Nick's Fury

The title might be a little misleading as the story didn't end up the way I originally envisioned it, (with NF really unleashing his, er, name), but I liked it, so I kept it.

I've only read a couple of Avengers comics, so I'm not really familiar with the canon. This story's closest to the Iron Man movies, anyway.

…It surged out of nothing, floating in space, utterly helpless. Dumb, numb, and blind; a particle of dust, aimless and inconsequential -

No! Not inconsequential –and not a particle of dust! It was… He was someone –he just couldn't remember who. He was in the dark –literally- but he wasn't floating; he was standing on solid ground. He knew that as much.

And suddenly, a voice cut into the void.

"…Returning in ten… Nine…"

A vague memory stirred in the back of his mind.

"…Eight…"

He remembered then. He was Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD. As to where he was –

"… Six…Five…"

By the time 'Three' came on, he automatically braced himself. He'd been through this before.

"… Two… One. Open the gate!"

Suddenly, light flooded the chamber, and Nick Fury blinked till he adjusted to the sudden glare. He resisted the impulse to shade his eyes, just like he resisted the need to puke his guts out. It wouldn't do to show any weakness, especially with every eye upon him.

The sound of footsteps gave him the impulse to move. The lab's minions were coming, but he managed to step out of the chamber before they got to him.

At least Doctor Bergen didn't fuss over him like he used to. He merely looked up from his control panel.

"Mr. Fury. You look extremely well for someone who's just traveled seventy-two years back in time."

"I feel fine, Doctor," Fury said, and he pointedly made a beeline for the door.

That was more than Doctor Bergen could tolerate.

He rushed after Fury. "Mr. Fury! You are supposed to stay under observation for six hours!"

"I am aware of the procedure, Doctor, I wrote it, myself."

"Most of those who come back from 1942 experienced psychological disturbances that -UMMF!" Bergen couldn't finish his speech; Fury had suddenly stopped, causing the doctor to smash his face into the taller man's back.

Fury turned and looked down at him.

"I am not like most people, Doctor."

Doctor Bergen straightened his glasses with as much dignity as he could muster, then gave Fury one look of his own.

"Nevertheless," he said. "I insist you remain here for observation. As Chief of Medical Resources, my authority supersedes yours –your words, not mine."

Fury hesitated. He knew the doctor was right, but he didn't have the time for this.

He pulled the doctor aside so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Look, Doc; here's the situation; I was gone for two whole days. I left Tony Stark in charge of SHIELD, and -"

"Mr. Stark?" Bergen said, with a wince. "I see." He hesitated for a second, then nodded at Fury. "You may go, then."

Fury frowned at the doctor's sudden capitulation.

"What do you mean I may go?" He looked at him suspiciously. "Did something happen up there that I should know about?"

Bergen shrugged.

"I don't know, Mr. Fury." He smiled wearily. "There's a reason I stay in my lab: The present holds no interest to me."

Frowning, Fury stepped into the elevator that would take him from the bowels of the earth to SHIELD's executive floor. It wasn't like the Doctor to be this evasive; his reaction worried him. Had anything bad happened during his absence?

If it did, then it would be Fury's fault.

"I knew it," he muttered. "I knew he'd fuck up."

To be fair, Fury hadn't been too keen on leaving everything in Stark's hands. The guy was a genius and he knew the security systems as well as Fury –better, since he had designed himself- and he was the oldest Avenger, ('not the oldest,' Stark had said peevishly; 'just the most capable'), but he also had a drinking problem and, worst of all, he was unpredictable, ('not unpredictable; spontaneous!).

In short, the guy could be dangerous.

Unfortunately, there was no one else he could give the assignment on such short notice. His assistant, Maria Hill still had a long way to go before she could be trusted, and Dugan –well, Dugan had his own duties. And the other Avengers, while enthusiastic and bold, were too young and one-dimensional to gauge certain situations. He certainly couldn't imagine Thor or Hawkeye dealing with personnel problems. Stark certainly had the experience, but Fury didn't seriously consider him until Dugan spoke to him.

