Comeuppance
Nick Fury had been having a good day. He'd pushed through testing on several new pieces of tactical gear from R&D, approved S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new budget, and finally gotten Stark to show up for the press conference that he'd missed on three separate occasions.
As he relaxed in his office chair, Director Fury reflected on how uncharacteristically good his luck had been so far today. The lack of any significant problems or international incidents unnerved him. After all, it was April 1st, and if there was one thing that the Avengers could be counted on for (other than saving the world), it was to make his life a living hell in their own special way.
With a shudder caused by several, highly unpleasant repressed memories, Fury stood up from his chair. A walk, he decided, would be the best thing for him. It would clear his head and let him enjoy this rare moment of peace. He strode purposefully down the hall, nodding to the secretary working at the front desk and passing by two guards on his way out the double doors at the front of the building.
From the rooftop, Tony Stark watched as Fury moved down the busy street in front of the S.H.I.E.L.D. building. Grinning like a lunatic, he grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt, thumbed the button, and spoke into the device.
"Barton! Come in Barton!"
"What is it, Tony?" asked Clint, with a sigh.
"The package is on the move. I repeat, Fury is on the move!" muttered Tony urgently.
"Really?" Clint queried suspiciously. "This isn't like the last, oh, I don't know, ten times you've told me that just so you could, and I quote 'expand your part'"
"Really, Hawkeye. Such suspicion. I'm offended. As if my part would need padding. I am, as you may recall, the designer of that little device which you're about to use."
"Right," Clint replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Don't believe me about Fury? Then check the street for him with your binoculars, which, by the way, I also designed. He should be coming your way." said Tony.
There was a pause, as Barton observed the pedestrians milling about below his position.
"Well?!" demanded Tony impatiently.
Another sigh. "Alright, I see him. Should I move now?"
"No!" said Tony. "Wait until he's in the square."
Below the two men, the tiny figure of their boss moved ever so slowly into position.
"Now?!" asked Clint.
Tony hesitated. "All right. NOW!"
Nick Fury stood calmly in Times Square. For most people, the hectic scene of rushing tourists, shouting hawkers, and flashing signs would be anything but soothing; for the director, it provided a familiar sense of chaos, one which he missed from his days on assignments. With a sense of inner peace, Fury bought himself a cup of coffee and sat down at one of the tiny tables occupying the square.
All of a sudden, the video screens surrounding the square flickered, their various advertisements being replaced by a new video. People looked up at the flashing pixels in surprise, wondering what was responsible for the sudden change. Fury sat up slowly, already reaching for the gun at his belt. If this was the work of a new super villain, then his
Glock 9mm probably wouldn't be of much use. Still, it was comforting to have in hand.
Onscreen, the image sharpened into that of a man clad in an enormous, flowing coat, who bore a striking resemblance to Fury himself. Around him stood döpplegangers of the Avengers, each of them wearing a uniquely ridiculous outfit. With a grin, Fury's double began to sing a very, very familiar song:
"I'm gonna pop some tags
I only got twenty dollas in my pocket
I'm, I'm huntin', lookin' for a comeup
This is f-ing awesome!"
The real Nick Fury gazed up at the screen in a sort of uncomprehending amazement. The performers continued their song and dance routine, obviously edited and slightly censored from the original.
"I wear your grand dad's clothes," sang the Fury onscreen.
"I look incredible.
I'm in this big a- coat
from that Thrift Shop down the road!"
Around Times Square, the video ended with a little girl holding a slurpee cup and asking "Is that your grandma's coat?"
Fury sighed, placing his head in his hands briefly before walking back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. building with a quiet, unheard chuckle.
On the rooftops, Clint and Tony were rolling on the ground, clutching their stomachs, and howling with laughter. After a good five minutes, Clint finally calmed down enough to gasp into his walkie-talkie "Best...April...Fools...EVER!"
"You're telling me!" heaved Tony, equally breathless.
After a few more minutes of slightly hysterical giggling, Clint thought of something else.
"Hey Tony? Why not just pay to run the video on all of those screens?"
"Because, Clint," replied Tony, with an air of superiority. "That would lead a breadcrumb trail for Fury to follow right back to us. Besides, where's the fun in doing things the easy way?"
"Where indeed?" asked Fury, standing just behind Tony. The smaller man whipped around with a shout, stumbling backwards and mashing the talk button.
"It's the director!" he shouted into the microphone.
Clint, however, didn't hear Tony's warning, as Natasha had just snuck up behind him and thrown his walkie-talkie down several stories. He grinned nervously.
"Hey, Nat, can't we just talk this one through?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly. Natasha grinned like a feral cat stalking a bird.
"And miss out on your roasting, Barton?" she asked slyly. "Not a chance."
Tony considered running, then saw that Fury had the exits covered. His suit would've been his next best choice, had it not taken some heavy damage during his last battle. Tony calculated his other options, before coming to the conclusion that he was well and truly screwed.
"Mercy?" he tried hopefully.
Fury smirked knowingly, and Tony got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Mercy, huh?" the director grinned, enjoying the scene of Tony Stark squirming uncomfortably before him. "Why don't you see if the Goodwill that you'll be volunteering at over on East 23rd Street is feeling generous today."
Disclaimer: I do not own "Thrift Shop" or the Avengers. All rights belong to their respective owners.