Agent Coulson, Patron Saint of SHIELD
By Agent Malkere
Disclaimer: Oh, I wish. I really, really wish. But sadly The Avengers still does not belong to me.
Being dead was odd but, overall, slightly underwhelming. There was no floating sensation or dark tunnel with a bright white light at the end of it. In fact, at first, Phil Coulson didn't even entirely realize that he was dead. He just finished saying what he needed to say to Fury with more ease than when he had started it. Then Coulson realized that his chest was no longer a rictus of flaming, white hot agony as his lungs struggled to draw breath and he couldn't taste blood in his mouth. Well, damn. Not unexpected but still a rather melodramatic way to go out.
Coulson stood up and walked over to stand next to Fury before turning around to look at the wall he'd been propped against. He raised an eyebrow. That was… unnerving. But after being a SHIELD agent for so long, the sight of his own body didn't faze him overly. It merited maybe ninth on his list of top ten strangest experiences. Fury appeared to be much more upset about the whole situation than Coulson was. So far, being dead wasn't all that bad and now the members of the Avengers Initiative would have something to unite and drive them against Loki.
Coulson watched the medical team arrive and call his time of death with slightly detached interest. He already knew that there was no way they could revive him – Loki's staff had done far too much damage. They did their damnedest though which Coulson oddly appreciated. It was nice to have it reaffirmed that they all felt he was worth the effort. Fury stayed by Coulson's body the entire time and then finally helped move the body to a gurney once the time of death had been called, getting blood all over his hands in the process. Fury paused for a moment, his brow crinkling slightly, and then patted down to pockets of Coulson's bloody suit jacket as if looking for something. Whatever it was he was looking for, he didn't find it. He turned to another agent who had just arrived and ordered that the contents of Agent Coulson's locker be brought to his office.
A thought occurred to Coulson as he stood watching the whole scene. Aw, hell – now he was never going to get his Captain America cards signed. He'd been waiting for the right moment – after all, the Captain had already said yes and Coulson knew that he'd made Rogers uncomfortable. He hadn't meant to, but, well, Captain America had been his childhood idol, part of what had led him to become a SHIELD agent in the first place. He'd just gotten tongue tied – embarrassingly so – much to the delight of his fellow agents who were used to him being calm and unflappable to an almost legendary degree. Coulson, after all, was the only agent who ever willingly dealt with Tony Stark. Even Fury avoided dealing with the obstinate man as much as possible. Huh, somebody else was going to have to take over the job of handling Stark now.
Coulson trailed after Fury through the halls of the damaged helicarrier, swerving to avoid running into people more out of habit than necessity. Coulson could still see himself, whole and undamaged, just as he'd been right before Loki stabbed him through the back. The only really notable difference was that he appeared to have taken on a sort of glow-y quality. And, of course, he was rather less solid than he used to be. Coulson adjusted his tie and continued to keep pace with Fury. Then, strictly out of curiosity, Coulson reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Huh. He both was and wasn't surprised when his hand came out holding his badge. Badges weren't standard issue for most SHIELD agents, but since Coulson had had to deal with civilians on such a regular basis, he'd been issued one.
Coulson looked up from his badge and realized that he'd arrived at Fury's office. Fury walked straight in, but Coulson hesitated in the hallway outside. A glowing doorway had appeared in the air next to Fury's. Somehow Coulson knew that he'd reached a decision point. He had to pick a door. He looked from the physical door to the glowing door and then down at the ethereal version of his badge.
Agent Coulson had once been described in a performance review as "dedicated." It was a good word for him. He had loved his job and the sense of purpose it had given his life. Other words that had often appeared on his performance reviews were "efficient," "organized," and "practical." (Apparently, according to Hill, this understated but relentlessly applied skills set had caused Coulson to make Agent Barton's list of 'Top Five People Most Likely to Successfully Takeover the World without Anybody Realizing It before It Was Too Late If Any of Them Ever Went to the Darkside.') But really the best word for Coulson overall was "dedicated." A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. He'd never laid down on the job while he was alive and he certainly wasn't about to start doing it now just because he was dead.
Coulson flip his badge shut with a decisive snap that only he could hear and then slid it back into his jacket. He strolled into Fury's office, ignoring the glowing door. A true SHIELD agent's work was never done.
After a moment, the glowing door faded from existence once more.
(And thus it was that SHIELD acquired its first guardian angel, though Coulson was having none of that wings and halo nonsense. They were certainly going to need one.)