't need to read it to know the placement of every bruise, every cut, every speck of blood on their bodies. What he remembered most was the immense pain that had hit him like a brick wall when he first saw their hands clasped together in one final embrace.
"To the very end."
He got in the elevator without looking back. The doors shut behind him, but he made no indication of where he wanted to go. His emotions were creeping back to the surface, nearly paralyzing him. All he needed was a moment, he thought as he rested his head against the wall, a moment to get himself back under control. He had a job to do.
Eventually he was able to press the button for the top floor. That floor of the tower had been claimed by the spies long ago. Natasha had liked the privacy; Clint had loved the roof access.
It took no time at all to reach the top of the tower. The area of the penthouse directly accessible by the elevator was bright and open. There were several leather couches, potted plants, and pictures covered every inch of the walls not occupied by full length windows. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, several bathrooms, and a decently large office branched off from the main room.
"JARIVS, where is Julie?" he asked as he leafed through some papers left on a coffee table. As always the AI answered promptly.
"She is currently in the pool with Captain Rogers."
"Thank you." He was relieved. Her absence would make this easier.
Having found nothing of interest on the table, he moved to the office. Their two desks looked completely untouched as if they had been there minutes before, not days. Clint's desk was a disaster, not that he was surprised. While he had been nothing but patience and accuracy on missions, off duty the archer had happily courted chaos and mess. Papers and pens were strewn everywhere, jumbled into piles with food wrappers left form nights where Clint had worked through diner. Phil decided to deal with that last.
While her area wasn't kept to the pristine, borderline OCD standards Phil held his to, compared to her partner's Natasha's desk was immaculate. There were a few messy piles of papers, but at least they were multiple separated piles not just one big jumble and there was no garbage. He appreciated that.
With slight apprehension, he sat down in her chair and picked a pile at random. Most of the papers were useless, just unfilled paperwork, junk mail, or receipts, but every few papers he would find important files. These he tucked away in his briefcase to be processed later.
About four piles in he found a picture frame hidden behind the stacks of paper. It was a simple chestnut frame with spots enough for three photographs. He dropped the folder in his hand and grabbed the pictures. A small part of him knew he would be better off not looking at them, but he just couldn't stop himself.
The picture on the left was a shot of Clint. Phil had no idea when Natasha had taken it, but judging by the huge stack whipped cream and strawberry covered pancakes on the table in front of him, they had been at IHOP. The archer's mouth look full and there was a dribble of cream on the corner of his lips. The smile he was wearing was one of the biggest Phil had ever seen on his face. Pancakes had always been his favorite.
He was actually in the center picture along with Clint and Natasha. All three of them were wearing those ridiculous Mickey Mouse ear hats. This picture had been taken quite a few years back on one of the only real vacations they had been afforded. He had fudged some paperwork and gotten the three of them a week long "mission" in Orlando and all access passes to Disney World. They had spent just about every day of the vacation in the park, riding the rides and actually smiling for once.
He was crying now, not violently, but he could feel the steady trickles of tears as they rolled down his cheek. It was impossible to look away no matter how much he knew he should, especially when he realized what the third photo was.
It was one he had taken, almost six years ago. Natasha was sound asleep in a hospital bed, not suffering serious wounds for once. Snuggled next to her was Clint and resting across both their laps was-
"Uncle Phil?"
Julie.
Coulson spun one hundred and eighty degrees in Natasha's swivel chair. Standing in the office doorway was a small girl, just about six years old now. She looked haggard, more so than when he had last seen her at the funeral. There were dark circles under her eyes that shouldn't exist on one so young. Even so, she was still the spitting image of her mother with a delicate face framed by red curls that had gone uncut so long they swung around her waist. Her eyes were her only out of place feature. They belonged to her father and were just as grey and stormy as Clint's had ever been.
"I didn't know you were here," she declared, still standing in the doorway. Water dripped from her hair, forming a puddle around her feet. She had obviously just gotten out of the pool.
"I came to get some papers."
"Oh…"
She padded over to Clint's desk and climbed into his chair. It spun once before she grabbed the desk to steady herself. She glanced over her shoulder, staring intensely at him, but she didn't say a word. Coulson turned back to the papers. He sifted through a few files, but didn't actually read a single word. He couldn't focus; his mind was on the girl.
Phil regretted never being able to spend that much time with his "niece." With the addition of his Avenger-sitting duties on top of his normal SHIELD activity, his free time was virtually nonexistent. It was a good thing he had friends at work or else he would have no social life. Julie, thankfully, had been kept away from the agency and its negative side effects as much as possible.
Her birth had taken place about a year after the formation of the Avengers, in the medical wing of the Tower to avoid any public paperwork. Any records of the event were beyond classified. She had been raised in the tower until this year, when Stark managed to get her into a hyper-private school. Most people were under the impression that she was the billionaire's love child, which was probably for the best. While Iron Man had his fair share of enemies, for every one he had, Hawkeye and Black Widow had twenty. She was safer this way.