"Let the little bastard get a taste of your job," Dugan had said spitefully. "Let him know what we've got to deal with on a daily basis. A couple of days as head of SHIELD will instill some respect in that impudent pain-in-the ass."

Unsurprisingly, Stark wasn't intimidated by the assignment.

"Sure, I'll do it," he'd said cockily. He'd looked appraisingly at Fury's office. "I like it here. It's Spartan. No thingies moving on the desk, no weird paintings…" He paused in front of a wall. "I'm not crazy about the urine-yellow," he said thoughtfully. "I can bring a couple of maps, though. Or maybe that Jackson Pollock I got back from the Scouts -" At that point he wasn't even talking to Fury anymore; he was talking to himself, making plans and generally acting like he was taking over Fury's office on a permanent basis. By the time he looked back, he seemed surprised to see Fury still sitting behind the desk.

"I'll do it," he said again.

"Good. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah. Do I get your parking spot?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

"Cool." He looked at Fury's clothes. "Do I get a leather jacket too?"

"It can be arranged."

"What about the eye-patch? Can I have one too?"

Fury glared. "No, Mr. Stark."

"No?" Stark looked disappointed. "I sort of expected it to come with the job. That, and the bad-ass attitude." He smiled.

Fury merely stared back. There was something appealing about Tony Stark; something that made even the most hardened members of SHIELD forgive his transgressions. Even Dugan had a soft spot for Stark, despite his protestations to the contrary. Hell, even Maria Hill's hard exterior crumbled when this guy was around.

But Nick Fury was immune. He glared at Stark, effectively unsettling the man.

Stark raised both hands in mock surrender.

"Ok, ok; no eye-patch -I get it." He eyed Fury critically; "I guess the eye-patch only looks good if you shave your head, anyway. And that's more than I'm willing to do for a job." He looked appraisingly at Fury. "So, two full days away. Where are you going? Madripoor? Paris? Rio?" He smirked, "Thailand? I can give you a couple of names, if you're interested in -"

"I'm traveling back in time to Nazy Germany, Mr. Stark."

Tony did a double take.

"Nazy…? Boy, you've got a weird notion of what a vacation is all about."

"I'm not going on vacation, Mr. Stark. I'm going there to retrieve some important documents."

"Huh. Well… Maybe this is none of my business but… Can't you send someone else? I mean… I'm all for political correctness but shouldn't you send someone, uh, less, uh, conspicuous?" Fury ignored him. "Have it your way, then." Then, like a kid afflicted with ADD, Stark jumped to a different topic, "Hey, do I get access to SHIELD's funds?"

Fury looked up cautiously.

"Now, why would you ask that?"

"Well, it's only natural -"

Fury slowly rose to his feet.

"Mr. Stark," he said. "You are not –I repeat- you are NOT to use SHIELD for your own personal profit." He leant forward and, in his most menacing tone, added, "Do I make myself clear?"

Men far stronger and meaner than Stark had cowered and withered in fear at the sight of Nick Fury in a pissed-off mode, but Stark didn't even blink. Instead, he leant forward too, his face only a few inches away from Fury's.

"Mr. Fury, I'm the 30th richest man in the world. I don't need a -"

"And since we're talking finances," Fury cut in, "SHIELD's not gonna cover the expenses incurred by you during the capture of The Crimson Dynamo."

Stark faltered for the first time.

"Wait, what?"

"Stark, you nearly destroyed the Raphael Museum! The report shows undue force!"

"It was the Dynamo! What was I supposed to do –try and reason with him? Of course things had to get broken!"

"You ripped off the museum's cupola!"

"To pin down the Dynamo! Didn't you see it? Even The Times agreed it was a stroke of genius!"

"That stroke of genius caused the near-destruction of sculptures and dozens of paintings! The restoration alone will cost thousands!"

"Ok, first of all, if it weren't for me, there'd be no paintings to restore, or a museum to put them in, in the first place. Hell, without me, there'd be no Manhattan anymore! And those were my paintings; I'd lend them to the gallery. I'm the injured party, here!"

Stark's indignation didn't impress Fury.

"If they're yours, then they must be heavily insured." He fixed his eye on Stark. 'Don't give me any crap,' the look said, and it worked.

