'What Ever Happened to Fury'

"JARVIS, on a scale of one to ten, how much did you like England?" Tony asked his A.I while he set up his tests.

The machine responded, its voice soft, " It was lovely, sir. I would rate it an eight out of ten."

"Agreed. JARVIS, book me and Pepper a vacation there."

"Of course sir," the A.I. paused, "Ms. Pots is free next weekend. I have booked flights, and a dinner on Saturday night at Le Gavroche, one of England's most prestigious restaurants. Is there any place in particular you would like to stay?"

Tony didn't hesitate, "Somewhere in London. The best hotel there! Wait, no, let's stay somewhere with a view. Maybe somewhere we can see that Clocktower! That reminds me, book us some tickets to go see a show while we're there."

"Les Miserables and Phantom of the Opera are playing that weekend, sir."

"Let's go with Les Miserables, we haven't seen th-" Tony was cut off with a banging at the door.

"Sorry sir, I'm afraid Director Fury is here," JARVIS explained, "Shall I let him?" With a nod from Tony, the door unlocked and Fury came storming in.

"What part about getting Clara here alive didn't you understand," Fury snarled, glaring at Tony, "She is our only chance to find The Doctor, and if she ends up dead, or in a coma for the rest of her life, how the hell are we going to get information from her." For a moment, Tony swore he saw Fury's good eye, well, change.

Shaking the weird, and unbelievable sight from his head, Tony replied, "Don't worry. At the moment she is under twenty-four seven surveillance from both JARVIS and a Doctor. She's in good hands."

Fury changed from a look of anger to a look pure fury, "I don't care if she's in good hands, all I care about is her giving us the information we need! She could end up dead at the end of this for all I care, but we need that information on The Doctor."

Tony froze in shock. He knew Fury could be scary at times, but had never said things like that, even towards Loki after he had killed Coulson. There was definitely something going on with Fury.

"Don't worry, the results should be coming in soon," Tony said slowly, trying to make sure he didn't set off the proverbial detonator.

The two waited in silence, and even JARVIS seemed to be holding its breath. The Director was pacing, glancing at Tony with an animalistic look, like he was stalking his prey. The few minutes to get the results seemed like hours. For the first time in a long time, Tony left the deafening silence be.

"Sir, the results are ready," JARVIS confirmed.

Tony pulled the holoscreen over to him, and quickly read through the results.

"Good news Fury, there is an unlikely chance that any permanent damage will occur," Tony sighed in relief.

"Explain," The Director asked, foot tapping impatiently.

With a gulp, Tony began his explanation, "Well in order to take Clara down, I used a prototype, that I, call The Bug. Using it is basically a more high tech version of one of your sleep darts. What it does is send an electrical pulse to the brainstem, or in basic terms, the part of the brain that allows you to sleep. The pulse should knock you out for several hours."

"It has been two days Stark!"

"Obviously, but results say there is less than a five percent chance that she'll receive permanent brain damage, or anything close to death. Brain scans show she should be waking up in a few hours, or so."

A sly smile appeared on Fury's face, "Good." With that, he left the room.

"Hey JARVIS?" Tony asked, eyes glued to where Fury had been standing

"Yes, Sir?"

"Find me the nearest liquor cabinet."

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Clint would never understand how people could actually like him. Sure, he was totally willing to one on one training, if the newer agents weren't afraid to ask him. He constantly nice to people, if not a little sarcastic, but this was ridiculous.

He was an assassin! People feared him world wide. People should have been too scared to ask him for favours.

But, he couldn't say no to Agent Dawson, he really couldn't. He literally couldn't remember how many times Agent Dawson had covered for him.

The two had met two years after Clint had joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Both had been young, and maybe just a bit too reckless. Dawson had been an Analyst before the infamous "Sao Paulo Incident" happened.

The S.H.I.E.L.D base just outside of Sao Paulo, Brazil, had been compromised by the local militia. At the time it had been a fairly new base. Minimal staff. Little support. Dawson had been a full time analyst there.

Clint had been tracking the militia's movement, trying to find the head of it; Luiz Thiago. The man had assassinated the Brazilian President, and had destroyed half of Brasília in doing so. After months of dead ends, he finally found a lead.

Unfortunately, the lead happened to be gunfire at two o'clock in the morning. Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D base.

Clint had been out of bed, and shooting his bow faster than most people could comprehend what was going on. He didn't let his focus fall, not even for a second. There were too many of them. They had already killed too many.

Clint rounded another corner. He had reached behind his head to grab another arrow, only to find his quiver empty. Wide eyed, he had quickly searched for more weapons, but there was nothing.

Then the sound of footsteps had come from behind him. To this day, he could still remember those taps. The sound of his death.

In the silent hallway he had heard the guns safety click. He didn't even have enough time to turn around.

