Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just Amy.
A/N: So. I saw IM3 yesterday and wow. I got nostalgic for my long-neglected fic (I know, I know, I'm awful at keeping up...) and I remembered I wrote this. It's been in my documents for awhile now. I figured I might as well just post it. I'm not too sure of the timeline here, but Amy's in her teens. Enjoy!
He recognized her in an instant, ambling down the sidewalk outside the diner in a confident, powerful stride that was all Agent Romanoff. Her head was bent over a scrap of paper which he guessed contained the address of the meeting place he'd passed along to her. She paused in front of the door, stuffed the paper into her pocket, and breezed through the entrance. He found himself subconsciously holding his breath—it was one thing to have committed her file to memory, but it was an entirely different matter seeing her face-to-face. He noticed a hint of Agent Barton in her sharp eyes while she took in the warmth of the quaint eatery, scanning tables for him. He was hidden underneath a not-so-inconspicuous Captain America baseball cap and wondered if she would be able to figure things out. There was a meek sort of hesitation in the way she sought out the nearest waitress to ask for him—reminiscent of Banner, he knew.
She followed the waitress' index finger down the aisle toward his table in the corner near a window. He felt himself tense as she neared, hands clasped in front of his mug of coffee. There was a bit more hesitation before she placed one hand on the surface of the table. His head was lowered over the menu.
"S'cuse me, sir," she said. Her voice was sweet with a playful edge. It was easy for him to see that the polite 'sir,' tacked on the end was all Steve's doing. "I think you're waiting for me?"
He smiled though she couldn't see it underneath the shadow of the baseball cap. It felt strange to him to finally be in her presence. To hear her speak. Her file was unbelievable; there was a certain surreal feeling to the situation. All of that superhuman ability packed into one seemingly normal-looking teenager.
"Have a seat," he offered.
She slid into the booth across from him like a baby animal taking its first cautious steps. He noticed that was evident in all her movements, afraid of what kind of damage she could inflict on her surroundings. With a quick glance around, he tugged off the cap and placed it beside him. He met her gaze with a kind, easy grin, wrapping one hand around the side of his mug. Her face contorted into a mix of wide-eyed shock and surprise. She retreated back into the lumpy cushion of the booth and stared at him with her jaw hanging open.
"I can't tell you what an honor it is to finally meet you," Coulson said.
"But—you're—everyone said—"
"Turns out I'm a bit tougher than I give myself credit for," he explained. "It was touch-and-go for awhile there but I stuck it out." He shrugged and took a sip of coffee. It was uncomfortable bringing up those memories.
Amelia had yet to close her mouth. She blinked. "Does anyone else know? What…happened?"
"Director Fury orchestrated the whole thing, figured faking my death would work out best. The Avengers put up quite a fight in response. I recovered, laid low…I'm not one to settle down, so I kept tabs on SHIELD's operations."
"I'm sure Fury loved that." Amelia rolled her eyes. And there it was, the famous Tony Stark sarcasm. Coulson couldn't help but smirk.
"Exactly," he agreed. "Then, I came across your file…needless to say, I was intrigued."
"Are you sure 'horrified' isn't a better adjective?" she countered. "Dad says SHIELD went through hell doing damage control."
"On paper, you're—" he struggled, trying to come up with words, "you're incredible. Intelligence off the charts, superhuman strength, resilience…an impressive skill set to boot."
Amelia scratched the back of her neck nervously, and there was good 'ole Captain America peeking through again, sheepish when being talked about. She picked up a sugar packet at the center of the table and started fidgeting with it.
"Half the time I don't even know what to do with all this," she replied. "It seems like a lot to live up to."
Coulson took another sip of coffee. "I don't think you have to worry about that, Amelia."
"Well, it's no picnic, I can assure you."
"No, it's often not. Neither is the life of an agent."
Amelia bowed her head slightly in understanding. Coulson watched the sugar spill out onto the table when her less-than-careful hands ripped through the thin paper package.
"But," he announced slowly, "in the middle of all the chaos and bad days, there's always a shining light somewhere at the end of the tunnel."
Amelia quirked an eyebrow in question, as if disbelieving. The taunting expression was eerily similar, for a split second, to Loki.
"Getting up in the morning for decent coffee, for one," he laughed, and was pleased when she followed suit. "How about you? Hungry?"
"Starving," she giggled.
Coulson watched in something that resembled awe while Amelia ate her breakfast, his fork poised over his plate of ham and eggs. Attacked probably would have been a better word for it. She had an appetite fit for anyone who happened to be part Asgardian god, not to mention lightning fast metabolism. Plates of short stack pancakes, scrambled eggs smothered in ketchup, and bacon strips and sausage links swimming in maple syrup were spread across the table. Amy shoveled down her eggs with ravenous hunger and then swiftly apologized, her cheeks pink. Coulson just laughed and told her not to worry. While Thor had always been lacking in excuses for his brutal eating habits, he was sure Steve, Bruce, and Natasha had taken care to teach Amy manners.
He pulled out his wallet and snatched the bill before Amy could think of it. She opened her mouth to protest but he waved his hand, leaving enough for the bill and a generous tip on the table.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Gotta catch up for all those years you didn't get birthday presents. Official godfather duties and all that. There's gotta be a handbook somewhere."
He pushed the baseball cap back on and pocketed his wallet. Amelia shook her head with a smile. "You don't have to…"
"No, but I do like the title," Coulson replied.
He stood and Amelia trailed after him until they were side-by-side out the door. He watched Amy rock and forth back on her heels on the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of her jeans. There was a look of wonder in her eyes upon meeting the bustling New York atmosphere again. He forgot she didn't spend much time outside the Tower. She turned her gaze back on him with a lopsided grin. He felt her elbow knock into his lightly.
"Thanks for breakfast, Uncle Phil."
Coulson placed a hand on her shoulder. Heat crept into the tops of his ears at the new designation. It was like finding out her middle name all over again.
"Uncle Phil," he echoed. "It has a nice ring to it."
"It suits you."
"You think?" he asked. Amelia nodded. "C'mon, I got a ride for us back to the Tower, compliments of SHIELD. In the time it'll take us to get across the city you can catch me up on things."
"Game of favorites?" she suggested. He saw the sleek black SUV pull up alongside the curb and rushed to get the back door for her.
"Sounds like a good idea."