Stark backed down.

Fury enjoyed his triumph immensely. "Consider yourself notified, then," he said; "From now on, you wreck it, you pay it."

Stark crossed his arms.

"And is that applicable to all of us, or only to those who can afford it? 'Cause Cap's still waiting for the Army to approve pension payments, and Bruce Banner has enough debts as it is. And they cause as much wreckage as me," he added pointedly.

Fury pretended not to hear.

"Let's get down to business, Mr. Stark. As head of SHIELD, you are expected to -" and he'd gone into a long speech on what being Head Director entailed. He'd paced about the room, pointing and explaining, until he noticed the glassy-eyed look on Stark. "You're not listening."

"Sure, I am," Stark said perkily. "Relax, Mr. Fury; I can handle this. I know the guys, the guys know me; I'm the CEO of one of the biggest, most successful companies in the world..." All of which was true and should have put Fury's fears at rest, except that Stark had added, "I'm the cool Exec with the heart of steel," a line from a song about him. He'd frowned then. "You know, the lyrics aren't bad but the music's too cartoony; I'll get Hans Zimmer to look into it." He lit up, "Hey, I can get him to write a song for you, if you want. Some updated version of Shaft, I suppose -"

It was at that point Fury decided he'd had enough. He picked some documents and started cramming them into a briefcase

"I'm leaving in two, Mr. Stark. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Can I bring a chief from the Stark Enterprises cafeteria?"

Fury took a deep breath.

"Stark. I expect you to take this assignment seriously. I do not –I repeat- I do NOT want to return only to find out that you've been out carousing with Thor -"

"What are you talking about? We haven't caroused in, what, six months -"

"Or that you've impregnated half the female staff -"

"Now, that's uncalled for! I've been in a serious relationship for, what, five months…?" And damn if he didn't use his fingers to count the months! Then he shook his head as if he couldn't quite get the months to add up. "Anyway, those stories about me getting women pregnant with one look are just a myth. A very flattering myth, but -"

"Mr. Stark -"

"I mean, where's the fun in that?" He'd looked at Fury for an answer, but whatever he saw on Fury's face was enough to sober him up. "Ok, ok," he said, in a placating manner. "I promise I won't look at your female agents. Happy?" No response. "Ooookaaaay," he said slowly. For a second it looked like he'd realized he might have gone too far, and then the next he lit up. "Hey, are you gonna be in contact with the Americans? 'Cause if you are, then maybe you could talk to my dad."

"I won't have any time for chitchat, Mr. Stark."

"Just a phone call," Stark said earnestly; "Just to let him know one day he's gonna have a son who -"

"Absolutely not! Any such conversation would alter the past!"

"But isn't the mere fact that you're going back enough to cause an alteration?"

Fury didn't bother with a reply. He closed his briefcase and then stepped around his desk. He faced Tony Stark.

"Well, Mr. Stark. You're in charge then."

"I'll do my best," Stark said solemnly.

Fury merely grunted. He didn't believe that for a minute.

Stark's last words to him were, "Have a nice trip," and truth to be told, Fury had enjoyed his trip. Danger suited him. He lived for this. He… lived for SHIELD -which explained why he was hurrying to his quarters instead of staying back for observation. His worst fears were resurfacing. What if Stark had fallen off the wagon in his absence? What if he and Thor -and Hawkeye!- what if they'd gone out for a drink? Last time it happened, they'd ended up partying for three whole days.

Not that getting drunk was the worst thing that could happen. A drunken Stark could be annoying, but a depressive Stark was downright destructive. The guy's dark moods were scary. He seemed to be in control now, but what if…?

By the time Fury burst out of the elevator, he was prepared for the worst news to hit him.

His heart sank when he didn't see Maria Hill at her post. She was never absent! More strange still, there was a flower pot on her desk too –a flower pot! The plant in it wasn't real, but still –

And then he noticed the walls.

"What the…?" They weren't the original yellow anymore; they were a pale greenish blue. And there was a carpet! 'Just fucking great', Fury thought. Now no one would hear the thread of the enemy's steps as they burst into their quarters!

