Regret is a Form of Punishment

XxxxxxX

"There are times when it is easier to be among the fallen than to be among those still standing." – General James Longstreet (1821 – 1904), CSA.

XxxxxxX

Nicholas J. Fury, Jr. privately wished people still called him "Colonel," despite the fact that his new title was "Director" and that he'd been out of the army for 35 years. It was just one more daily irritation. "Director" didn't have the same impact as "Colonel," in his opinion. Colonels were badass, Directors were office workers.

It was this and a thousand different other tiny irritations that caused Fury to occasionally take a break, find a quiet space, and just sit. Sit and watch the world go by. His favorite place to do this was Dickerson Conservation Park, near the Potomac River in Washington DC. He'd have his security team clear the place out, and when all the civilians were gone he'd find a quiet park bench and just sit and watch the river flow by for an hour. It was peaceful, and exactly the decompression he needed.

Of course, his security teams checked every bench before he entered the park, he never picked the same bench two days in a row, and his bodyguards were always within 15 yards of the place he sat, but still, it was peaceful. Every once in a while he'd bring some bread crumbs and feed the pigeons. It was idyllic. Maybe even bucolic.

He'd been sitting and watching the river flow by for about twenty minutes when he sensed someone sit down on the bench next to him. Despite his usual hyper-vigilant nature, he hadn't noticed the person's approach until they had already sat down. He glanced toward the newcomer, figuring it was a member of his security team, or at worst perhaps Romanov being tricky in that "gotcha" sort of way she enjoyed.

The man who had sat down next to him on the bench was not a member of his security team, and obviously wasn't Romanov. Fury's training kicked in immediately and he started cataloging details. Male, presumably Caucasian, early to mid-30s, somewhere between 5'10" and 6' 1" tall though given that the guy was sitting down that was only a rough estimate, maybe between 160 and 180 lbs though there was no way to tell given what the man was wearing. Blue jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a red and black checkered flannel shirt worn under a blue denim varsity jacket with Tigger – the Disney character – of all things embroidered on the left breast the jacket. Fury's eye narrowed at the next detail. The man was wearing an eye-patch exactly like Fury's, on exactly the same side. Fury wondered if it was just a strange coincidence, or if he was being mocked somehow.

The man smiled and spoke. "Uh… morning. Sorry to bother you during your lunch break, but we need to talk," giving Fury a little wave with his right hand. His left held a file of some kind. Fury could see the "Top Secret" designator stamp and cover sheet on the outside of the file's folder.

"We need to talk, huh?" Fury said slowly, glancing around at his security team. Normally they'd be distant but at least visible. He saw none of them. Very slowly, very carefully, Fury inched his left hand, the one on the opposite side of his body to the man, toward the pistol on his belt.

"Yep," the man said, popping the final p. It was a casual act, that sound, and made Fury believe it was a running joke with the guy. "I've got some information here you need to see." The man turned as far as he could while seated on a park bench and held the file out for Fury to take.

Fury didn't take it. He eyed the man carefully, then glanced around again for his security team.

"Are my men…?"

The man smiled and shrugged. "They're fine. I just needed to talk to you alone. I'm Xander, by the way. Xander Harris. And you should take this. Its about a target… let's just say he's more in your wheelhouse than in ours."

Fury went as pale as it is possible for a man of his skin color to be. Xander Harris. If this was really Xander Harris, then this young man was amazingly dangerous. Fury had heard the name connected to all sorts of crazy shit. Most of that crazy shit fell into the category of "crazy but nevertheless true," a category of events that Fury – who had met real space aliens and had protected the country from real-life freaking supervillians, for fuck sake – was unfortunately very familiar.

He had no idea just who Xander Harris worked for, but word in Washington was that his agency got what they wanted, when they wanted it, before any and all other security and defense agencies, because they were facing the worst of the worst of the worst global threats – things that made what SHIELD regularly dealt with look like a garden party. The word was that his agency had a casualty rate of nearly 20%, which was outrageous for anything outside of a war. That they constantly had to recruit new agents just to keep their numbers up. And that Xander Harris had been an active agent for this agency for most of his life and had managed to survive when a lot of others had died in the line of duty.

