In My Time of Dying
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"Phil is dead."
Those three words, stated so succinctly, echoed through the redheaded woman's mind when she came upon her superior and her colleague at the scene. She turned away from the director of SHIELD and Phil's bloodied body, inhaling and exhaling a breath to regain her composure.
"I knew this would happen," she finally said at length. The redhead turned to Director Fury. "What can I do?"
"You have friends in high places," the one-eyed leader stated.
The woman gave him an odd look. "So do you, sir," she retorted, "but what does that have to do with anything?"
"Your friends are in higher places than mine," Fury answered.
Understanding dawned on the woman. "Ah, I see." She reached into her pants pocket and took out her cell phone. She halted her movements, pausing to stare at the director for confirmation. "Are you sure you want me to place the call? There's still a possibility that he won't agree to let her do it. And that's not counting the snit she'll be in when he tells her."
An uncomfortable silence passed between the two. The phone lay heavily in her palm like a brick. Tension coated the air as the woman waited for her leader to answer. Will he or won't he?
Then, at Fury's nod, the woman let out a breath. "Make the call, Agent Tennyson."
She pressed a particular number and held the phone to her ear. As she listened to the other line connecting, she muttered, "I hope he picks up the phone this time."
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II
There was a red stain on his dress shirt.
It didn't take long for Phil to guess what had happened especially when he spotted his body lying a few feet away from where he stood.
"One of the perks of being a reaper is the ability to stop time." Phil tore his eyes away from his body to see a woman walking through the debris in high heels. She looked out of place in her charcoal grey dress, matching suit jacket, and black high heels. She stopped a few feet away from him. "It always comes in handy when you're in a jam."
"I'm dead, aren't I?" he asked, ignoring the woman's last remark.
"As a door nail," the woman quipped. Reaching into her suit jacket, she took out a little black book and opened it. "Ah, there it is. Phil Coulson, right?"
"Who wants to know?"
The woman looked up from her book. Looking at her face, Phil noticed she looked quite young, late teens or early twenties. "I'll take that as a yes, then." She closed her book and put it back into the hidden pocket in her suit jacket. "I must say, I'm actually surprised at how accepting you are of it. Most people usually don't."
He shrugged. Phil Coulson always knew Death could be knocking on his door. He knew the risks of his job. As a SHIELD agent, he knew the odds of retiring at the age of sixty was as likely as getting Tony Stark to join the priesthood—it was a snowball's chance in hell. "I was aware something like this could happen," he said simply.
The woman nodded in understanding. "Everybody knows death will come eventually, some more than others. But, there are few who realize it can happen any time." She paused. "I don't meet a lot of people who are calm about it."
"So, what are you? Death?" Phil asked.
The woman chuckled. "Please." She waved a dismissive hand. "As much as I would love to be the horseman, I don't have that kind of experience. No, Death is my boss."
"Oh." He honestly didn't know what to do with that.
"So, is there anything you want to ask before you go?" the woman asked. "Like, why are we here? What's our purpose in life? Is there a god? Why did that last episode of Passions suck?"
Phil shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks. So, what happens now? Shouldn't I be crossing over?"
Before she could answer, the reaper's cell phone rang. "Oh, for the love of cake," she muttered as she dug into her suit jacket to take out her phone. "Hello? Yeah, I'm here….He's standing right in front of me….What, again?! This is the fifth time! I swear to cat, this is becoming way too routine….What was it this time? ….She called you? Since when did she have your number? ...Oh, I see….Fine! I always listen anyway….Uh-huh….Uh-huh….Yeah. Yeah, I got it. Okay. Bye."
The reaper hung up. "Well, Agent Coulson, it looks like you got a get-out-of-jail-free card," she said as she put her cell phone away. "I guess we should take this someplace that's less destroyed and more intact."
In the blink of an eye, Phil found himself sitting in a wingback chair in front of a fireplace. His reaper sat across from him. Her legs were crossed and there was an open book lying on them.
"What happened?" the SHIELD agent asked.
"Circumstances have made it that you don't get to cross over," the reaper answered, her eyes never looking away from the book.
"Why not?" Phil asked.
"Someone made a bargain."
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III
Time crawled at a snail's pace in this waiting room.
Phil studied the room for the fiftieth time. From his vantage point, he saw his reaper reclining comfortably in her wingback chair while the fire roared. Her face was focused and intent as she wrote in her little black book.
"There are some comic books if you're bored."