Not that the enemy could get into their quarters without being detected by their security system, but still -

Something else caught his attention then: a new smell. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted from somewhere down the hall. Warm and seductive, it seemed to entice him into dropping his guns and go sit at a balcony and forget all the cares in the world -

Fury had to shake his head in order to break the spell.

"Damn you, Stark," he growled, and he drew his gun. Hopefully, he'd catch Stark in the act with some female agent. He'd give Stark such a scare, the life would wilt out of that pampered, son of a bitch!

Determinedly, Fury barged into his office and saw -

Tony Stark, sitting at the desk, surrounded by screens and computer equipment, his hands moving feverishly over a keyboard.

He had a headset, and he was talking into the mic.

"Yeah, you do it, then. Thanks, Rhodey. Bye." Stark sat back on his chair –a new, Executive type chair that looked big and comfortable enough to sleep in, though it didn't really look like Stark had slept much lately.

"Stark! Where's my Assistant?"

"Well, good day to you too, Mr. Fury. Welcome back." He sat back. How was your trip? Met any Morlocks?"

"Where is -"

Stark raised a hand. "Ms Hill wasn't feeling well, so I gave her the day off."

"Not feeling well? Why?" Fury banged his fist the desk, "What the hell did you do to her?"

Stark was mystified. "What do you mean what the hell did I do to her? I told you, I gave her the day off. I sent her to a spa, and -"

"You sent her on a mission?"

"No, not a mission! I gave her a gift certificate, so she could -" he paused. He could tell Fury didn't understand what was going on. "Ok, look; she said she hadn't had a vacation in years, so I thought I'd do something nice for her. Women love to be pampered, Mr. Fury. She's a woman, you know," he added sardonically.

"And you act like one," Fury said spitefully; "You changed the colors on the walls and you brought a rug."

Stark wasn't offended.

"I also installed coffee makers in each work station," he added. "Guys like to be pampered too, Mr. Fury –just ask Dugan; he picked the coffee blends himself. And if you're worried about the cost, don't be; I put everything on my tab -speaking of which, I got my accountants to check on SHIELD's books."

"Wait, what? I didn't say you could do that!"

"They found a couple of discrepancies there, by the way. Nothing huge," he added, "Just the kind of thing that snowballs if unchecked. They're ok now."

"The books are encrypted! No one but me could have -"

But Stark had already moved on.

"I got the Signal Tracker started, by the way."

"Signal Tracker?"

"The one you said you needed to track down A.I.M. transmissions."

Fury started. "A.I.M.? You mean we can really track them down?"

"Loud and clear," Stark said casually. "As for the IRVING-"

"The what?"

"The In-flight Refit Vehicle with Interactive Neuro-mimetic Gear," Stark said matter-of-factly. "You said you wanted a device that'd help your agents change gear without having to return to base, remember?" He tilted his head at the screen in front of him. "I'm putting the finishing touches on the prototype."

Fury raised an eyebrow. Did Tony Stark take note of every little thing he said...? Apparently, yes. And then, like some kind of genie, he granted Nick Fury's every wish.

A bit unsettled, Fury put his briefcase on the desk, and Stark took this as a silent request to get his ass out of the chair, which he did.

Fury sat and noticed how comfortable the chair felt.

Meanwhile, Stark was looking appraisingly at him. "So, the time traveler's back. Did you get to kick Adolph's butt? No, I know," he added before Fury could reply; "That would have altered the past. What about your documents? Did you get 'em?"

"Yes, " Fury said succinctly. It was his turn to appraise Stark. "So, Mr. Stark; I take it you didn't go out with the boys. I'm impressed."

"Oh, well. Sad to say, I can't keep up with those guys. Can't compete with the genetically enhanced crowd, you know." He hesitated, then added, "But my days of partying were coming to an end, anyway."

"Were they?"

"Yeah." Stark shrugged sheepishly; "The girlfriend and I have been talking and, well, we'll try for a baby."

"Girlfriend? You're talking about Miss Potts, right?"

"Of course."

That woman was a saint, in Fury's opinion. Or a masochist, more likely. "Strong woman," was all he said.

