Author's Note: This is going to be a five or six chapter ficlet, each depicting what goes down in the aftermath of the Avengers film for the various superheros, just a heads up. Hope you guys like it, please let me know what you think!

Nick Fury visits one of his more riskier gambles resting up in the hospital after multiple surgeries.

Read and review please!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

.

.

.

Chapter 1: Dearly Departed

By: Lady NeverAfterNon

.

.

Nick Fury prided himself on being a good spy.

Good spies were the keystone that held nations together, the difference between survival of the many, and complete downfall. Good spies saved the world. So why, he thought, glaring at the small white FedEx package sitting on his desk, was he constrained to the molasses slow wiles of the internet postal ordering system? He scooped up the battered box and stuffed it into the pocket of his leather jacket. Fury strode out of his office, ignoring the rather frazzled look his assistant shot him as he left.

The poor kid was an intern sent over from MIT, and as Fury punched the star marking the ground floor in the elevator, a new cacophony of phones ringing started up. He masked a grin. His assistant had given up trying to plead his boss into staying, and was now trying to field about fifty different new calls from various pissed off world leaders.

Loki had left a big, ginormous mess in the wake of his defeat. A mess Nick Fury was still trying to clean up. So much money in damage, and so many different lives lost. Just because the battle was over, didn't mean the work had stopped.

He drummed his fingers against the box against his thigh. His driver navigated the black Cadillac Escalade through traffic expertly. They were making good time, but Nick Fury was not a patient man when it came to the little things. He glowered as a beat up yellow taxi cut them off. Again. It honked angrily, and he entertained the idea of either flashing his badge or shooting something. Either one sounded good at the moment. Fury left off tapping his fingers impatiently against the box in his coat, and instead massaged his temples, trying to head off the new migraine brewing in his head.

The world wasn't aware just how close it had come to being annihilated, or worse, enslaved by a megalomaniac with daddy issues.

It could have been a lot worse, he admitted, watching a massive red and white crane lower beams of construction supplies to workers on one of the damaged skyscrapers. The Avengers had thwarted a much bigger crisis than the world gave them credit for. It could have been a lot worse.

The car came to a stop in front of New York Presbyterian Hospital. Fury went straight to the ICU, weaving his way through hospital staff and patients. The hospital was a efficient and sterilized hub of chaos, so much life and death contained in a small space. Fury appreciated the chaos: it looked like a mess from the outside, but was a methodical and systematic environment that got things done.

The room he wanted was secluded from other patients and had a nondescript armed card holding an M240B machine gun. The guard nodded at him as Fury pushed the door open.

The room was dark and colorless save for the large TV on the wall. Fury went to the window and shoved the curtains open. The room had had to be specially prepared for its guest: the glass was one way and bullet proof, it allowed in the light and view of outside, but the room itself was hidden from snipers or the nosy viewer. It helped that they were several stories up, but one could never be too sure.

"What's happening outside?" asked the room's sole occupant, "I must admit it's very inconvenient not being able to open my own curtains."

Fury turned back from the window and dragged a chair up to the side of the bed, the metal legs squealing in protest across the white linoleum floor. He produced a knife and slashed the tape on his FedEx package.

"Not much," he replied, sticking his fingers in the box and digging around the packaging peanuts, "Stark's fixing that garish monstrosity he calls a building, and playing host to Bruce. Steve disappeared almost right after we wrapped things up, along with one of our motorcycles. Said something about a promise, whatever that means. Natasha and Clint are still on base, but they've asked to be relieved temporarily from active duty. Thor took his bratty sibling back with him to Asgard, but he asked for directions to Dr. Foster's new lab before he left."

Fury withdrew a pack of antique collector's Captain America cards and tossed them onto Phil Coulson's bed.

"Thanks," Coulson said, inspecting them.

Fury shrugged. "I figure it was the least I could do after I trashed your last pair."

"The whole finger paint with my blood WAS a tad creepy."

"It got the job done," Fury muttered, "Gave the Avengers the boot in the ass they needed."

Coulson rolled his eyes and traced a finger over one of the glossy cards. "Ah well, I'm always happy to bleed for the cause."

"Don't be so dramatic. I'll get Rogers to sign them when he comes back," Fury said.

"Thanks," Coulson said, "When can I leave again?"

"Not for a while, Loki punched a pretty good sized hole through you, if I recall correctly."

Coulson winced and rubbed the extensive lattice of white bandages on his chest and shoulders gently. "Ah, yes, how could I forget? And then you ruined my favorite pack of cards."

"I said I was sorry. It was for the greater good."

Coulson glowered at him. "Ruining an expensive pack of trading cards is almost never for the greater good."

"Whatever. Everyone got what they wanted: the world is saved, Loki's ass was kicked, and you have your stupid cards back."

"I miss my old ones."

"These are the same cards! I got them off Ebay, from some old guy in Houston who lives with his mother."

"I suppose, though I would feel a lot better if I could eat something other than pudding and oatmeal."

"You could go back to the tube feeding, if you're going to complain about it."

"You'd complain too if you had to eat oatmeal that looked like snot and glue everyday," Coulson muttered.

Fury sighed. "Alright, I'll work something out."

The two men were quiet a moment. For all their banter, they were aware that just how close they had come to failing at saving the world. The Avengers had been scrambled together at the last moment, and Coulson's sacrifice had been the final push they needed to save the world. Fury was glad that the ultimate sacrifice hadn't been needed, but they both knew that if either of them had to pay it, it would be done.

"Alright, I need to head back. I left Presley in charge of things while I was gone, and if I'm away any longer I think his head is going to explode. Need anything else?"

"Yep, that Diablo 3 expansion pack I had pre-ordered would be nice."

"Don't push it."

.x.

To be continued...