A/N: Hello again. I'm getting better with the updating thing, only just over a month this time! I'm done with exams, so I may have more time to write this stuff now. Three cheers for freedom!
The sharp whine of the door buzzer cut through his shallow sleep. He groaned, and covered his face with his arm. The buzzer sounded several more times. Matt briefly considered mashing whoever was on the other side into a smooth paste and spreading them thinly over a slice of bread. Grumbling, he wrapped a bedsheet around himself and answered the door. Squinting in the harsh light of the corridor, the mashing idea swiftly went out of the window. The man standing there was huge, taking up the entire doorframe, and clad in shades and a suit which looked like a small marquee with a slight redesign.
"Mr Lynch, you're to come up to the bridge," he rumbled.
"Okay, I'll be right up," Matt said, and turned to go back into his room. The man placed a hefty hand on his shoulder.
"I'm to escort you. It's important," he said. Matt shrugged off his hand in annoyance.
"In that case, I'd like to change. Would you mind?" The man said nothing. Matt looked at him uncertainly. He showed no sign of moving.
"Sorry," he shrugged, and shut the door in the agent's face. He rubbed his eyes and made his way over to the pile of clothes, glancing at the alarm clock. Barely a couple of hours had passed since he'd finally managed to get to bed. He sighed, and went about changing into the S.H.I.E.L.D – issued gear.
It fit him well, he had to admit it. He checked out his appearance in the mirror in the bathroom door. The sight of himself dressed in the uniform of the organisation he'd spent the past few years avoiding was unsettling, alien. He looked around the room to check whether he'd left anything, eyes alighting upon his brown coat which he'd forgotten to get rid of with his other clothes. He slipped it on, the heavy mass of leather and the familiar smell of outside comfortable among the sterilised corridors and machinery of the Helicarrier. He still didn't feel entirely at ease, but it was as close as he was going to get.
He opened the door, entirely unsurprised to find the agent still standing exactly where Matt had left him. The agent fell perfectly into step as Matt closed the door and started off down the corridor. As they made their way up the stairs, he felt he should break the awkward silence.
"So, how do you get around with those things on?" he asked, nodding at the shades. The man's face remained completely expressionless, staring ahead as if Matt didn't exist. They climbed a couple more sets of stairs. "Seriously," continued Matt as they passed a window, "it's dark outside. Pitch black. I get it, you look like more of a badass wearing sunglasses at night, but you might hurt yourself. I'm concerned for you, man." The agent's expression remained unmoving, but Matt thought he could detect a hint of a frown crossing his lips. They carried on climbing, an oppressive silence descending like a thick fog. "Jeez, you can't even try to look out for anyone anymore," he grumbled.
It was a relief when the endless stairs finally opened out onto the bridge, the huge windows filled with mauve wisps of cloud punctuating the inky blackness of night. Coulson spotted them, and hurried over from the other side of the room where a small huddle of S.H.I.E.L.D top brass had congregated.
"Morning," said Coulson in greeting. "Thanks for getting up here at short notice."
"Oh don't thank me, it was all this guy," said Matt, slapping his huge minder on the shoulder. It was like hitting a concrete block. "Where the hell does Fury find these people? He's a blast!"
There was now a definite frown of disapproval on the agent's face.
"That will be all, Agent Smith. Thank you," said Coulson with a hint of a smile. Agent Smith nodded sharply and set off back into the bowels of the ship, unable to keep a look of profound relief off his face. Matt snickered. "You shouldn't make fun of the agents like that, they're here to help defeat Loki, same as you," said Coulson in gentle reproach.
"I just wanted him to lighten up," grinned Matt. Coulson raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, if you take yourself that seriously you're kind of asking for it," Matt said, hands raised.
Coulson took a deep breath. "Moving on," he said, changing the subject with a quick smile, "It looks like the Officer Corps have finished panicking." He glanced over to the group of officers clustered around Fury's podium.
"That bad?" asked Matt.
