Age of Grace
Chapter 3- His secrets have secrets
Disclaimer: The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. belong to Marvel/Disney. Torchwood belongs to the BBC. I am merely borrowing them.
The first file was the thickest, on a man named Capt. Jack Harkness. A little negotiation with Stark and intercession from Ms. Potts and he had a laptop, and with Jarvis' help, was looking up more information on this Harkness character. Jarvis wasn't the SHIELD mainframe, but he was a huge help. A little digging revealed an American fighter pilot, also named Jack Harkness, same rank, died during a dogfight over England in 1941. The pictures of the two Jacks did not match. Something to ask Fury about, when he got the chance, but the man in the dossier had formidable skills and experience that could prove valuable to SHIELD.
The rest—a former policewoman named Gwen Cooper and her husband, Rhys Williams. Possibly useful, but not likely. Also in that same category, an Ianto Jones, but with the right training, he could be a valuable asset. The other two, a doctor, Owen Harper, and a computer expert named Toshiko Sato, had potential. He'd write up a report and forward it to Director Fury.
And why was Stark suddenly there, letting himself in? Coulson set aside the laptop, picking up the stack of files, and shoving them inside the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
Stark was giving him a strange look, and then he started talking, and wouldn't shut up.
"Are you hiding Rogers in there? It's OK if you are, I mean, I think you two would make a great couple," Stark said.
"Stark. . ." Coulson warned, jaw clenching.
"It might take you a while to get him to come around, but if that's something you want to pursue, you have my support, 100 percent," Stark said. "Or you're just trying to hide something. I know Fury came up to see you today. You're not going to do something stupid, are you? We just got you back. I'm sure Rogers would have a conniption if he found out. . ."
"Mr. Stark. That. Is. Enough."
"Yeah, well, be seeing you," Stark said. "Pepper wants you to come up for dinner."
"I'll be there," Coulson said.
Except he wasn't. Instead, hours later, he was on a SHIELD quinjet on his way back to the helicarrier, returning from Cardiff, Wales with Natasha Romanoff. Director Fury didn't have to ask twice. The op was simple enough—go to England and extract the people in the files he'd been given. Except it hadn't been so simple. Two of the group was in body bags—Harkness and the doctor, Owen Harper. Jones was sitting with his arm around Sato, and the medic was splitting his time between Gwen Cooper, who was pregnant (Fury hadn't mentioned that little detail) and himself. Cooper's husband obviously couldn't decide if he was going to rip someone apart or thank them for getting them all out.
The painkillers and whatever else they gave him before leaving were starting to wear off. The medic had the bleeding mostly stopped, but his wounds were not the priority. Cooper was going into premature labor, and that was the last thing Coulson remembered as he sank into darkness.
88888
Bruce Banner was having a lousy day. He was back on the SHIELD helicarrier. Unpleasant enough, but he'd been called upon to use his medical skills for something other than patching up the team. An emergency C-section on a pregnant civilian, a woman who also had a gunshot wound. Then there was the fight to save the infant, a girl, who lived, thank God. Coulson was injured again, and he'd left that to the SHIELD doctors, having had his hands full with the woman and baby. Now Fury wanted him to go down to the morgue and take a quick look at the bodies Coulson brought back with him. Somebody needed to sign the paperwork to dispose of the bodies, and Banner was the lucky sap.
He snapped on a pair of exam gloves, unzipping the body bag containing Harper. The cause of death was evident—a shot to the back of the head. Banner zipped the back shut, moving on to the second. Unzipping it, he noticed that the body in the bag did not fit the description he was given. Something about this one being in pieces, but he was staring at a complete body. A body whose eyes opened, one deep inhalation, and the corpse sat up.
Banner fainted.
88888
Coulson startled awake. Pain in his chest, his right shoulder and left thigh were on fire and where the hell was he? The room was dimly lit, and he concentrated on slowing his breathing, and trying to make the pain go away. He was not going to panic. From the sound of things, he was on the SHIELD helicarrier, one of the rooms in the infirmary.