Phil stopped in his observation. "Excuse me?"
"You've been staring at me for a while." She paused in her writing to look up at him. "I figured you might be bored."
"Where are they?"
"Over there." She pointed to a bookshelf near the fireplace.
He walked over to the bookshelf she indicated. "That's a nice collection," he said as he looked over the comic books. "You have Captain America comic books?" He pulled out a comic and narrowed his eyes. "These date back to World War II. And they're in mint condition."
"Uh-huh. I was supposed to reap his soul when he flew into the ocean. But, being the pop culture illiterate that I am, I needed a picture of him. So I got the trading cards and the comic books," the reaper absently explained, too engrossed in her writing and oblivious to the surprise in his voice. "I make it a habit to keep all of my things in good condition. There's no telling when they might make a comeback."
Phil placed the comic back on the shelf and sat across from his reaper. "You kept everything you've owned?"
Sensing confusion in the SHIELD agent, the woman looked up. "Yes," she answered warily. "Why do you ask?"
"You're a reaper," he replied.
"What does that have to do with anything?" the reaper asked, not fazed by the agent's lack of tact.
"You're not human."
The reaper stopped her movements at those three words. She closed her book and capped her black ball point pen. Putting little black book and pen aside, she sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. "I never said I wasn't."
"You were human. Then you became a reaper," Phil slowly stated as if he were trying to solve a difficult puzzle.
"Yeah," the reaper agreed. "Just because I'm a reaper doesn't mean that I'm limited to having an astral body. I have a physical body too."
Awkward silence filled the air. "There's a story behind it, isn't there?"
"There is," his reaper answered. "It can get pretty long. I might tell you sometime."
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Reaping souls and escorting them to the afterlife? Hm," the reaper hummed, "a very long time. Probably after the sacking of Troy."
"You were there for the Trojan war?" Phil asked. Surprise and skepticism laced his voice.
"You can say that," she said, keeping her voice even.
"You're not going to tell me anything about yourself."
"Pretty much," the reaper replied. "What can I say? A girl's got to have a couple of secrets up her sleeves. It keeps things interesting."
"Can you tell me one thing, then?" Phil asked.
"Well, now, that depends on what it is you want me to tell you."
"You told me that I won't be going to my afterlife."
The reaper nodded. "That's right."
"Okay. Will I be going back to my body?" the agent asked.
"Yeah."
"Then why haven't I gone back?"
"First of all, you're technically dead," the reaper stated bluntly, "by a stab wound, no less. That means that your physical body is in less than perfect condition. Now, I don't know about you, but I figured you might want to stay here for a bit while your body is still being healed."
"How long will that take?" Phil asked.
The reaper shrugged. "It depends on the body." She ran a hand through her dark hair. "But, if it makes you feel any better, time flows differently here and one of the best healers is on it. By the time she's done, it'll be showroom new."
"Oh, that's good." The man lapsed into silence. His mind ran through the last few moments of his life. "I should have listened to her when she told me to wear something sturdier underneath my shirt."
"Who? Cassandra?" The reaper inclined her head to think. The motion reminded Phil of a curious puppy. When it looked like she had her answer, the woman shook her head in agreement. "Yeah, you should have. But, if it makes you feel any better, a lot of people never listen to what she says. Do you know how much chaos, death, and mayhem could have been avoided if everybody listened?" She paused for dramatic effect. "A lot!"
"You know Cassandra."
Although it wasn't a question, the reaper could hear Phil's questioning tone. "Yes, I do," she answered.
She didn't offer any more information and Phil didn't bother to pry. The duo had lapsed into a comfortable silence when Phil heard a loud ring. He turned his head toward the source of the sound only to find the reaper removing a cell phone from her pocket.
Before he could ask, the woman pressed a button and said, "Hey, Boss….Uh-huh….Yeah, he's sitting right next to me….Okay….Good. I'll talk to you soon….Tonight? Sure, I'm available. See you then."
"Any news?" Phil asked as his reaper hung up her phone.
"Yep." She stood up from her seat. "It looks like you're ready to go."
"Oh," he said as she walked over to him. "Can you tell me your name?"
She stopped just as she was in front of him. "For the next time we meet?" The reaper inclined her head to think. "Of course," she answered, raising her right arm.
As Phil felt her index and middle fingers on his forehead, all he heard was the reaper's answer.
"My name is Penelope."
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Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers.
Author's notes: This is the first part in my series, Penelope Wonderly: Personal Assistant and Resident Reaper.