Tony shrugged. "What can I say? She completes me."

It has to be pointed out here that Nick Fury rarely watched TV and never went to the movies, which explains why he didn't throw up at Stark's use of that phrase.

Fury was actually –reluctantly- impressed.

"Well. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"And... It looks like you did a good job here, Stark."

"Thought you'd find the place in shambles, didn't you?" Stark said, still pleased with himself. He leant on the desk. "I guess this is a good time to let you know I'm not angling for your job Mr. Fury."

Fury stared back impassively, but inside he was reeling. Damn! The guy had read him only too well. It was true; there was only one man who had the ambition and the know-how to replace him and/or render him obsolete: Tony Stark. He knew it, and maybe others knew it as well. Bergen, for instance -

But he didn't dwell on this; instead, he calmly opened a drawer and dropped his gun in it. He looked up.

"Well, Mr. Stark," he said in a business-like manner. "I gather you're anxious to return to your company."

"Yes, I am."

"Then you may go. I'm glad everything worked out fine," he added. That was the closest thing to a 'thank you' Stark was going to get.

The words made Stark hesitate.

"Not everything."

"What?"

"Not everything worked out fine. I wasn't gonna tell you, but you're gonna find out anyway, so... "

"What!"

"Well, there was an incident yesterday afternoon. What you might call a wardrobe malfunction."

Fury, who'd only heard that phrase in connection with the Janeth Jackson incident, immediately jumped to conclusions.

He closed his eye.

"Please, don't tell me Agent Romanoff flashed a boob during the Royals' visit!"

"Of course not. That outfit of hers must have some sort of steel reinforcement. I guess," he added, because fury was looking suspiciously at him.

"Just tell me what happened."

"Ok. Look. I asked Reid Richards to come up with an outfit for Bruce Banner. I figured Mr. Fantastic clothes would stretch so Bruce wouldn't have to run around half-naked every time he turns into Hulk."

"I see," Fury said cautiously. It was actually a good idea, though he wasn't about to say so.

"Reid said he'd try and replicate his own uniform. He was testing some trousers on Bruce down at the lab when we got news that The Abomination was wrecking Manhattan. Well, you know Bruce; he burst out of the building as soon as he found out, and -"

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"He's a friend, Mr. Fury; I can't pulverize a friend. And you said you wanted The Abomination captured alive; Hulk's the only one who can do that -which he did, by the way." 'You're welcome,' the tone seemed to imply, but Fury ignored him.

"And the wardrobe malfunction -"

"It happened in Times Square. Bruce's pants disintegrated in a matter of seconds. We already had The Abomination in custody so it didn't really matter, but -"

Fury closed his eye again. "You're telling me The Hulk stood naked in Times Square until he got back to his normal size?"

"Of course not! Richards was a good sport; he quickly stretched himself over Hulk's, hum, privates -you know, like a giant thong- and kept him covered till he got back to normal. Of course, it'll be a long time before those two will even want to look at each other again, so I've cancelled the project for now."

Fury took a deep breath. Ah, what the hell. All things considered, it wasn't as bad as he thought. With all these superheroes, it was a miracle Earth hadn't been fried a dozen times over yet.

"It could have been worse," he said quietly.

Stark did a double take. He obviously didn't expect such a calm reaction from Fury.

"Good thinking," Stark said cautiously. "Well. I'm off then." More confidently, he added, "Got a new suit to build, and babies to make…" He walked to the door, then seemed struck by a new idea. "You know, if all goes well, in a few years there might be a half-dozen little Starks running up and down here. The future of SHIELD, how's that sound?"

Fury glared until the door closed.

Lots of Starks –yeah, right.

"If I'm lucky, I'll be dead by then," Fury muttered.

And finally, there was a reason to smile.

Notes: According to Wikipedia, The Principality of Madripoor is a fictional island located in Southeast Asia in the Marvel Comics universe. It's a "paradise for the idle rich," according to an issue of Tony Stark, Director of SHIELD.

A.I.M., the Signal Tracker, and IRVING are mentioned in Iron Man, the TV series of 1994.