He still regretted his absence from her life. The few times he had spent with her – for Christmas, her birthday, or just on random trips to the tower – were some of his most treasured memories. She had been his agent's pride and joy, the one thing that reminded them they could be human after all they had gone through. Natasha had hung pictures of Julie everywhere to keep her grounded on her bad days. Since her birth, Phil couldn't remember a single day at work Clint hadn't mentioned her.
"Mommy and Daddy were orphans."
The statement snapped him from his inner thoughts. He looked at Julie over his shoulder. Her legs were drawn up so that her knees touched her chin, her arms wrapped tightly around them. He could just make out the beak of a stuffed bird peeking out from space between her legs and chest. Apparently she had pulled down her father's old hawk from the office shelves while he wasn't looking.
"Yes they were," he answered, still fruitlessly leafing through papers.
"Everyone always said how much I was like my parents. We have one more thing in common now."
He dropped the file he was holding in shock. It took him a moment to process what the young girl had said. He pushed away from the desk, turning completely around in his chair.
"What have you been up to sweetie?" he said after clearing his throat. It was a lame and avoidant question, he knew it, but he honestly had no idea how to respond to her previous statement.
"Nothing much really," she said, shifting in her chair. "I've been with Uncle Steve a lot. He walks me to school in the morning and takes me home when I'm done. Or he'll take me to the zoo or the park. No one else seems to be around."
"Where are they?"
Phil asked this question in all honesty. Director Fury had granted the Avengers a brief period of amnesty for mourning, so he had no idea where anyone was.
"Uncle Thor went back to his planet with his friends. No one knows when he'll be back," she answered.
Coulson had known Sif and the Warriors Three had convinced the Allfather to conjure them to Earth for the funeral. They had been on a few adventures with the Avengers, and had always regarded the two non-super powered members with the utmost respect. He had never thought that when they returned home, they would take Thor with them.
"Uncle Brucey is missing too. Uncle Steve said the Tower made him too angry so he took a vacation. I just want him to come home and play with me again. Aunty Pepper won't play with me anymore, she cries when she sees me."
The pitch of Julie's voice rose with every word and Coulson could hear her voice cracking.
"Uncle Tony locks himself in his science room all the time and drinks his grownup juice, and yesterday he disappeared in his suit and when he came back tonight it was broken and bloody. Then he got into a fight with Uncle Steve and he kept shouting about how something was over and some man was gone. I don't like it when they fight."
She was squeezing the bird to her chest as tears flooded from her eyes.
"They-they whisper when I'm not in the r-room and think I can't hear," she was stuttering now. "Are they tr-trying to get rid of me, send me to an orphanage? I-I don't want to go. I ju-just want m-my Mommy and Daddy b-b-back."
She could barely finish her sentence, she was crying so hard. Phil sprung from his chair without a thought and scooped her into his arms. He rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair in what he hoped was a comforting motion.
"I w-want them back," she repeated over and over into his shoulder.
"I do too honey. We all do," he whispered.
"Uncle Steve said they died trying to stop a bad m-man and because of them lot of mommies and daddies can g-go home to their kids. B-but why c-can't I have my p-parents?"
Her chest was heaving uncontrollably, her breathing shallow and raspy. He tried to coach her into taking deep breaths, but made little progress. He moved into the living room, sitting on the first couch he came to.
"It's not fair sweetie, I know."
She was out of words, but her tears were far from over. He let her cry, cooing and rubbing her back as she did.
A feeling of guilt manifested in his gut, twisting it in knots. Here was this poor little girl trying to deal with the death of her parents and of the six able-bodied adults capable of helping her, including him, only one had risen to the occasion. Excluding Steve, they had all been too busy self-destructing.
He understood now why Clint and Natasha would rush home from missions. Why they would escape the medical bay often still bleeding, or skip debriefings despite the consequences. She was more important than any selfish need. He would have to have a talk with the others.
The apartment was silent now. Her wails had quieted to tired whimpers. Phil checked the clock on the other side of the room. It was half past nine.
"Julie are you tired?" he asked in a calm tone. She nodded her head in response. "Well then, how about we put you to bed?"
He moved to stand, but stopped when she fisted her hands in his suit coat.
"Please stay with me," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone."
She sounded so desperate, so pleading, he couldn't say no.
"I'll stay." A weak smile formed on her face. "Why don't you go get your pajamas?"
She nodded her head and slid from his lap. Sprinting across the floor, she disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms. Phil sunk into the couch, completely exhausted and wet. Whether it was from her tears or the dampness of her swimsuit, he couldn't tell.
"Agent Coulson, Captain Rogers would like to know if he's needed to help with Miss Barton."
JARVIS seemed unnaturally loud in the silence of the room.
"No," Coulson sighed. "I can handle this, but tell him I appreciate the offer."
"As you wish sir,"
Phil paused a moment, trying to sort through the thoughts racing in his mind.
"JARVIS?" he called after a moment. "I need you to do me a few favors."
"As an artificial intelligence I am required to do whatever you ask of me."