The sound of three gunshots had echoed down the hall. Clint had waited for the pain, but it never came. When he turned around, he saw two bodies on the ground. The man who had almost killed him (Who later turned out to be Luiz Thiago) and a S.H.I.E.L.D analyst, Logan Dawson to be exact.

Logan had shot Luiz, successfully saving Clint's life. Unfortunately, Luiz had managed to fire off two more shots, both hitting Agent Dawson.

Clint had dragged Dawson to the nearest safe house a couple miles down the road. He had managed to save his life, but he was left with two horrible scars.

The two had been best friends ever since. Clint had even been Logan's best man at his wedding. So really, how could he say no when Dawson had asked for a switch to go see his daughter's piano recital.

Unfortunately, he was stuck with possibly the most boring job on the planet. He was in a little room, just beyond the one way mirror in the Winchesters, and Tran's cell. Middleton had been moved to a cell on the other side of the base with Clara. It was better that way, they had Celeste to use as leverage if anything went wrong, and vise versa.

It was so boring, and quiet that he could even hear the slight buzzing from his hearing aids, and it was driving him crazy. He was almost tempted to take them out so he could focus on his book.

The faint knock four hours into his shift made him glad he didn't. It was so quiet, his aids almost didn't pick it up. He put his book down, and subconsciously ghosted his hand over the knife on his hip.

Clint opened the door, only to see Stark standing there. Honestly, it was a little disappointing. He had been hoping for Natasha. He couldn't even remember the last time the two of them had talked for more than a few minutes between all their S.H.I.E.L.D and Avenger activities.

"Hey Stark, what are you doing he-" Clint was cut off as Tony shoved him into the room, quietly closed the door, and locked it.

Tony glanced around the room, "Is there any cameras?"

"What?" Clint asked in confusion.

"Cameras," Tony gestured around him, "In this room?"

Clint stared at Tony, trying to connect the dots, "I don't think so. There are a few in the cell area though. I'm pretty sure there are some in the hall-"

Tony shushed him with a finger on his lips, "There's something wrong with Fury," Tony whispered, "There was something wrong with his eyes. They weren't normal."

With Tony so close to him, it was impossible to miss the distinct smell coming off of him. The smell of Alcohol.

"Tony, you've been drinking," it wasn't a question.

Stark looked shocked, "What? No!" He paused, "Well yes, I was, but it isn't impairing my judgement, I promise! I hadn't even drunken anything when I saw his eyes! They were like death!"

"Tony, I'm all for going against psychopathic aliens with you, but you are drunk, and talking nonsense. Go home for the night Stark. Talk to me tomorrow when you're sober,' Clint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gently lead the complaining Stark to the door.

"Just wait a minute!" Tony yelled, grabbing the edge of the doorway, "You've got to listen to me! Something… Weird is going on here! We need to figure out a pl-" At that point, Clint lost his patience. He shoved Tony out of the room, and slammed the door.

Clint liked Tony. Sometimes. He was a bit of an egomaniac, and thought he needed to know everything about everyone's lives, but he wasn't a bad guy.

After the Battle of New York, Tony had changed. He hadn't known the guy long before the attack, but he had noticed the subtle change in his attitude. He was a lot jumpier, and made sure he had constant contact with someone.

The alcohol was a problem as well. He had heard rumors about Tony's alcohol addiction, but he never assumed it was as bad as it was. It seemed like Tony always had some sort of liquor on him.

Maybe they needed to send him to rehab. A few days in a liquor free zone might do him some good. Maybe they needed to throw an intervention for him. It would be the Avengers, Pepper, and they would even invite Fury, though odds were he wouldn't show up. They would sit him down and make him talk. He would finally let go of whatever feelings were held up inside.

Agent Barton was so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed one of the men inside the room waking up and moving to the one way mirror.

"Where is she!" Dean yelled, startling Clint out of his thoughts, "Where is Charlie!"

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D paced around his office, waiting. He avoided the obstacles littered around the floor. He was getting impatient. He had already called Her several times and had gotten no response.

In a fit of frustration, he lifted the silver goblet of his desk, not caring that the liquid inside had spilt over the edges. He yelled the ancient words, not caring if anyone heard.

This time, instead of silence, the liquid inside the glass began to boil. A voice rang out from within.

"Saymon!" the voice screamed, "What the hell do you want!"

Saymon didn't hesitate before speaking, knowing the consequences if he did, "We have Clara Oswald, The Doctor's companion, in our custody, madam. He should be arriving any time now to get her."

"Good," she spat, "I want to keep his soul intact, understand?"

"Of course."

The Women paused, before growling, "What of the Winchesters and Crowley?"

It was Saymon's turn to hesitate, "Well…"

"Spit it out!"

"Well," Saymon gulped, "We have the Winchesters, Tran, and Middleton in custody. No sign f Crowley."

She let out a scream of rage, "I want Crowley, NOW!"

"Don't worry Abaddon, I'll get his location out of the Winchesters, even if I have to beat it out of them," Saymon declared, his eyes turning black.