"No worse, as of yet," he said lightly. "Come on, Fury'll explain." He turned away, beckoning Matt to follow, and strode across the room towards Fury's perch. The group broke apart as Matt and Coulson drew nearer, agents hurrying off to their stations leaving Fury and Agent Hill standing to greet them.
"We apologise for interrupting your rest, but we've had a situation come up," said Agent Hill, a little formally. Fury merely nodded. Nodding stiffly in return, Matt felt his good mood at irritating his minder drain away.
"What's happened?" he asked, tight lipped. Fury turned in a swish of leather, and quickly enlarged a video on a touchscreen, fingers flickering.
"Loki decided to make a move," said Fury in clipped tones, standing back so they could all see the screen. The grainy images showed the Asgardian in ornate armour holding a glowing staff terrorising a herd of civilians in a square. "He appeared in Stuttgart, not half an hour ago." Matt leant forward; it was the first time he'd seen what they were up against. He shivered a little, despite himself. Even through CCTV footage, the demigod's sheer power and cold disdain was palpable; the energy seemed to roll off him like a crackling wave. Suddenly, Loki disappeared into a blur, as Captain America entered the picture and they started to fight. The CCTV camera struggled to keep up with the speed of the action.
Fury switched off the video, and moved to stand in front of the screen. "That's all the video there is. I can tell you that Stark got involved within a couple of minutes, and together they managed to subdue Loki and bring him onto a jet." He poked at something on the screen, and brought up a GPS position. "We expect Thor inbound, any second. You're up, Lynch," he finished, fixing him in his gaze from his one remaining eye. Matt swallowed. After a second, the Director looked away. "Coulson will show you to the flight deck," he said.
Matt smiled lopsidedly at Fury for the first time in years. There was no warmth in it. "That won't be necessary," he said, unable to keep a hint of smugness from his voice. Fury's brow furrowed in confusion. Matt slowly made his way over to the nearest door, Fury's suspicious stare following him. He pulled it over, closed his eyes, and concentrated.
A couple of years back, when Matt was trying to hide away for the umpteenth time, he had moved into a condemned apartment block in Detroit, a place where he was almost guaranteed not to be disturbed. There he had discovered a curious side effect of his abilities. Closing his eyes, he had felt for the first time tendrils of electrical power, fluttering like butterflies trapped in a net. He had been experimenting with this newfound, dragging these strands this way and that, drawing them in towards himself and suddenly with a stomach – wrenching yank, had found himself on the other side of the room. He'd then spent the next half an hour lying on the ground, half blinded with terrible pins and needles all over his body. Needless to say, he'd practiced since then.
He felt for the familiar snaking strands of power, emanating from the banks of screens and sockets clustered on the bridge. He yanked them towards himself, and the world turned into a blurry rush of colour and light. Everything slowed to a stop and he was away, arcing over the frozen spray and static waves glittering in the dull grey light of the stormy sky. In an eyeblink he was over land, following the dim, blazing sparkles of power lines over the landscape which had faded to a murky grey in comparison. A major city flashed up, a riotous, eyewatering blaze of light that made all else seem near-black.
The world turned faster underneath him; cities, states then even countries flashing by in a glimmering haze until he started to recognise the geography of Germany – the Alps, looming up jagged and menacing from the landscape. A few hundred kilometres flashed by underneath, then the lights of Stuttgart were upon him, shimmering underneath as he caught a glimpse of a stark black silhouette of a lone jet frozen stock still in the sky. He couldn't pick out details but there was no time to think, being drawn in instinctively to the jet as the edges of his vision started to shake with exhaustion. He threw himself at the plane in desperation through what might have been a gaping hole in the underside as he closed his eyes and concentrated, a great crash sounding in his ears as his vision faded to black.
As all of you writers know, reviews have a surprising tendency to create such beneficial effects as feelings of warmth and fulfilment, general health benefits, notable boosts to job creation and lasting world peace. So please, for the good of mankind, R&R!