"Right."
Sometimes he forgot JARVIS wasn't real. Stark had programmed the AI so well it was hard to differentiate it from an actual person.
"First, I need you to send a message to Director Fury and inform him I will be taking the vacation days he offered me after all. Then could you lock all the liquor cabinets and ignore Stark's override commands. He needs to sober up. And lastly, if you would be so kind, please contact all the Avengers and Pepper. There will be a mandatory group meeting two days from now. They have until then to get back to the Tower."
"Yes sir,"
He could hear Julie's footsteps coming back down the hall. He loosened his tie, removed it from his neck, and shook off his coat.
The redhead came back into the room, a pillow clutched in one hand; the blanket held in the other trailed behind her as she walked. She was wearing her pajamas now, under what he knew to be one of her mother's sweatshirts. It was some touristy thing Clint had bought her as a joke in Budapest. Under different circumstances, the ridiculously huge sweater would have been adorable on her.
"My bed is too small for both of us," she declared when he gave the bed items a skeptical look. "We'll sleep on the couch."
It would have to do, he supposed. He certainly wasn't going to sleep in the master bedroom.
She set about arranging the pillow at the end of the sofa and he set about removing his shoes and socks. Then after they were off his feet, his belt and his dress shirt, until he was wearing nothing but his undershirt and slacks. After a moment, she was satisfied with the sleeping arrangements and motioned for him to lie down. Once he had, she clamored up and snuggled into his side. He pulled the blanket over them and the lights dimmed automatically.
They lay there, both unable to sleep, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. It wasn't long before she spoke up.
"I never get to see you much, but Daddy would always tell me stories about you. About how you would always rescue him and Mommy, Uncle Tony and Uncle Brucey and everybody when they were in trouble."
"Is that so?"
She nestled deeper against him.
"He said that when he was all alone and no one loved him, you found him and took care of him."
An image came to Phil's mind, of Clint when SHIELD had first taken him in. He had been scrawny, unruly, with a biting wit he wore like armor to keep others from getting close. He thought of the man he had grown to be, stronger, more disciplined, friendly, but still sarcastic as hell. Phil still couldn't really believe he was gone.
"Will you do the same for me?"
She was looking him dead in the eye. Her tone was completely serious; she really wanted him to take her away.
"Julie, I…"
He could do it, just take her away and tuck her into the folds of SHIELD. The girl was sharp as a tack and just as athletic as either of her parents. Hell, if she started training this young she could probably become as skilled an agent as both her parents combined. He could take her in, just as he had Clint and then Natasha when she had come along.
But he wouldn't. He didn't even want her working as a SHIELD secretary let alone an agent. Her parents had spent their entire lives struggling to be more than their skill sets, more than just an asset. It would be an insult to their memory and morally disgusting to force her into that life when she had so many options. Julie could be anything, an actress, a scientist, a horse breeder, a janitor for all he cared. So long as she was happy with the life she had chosen, not just content with the life she was forced into.
"Julie," he wrapped his arm around her in a sideways hug and kissed her forehead. "Your parents were two of the best people I have ever known, despite what they may have thought of themselves, and they were very brave to do what they did. It's not fair that they were taken from you and I know you feel alone, but I won't take you away from the tower."
She opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her before she could interrupt.
"You have four uncles and an aunt who love you very much; they're just having a rough time right now like you. You don't really want to leave, do you?"
She shook her head.
"I don't want to be alone anymore."
"I promise that I won't leave until you're feeling better -" A tear ran down her cheek. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. " – but tonight you need to get some sleep. Why don't you put in a movie?"
"Okay."
She slid from the couch and made her way to the rack of DVDs by the television. After a moment of deliberation she grabbed one and put it in the player. Phil snatched the remote from the coffee table before she climbed onto the couch. This time Julie lay on top of him, curled up on his chest. They watched the previews, both waiting for the title menu to appear.
Coulson hadn't paid attention to which movie she had selected. When gold braided lettering came on screen and he saw it was Brave, he nearly cried again. Somehow he managed to press play without tears of his own. He doubted he could hold out for the whole movie; he had too many memories associated with it.
As the film started, Julie looked him in the eye once more.
"You love me too, right?"
"More than anything else," he said, meaning every word.
She smiled, kissed his cheek, and laid her head back on his chest. Twenty minutes later, she was sound asleep.
He was glad at least one of them would actually get some rest tonight. He could tell without even trying that he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes shut for more than a few minutes. His dreams haunted him when he slept, and every emotion that he had been repressing for the last two weeks had been forced to the surface by this visit to the Tower.
He wanted to get up, take the files, and get back to the Helicarrier. His work was the best distraction. It was the one solid excuse he had to ignore everything, but as he watched Julie, peacefully sleeping, he knew he had to stay. This was his place, where he was needed most and where he needed to be the most.
Phil was found.
Feel free to review, I would love to hear that I have the capability to move more than just myself to tears. Also don't worry about yelling at me, my friend read this first and cussed quite a lot.
Thanks for reading!