He took a deep breath, relaxing as his eyes adjusted to the low light. He was sitting, propped up in bed with pillows, an IV in his good arm. Bandages wrapped around his torso and right shoulder, the one where he was shot. His left leg was also propped up on pillows from his other gunshot wound.
Coulson fumbled around for his call light, he was thirsty, and hurting and didn't care this time if he slept until hell froze over. And of course, the instant his hand hit the damn call light, the device fell to the floor. He heard the rustle of clothing, and movement a few feet away, finally realizing there was someone in the room with him. The lights came on, and Coulson was surprised to see the other person was Steve Rogers.
"I'll get your nurse," Steve said, leaving, and coming back moments later with a nurse. She took Coulson's vitals, gave him something for his pain, and left him alone with Rogers again.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Steve asked. "I know you love your job, but there is a fine line between courage and stupidity. It's been a month since we thought you died. A month. A little over 30 days since you were stabbed. And you go off on an op and get yourself shot. . ."
"Fury asked nicely, and I accepted," Coulson said. "He had a job that needed to be done, and he asked me to do it."
"Fury needs his ass kicked," Steve said.
"It was supposed to be a simple extraction," Coulson said.
"I know. Natasha told me all about it," Steve said. "Banner had to do an emergency C-section on the woman. I think she's doing all right. The baby's fine. She's a little small, but feisty. They named her Anwen. It means 'fair' in Welsh. Look, I better let you get some rest. You lost a lot of blood, and I need to go check on Banner. Something happened, and he's flipping out. But before I go, there's something I want you to have."
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a cross on a chain, setting it in Coulson's hand. The agent looked at the object—a silver cross, Celtic in design. It looked old.
"It belonged to my mother," Steve said. "My grandmother gave it to her before she and my father emigrated here to the States. I don't much use for it anymore and I want you to have it. Considering your luck lately, you need it more than me."
Coulson handed it back. "I can't take it."
Steve pushed it back into the agent's hand, closing his own around it. "I consider you among my friends, and I don't want to lose the few I have," he said. "Get some rest. We'll talk later."
88888
Fury was in Banner's lab, watching the man pace. Banner was still in his surgical scrubs, looking more haggard than usual.
"What the hell is going on? You better tell me what is going on," Banner demanded. "That man was dead. Natasha told me he was in pieces. Coulson's report backed it up. The guy in the body bag was dead. Cold. No heartbeat, yet he sat up on my table. Alive. How the hell does that happen?"
"Jack Harkness can't die. At least no one has found a way to keep him from coming back," Fury said.
Banner stopped pacing. "What? You mean you knew about this and you didn't think it was a good idea to warn somebody?"
"It's Harkness' little secret," Fury said.
"Not so secret anymore," Banner said. "Is that why you sent Natasha and Coulson to get him?"
"Not just him—Harkness' team," Fury said. "The op wasn't supposed to happen the way it did, but my hand was forced. By the way, how are the others?
"They're all right. The woman—Cooper, she's lucky to be alive, and the baby's fine," Banner said. "Coulson is going to be out of commission longer, but of course, you knew that."
"Banner, you did a good job tonight. Go get some rest," Fury said, clasping the other man on the shoulder.
88888
Capt. Jack Harkness was in Nick Fury's office, sitting at Fury's desk, feet propped up like he owned the place. And he wasn't disappointed by the look on Fury's face when he walked in.
"Get your ass out of my chair," Fury said. "Glad to see somebody found you some clothes."
Harkness snorted. He was wearing a t-shirt and fatigues someone found in his sized. "It's a nice chair."
"I know," Fury said, taking Harkness' place. "How long before the news hits?"
"A few hours," Harkness said. "We planned for this, only not so soon. "How is my team?"
"Harper is dead," Fury said. Harkness sank down into a chair.
"The others?"
"Cooper went into premature labor because she was shot, but she and the baby are fine," Fury said. "Sato, Jones and Cooper's husband are all with her."
"Did your agents make it?" Harkness asked.
"Not without incident," Fury said.
"What happens to us now?"
"That's up to you," Fury said. "The deal was I'd get you out of you agreed to cooperate. That hasn't changed, has it?"
"No," Harkness said.
88888