Rating: T for mild language (Mostly on Fury's part lol)

Characters: OC and Hawkeye.

Slight AU in that once this is done there will be no chance for an Avengers 2.

Thanks!

-Plum


Her hand drifted upward slowly, lazily toward the white ceiling. Vibrant blue eyes trailed it as it rose up, up. Her fingertips brushed the corner of one of the many gold-painted stars that dangled delicately from the ceiling above her head. The star fluttered, twirled, danced.

The hand fell back onto her chest and she let out a sigh. The star, its sudden movement marking it as different from the others, twirled slower and slower until it came to rest.

She blinked slowly, the sheets underneath her rustling with her slight movements. The sunlight that filtered into the room was bright, warming the tips of her toes. Her eyes slipped closed as she enjoyed the moment of pure tranquility.

Then the sound of her hydraulic pressurized door pierced the silence like an axe. Her eyes snapped open and her head turned over on the bed to gaze at her visitor, trapping her wild mass of red curls beneath it.

He strode in, his black coat flying behind him.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said in the voice that had the power and authority to make the entire Helicarrier shake in fear.

"Director," she greeted lazily. She turned over to face the wall.

"Miss McGuffin, you have important work to do today." The sarcasm was gone from his voice.

She slowly pushed herself into an upright position.

"Yeah, training."

Fury continued to stand in the doorway.

"I'm up."

"Keep your morale high, Agent," he said as he turned to walk away.


"Good morning, gentlemen," she said, in greeting to the two men standing at the opposite ends of the door.

One tilted his head slightly.

"Miss McGuffin," he replied. "Destination?"

"Just the coffee room," she reassured.

He gave a tight smile.

"You can never be too careful."

After getting her coffee she made her way back.

"Good morning to you too, Victor," she said to the one that hadn't spoken. He nodded shyly in acknowledgement.


Even through her headphones she could hear the Director's boots clacking on the floor. She took them off and hung them around her neck.

"Agent Coulson's on an assignment. He won't be visiting you today."

Her fingers ceased their typing and she turned to look at him.

"What kind of assignment?"

The silence and the stern look told her exactly what kind of assignment.

"Classified?"

"You're learning fast, McGuffin."

He turned away. Halfway to the door, he stopped and half-turned.

"But not fast enough. Get back to work."

With a groan, she turned back to the computer.


The sound of two-finger typing was the only sound that could be heard in the otherwise oppressive silence of the room. The headphones were off, the video sessions having been completed. Now all that was left was filling out paperwork.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Click.

Clack.

Suddenly a wailing siren was heard, and she covered her ears, startled. She watched as Victor and Joe scrambled to their posts outside of the clear, glass door. Her heart raced as Joe motioned for her to get down. Slowly she lowered to the ground, her hands locked behind her neck, like she had been taught to do in her training.

She was silent on the ground, the siren still wailing above her. Victor and Joe had their guns drawn. Terrified, she screwed her eyes shut. The anticipation was killing her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the siren finally stopped. She lifted her head, timid and unsure of what it's disappearance entailed. And then, a second call came through the PA.

"Agent Coulson is down."

A stone dropped in her stomach.

"No. No, no, no, no, no..."

She got up, and her feet felt like lead moving towards the door. Joe barred her way.

"No, I've got to get to him- I have to help him-"

Joe pushed her back inside and closed the door.

"Ms. McGuffin, your job is to stay here. And my job is to keep you here."

"But-"

Joe pressed a button on the control panel outside the door and it turned opaque. Her voice died in her throat.

A message came through her personal intercom.

"Ms. McGuffin is advised to remain in her room. If this order is violated she will be kept in with force."


"Director Fury."

He walked over with his long, purposeful strides. His hands were clasped behind his back.

"Yes, Agent Hill?"

"We're getting a dangerous spike in power, sir. I think there's a problem with the source."

"I'll handle it."

He walked away as quickly as he had come, and although there was no change in his appearance or demeanor, it was obvious that he was now considerably more annoyed than he had been.


He opened the door and narrowly dodged a flying chair, which was followed by a rough scream.

"Miss McGuffin!"

Her chest heaved as she came down from her blind rage. Fury waited for her to calm down.

"Is he-" she started quietly.

"He's dead."

The words didn't have much effect on her; she had already surmised as much. She stood dumbly, unable to speak or even move.

"Lola. Try doing something productive with your grief."

Fury turned to walk away.

In his place was a box of paint and a guitar.


Agent Maria Hill stood on the bridge. The deep cut on her cheek stung, but she wasn't going to let it slow her down. The other agents' gazes lingered on her as she passed a little longer than normal, as a result of her earlier outburst.

She walked to the front of the monitor and Fury came up beside her.

"Sir, we're getting a pleasant energy boost. What did you do?"

Fury gave a slight smile, but no answer.

Instead he turned away to witness the result of his experiment with positive reinforcement.


As he came down the hall the sound of music began to permeate the air. Victor and Joe stood at the door and gave Fury a nod of greeting.

"She in there?"

"Yes, sir."

He pressed a button on the control panel and the door turned transparent.

On the wall was a mural-style painting of a flower. Its white petals curled out delicately, and as they reached toward the center they turned a light pink. Underneath there was a message scrawled in a neat, slanted script:

"In Memory of Phillip J. Coulson. He still believed in heroes. And he helped me believe in them, too."

On the ground were three candles, their flames flickering in the light breeze that came from the slightly opened window.

She sat on the opposite side, the guitar resting on her thigh, her hand strumming slowly and the foreign words leaving her lips softly with a gentle, tribal tune:

Ua mau ke ea o ka 'aina i ka pono 'o hawai'i.

The constant, wet rain gives life to the land and brings goodness and change to Hawai'i.

This is the story of Lola McGuffin.