There were other names floated along side his, names implied to be just as hardcore, but not many. The hacker legend SalixGoddess – the only known name for the person. The Summers sisters, Dawn, Faith, and Buffy. A man, presumed to be either British or Irish, named Rupert Giles. An assassin of some skill named Violet Day. There were others. All of whom were spoken of, when they were spoken of, in hushed, awe-filled whispers.

Harris was still holding out the file. The smile on his face was looking forced.

With a sigh, Fury took it. He stared at Harris, who had turned to the river, almost dismissive now that the file was in Fury's hands. Nick shook his head and opened the packet up, ignoring the criminal warnings on the cover. It took him a minute to flip through the thing, skimming.

"What am I looking at, here? Who is…" Fury opened the file again, then closed it. "Who is Carl Creel?"

"Carl Gregory Creel." Harris didn't look at Nick as he spoke. He looked anywhere but, his gaze finally landing on his hands as he leaned forward on the bench. "Originally from New York City. Street tough turned professional boxer turned Mafia bone-breaker. Did a couple of stretches in Attica for aggravated assault and attempted murder. We think his mob connections kept him from getting a life sentence as a repeat offender."

"Two weeks ago my people got word of a new threat. The usual stuff: wreaking havoc, causing death and destruction. I gathered my team and we went out to stop it. The threat turned out to be Carl Creel. He'd somehow gained… abilities… that put him in our sights." Harris rubbed at his face. "Given his abilities and what the witnesses were saying, we thought he fell into our wheelhouse, and treated him accordingly."

The young man went silent for a moment, then said, "Out of a team of seven, I lost four. Four agents zeroed by this bozo. He got away, we fled back to base to lick our wounds and figure out what went wrong."

Fury nodded. He'd been there before. It was never easy, hearing that the people you ordered into harm's way had fallen. Almost impossible, sometimes, especially if you were close to them.

"Were you…?" Fury didn't have to ask the rest of the question. Harris was already answering.

"Yeah. A couple of them were friends. One of them I've known since High School. She was the best, strongest, most…" Harris's voice cracked, and he wiped at his one eye. The young man coughed and seemed to shake himself.

"Sorry." A deep breath. "Anyway, we went into research mode and found out that this guy wasn't our type of threat. He was yours. We're not really suited to take this guy down, not without effectively nuking everything around him, including maybe the entire city he is in." Harris rolled his eyes at his own statement, then muttered "… wouldn't be the first time…"

That caught Fury's attention. He didn't think Harris meant for him to hear, but he did. "Wouldn't be the first time for what?"

Harris sort of chuckled under his breath in a self-depreciating manner. "Aw, Xander, keep your damned mouth shut next time." He turned his gaze toward Fury. "Do you remember Sunnydale?"

"Sunnydale?" Fury knew he knew the name, but couldn't place it. Then it came to him. "That's the town that sank into the earth and then got flooded by the ocean. Back in, what… 2002? 2003? Town was completely wiped off the map Old Testament wrath of God style. Yeah, I remember that happening…" Fury stared at Harris in shock. "Wait, are you implying that was you?"

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Director Fury, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Xander Harris smiled, but it was a sad smile. "We had to sacrifice a town to stop a global threat. And even though it was the right price to pay, I still regret we had to do it. To this day I regret it had to happen. Lost some good people during that operation, too."

"You must have been a kid at the time."

At that, Harris nodded. "I was 22. Not the best time of my life. That was the operation that cost me my eye." Harris turned back to the river. "Anyway, I have delivered to you all the information we have on Carl Creel. He's one of yours, not one of ours." Harris stood, brushed his hands on his jacket, and smiled again. "This has been fun, Director Fury. We should do this again sometime." Before turning to leave, he said, "Good luck with that guy. He's going to be a hard nut to crack."

With that, the enigmatic young man wandered off into the woods that made up most of the park. Fury didn't even bother to try and stop him. A few minutes after Harris had disappeared, Nick's security team showed up, looking for all the world like they'd just woken up from a map.

He sighed. His decompression was over. He tapped on the cover of the file and grimaced. Coulson. He needed to get Coulson and his team on this right away."

XxxxxxX

FIN.