From A Certain Point Of View

Part One

At 1800 hours, Nick logs off the system, switches off his headset, and goes for a walk through the corridors of the helicarrier. He nods at his people, drops in on a number of pet projects, and makes his roundabout way to a room that isn't displayed on the helicarrier blueprints.

Inside, a man lies in a hospital gown, recuperating from an alien spear through the chest with a sheaf of reports on the Chitauri invasion.

Phil Coulson glances up. "Bad day?"

"Nobody we didn't want dead died."

"That's a good start."

"How's the chest?"

The injury was serious – eight hours on the operating table, while the Avengers saved the world. It was close. And that's an understatement.

However, Phil survived. Which Nick is infinitely grateful for, because as glad as he is that the Avengers came on board, there's a raft of other issues at play right now which is making his life complicated. As if it wasn't already.

"Still sore. No coughing blood today, though." Phil cocks his head. "What's up?"

"It's Hill."

Phil's expression transforms into an 'oh' of understanding. "Our little girl's all grown up and blackmailing the Council. Kicked a little too hard, did she?"

"Like a hornets' nest. They're out for blood – preferably mine, but they'll settle for hers in a pinch." Nick sits back in the chair. "Someone's got to be at fault after all, and we don't have Loki for the public hanging."

"Let me guess: 'Hill allowed Loki to escape with the Tesseract'?"

"By that token, so did I," Fury drawls. "I'd rather not leave her in the line of fire - even if she can dodge fine herself."

"Another posting?"

"Doing that would state outright I lack confidence in her ability to handle herself."

"And you'd rather be sneaky about it?"

"I'd rather not start any more international incidents. Remember Madripoor?"

"I try not to," A storm of coughing catches Phil's laugh, shaking him like a leaf, but he holds up a hand to stop Nick from calling the duty nurse. "Don't fuss, sir, I'm fine." He takes a few slow, careful breaths, then asks, "Who's following up Loki's mercenaries?"

"Thorpe has the brief."

"New York clean-up crews?"

"Jasper's on that."

"And I'm supposed to be managing the Avengers. If I ever make it out of here." Phil eases himself back in the pillows. "Put Maria on them."

Nick snorts. "I thought about it. But you know how she feels about the Avengers Initiative."

"She doesn't know them," Phil says. "Not yet. She'll need to if she's gunning for your job."

"Did you have to use the word 'gunning'?"

"You knew she was live ammo when you brought her in," Phil points out. "I'm just saying that it might do to get her used to the Avengers."

"And get them used to taking commands from S.H.I.E.L.D. under the guise of advice and guidance?" Nick asks, shrewdly. "Agent Coulson, are you using Lieutenant Hill as tenderiser?"

"Hook her up with Rogers," is all Phil says. "He's a natural leader, and he'll respect her boundaries, but he won't let her tread on his toes."

Thor is on his way to the dining chambers to fetch lunch for Jane (who has once again forgotten to eat in her preoccupation over the most recent work) when familiar voices catches his ear.

"You realise you don't have to do that, Captain?"

"Humour me, Lieutenant. Just walk through the door since it's damn well open."

Thor turns and steps back to the corridor he just passed, where Lieuenant Hill is walking out of a side room, her lips pressed firmly together. Behind her, with a matching expression of annoyance, Steve Rogers allows the door to close behind them.

"Times have changed," Lieutenant Hill is saying. "Women no longer expect to have the door opened for them."

"Times may have changed but I haven't."

"You can, though." She points this out with the cool logic that Thor knows infuriates many of his fellow Avengers – Steve among them. "And you'd better. It's not necessary anymore, Rogers. Let whoever's in front push open the door and just go through it. No-one will think the worse of you."

Steve grimaces. "But I'll think the worse of me. So I'll continue to open doors and stand when a woman enters the room, unless it's considered impolite. Although I don't see how courtesy can possibly be rude."

"You'd be surprised," is all the lieutenant remarks as they start walking towards Thor, brisk and no-nonsense.

"I..." Steve sees him, lifting a hand in greeting but continuing to speak to the Lieutenant as they approach Thor. "I'd say nothing would surprise me about the future, but I said that already and ended up owing Fury ten bucks. Thor."

"Steve. Lieutenant Hill. I am on my way to get lunch for Jane – perhaps you will join us as we eat?" Lieutenant Hill opens her mouth to refuse, and Thor adds persuasively, "I believe Jane is more likely to take a break if there are others to draw her attention away from her work."

"Sure." Steve glances down at the lieutenant, a smile playing about his lips. "We can continue this argument over lunch, Lieutenant?"

"Was it an argument?" One corner of the lieutenant's mouth twitches upwards. "I thought it was a conversation on the changing nature of courtesy. I can't in any case, Thor. I have a meeting at 1300 hours for which I need to prepare. Please make my apologies to Dr. Foster." She touches Steve's arm. "I can discuss the Lensherr situation later if you need clarification. Check my schedule."

"Yes, ma'am."

She rolls her eyes and heads off back the way Thor came. "Enjoy lunch."

They watch her walk away, a woman with her own mind and goals, direct as a thrown knife, sharp as a sword. Thor can admire the generalities of such a woman, even if he is not interested in the specifics.

"As you see, she doesn't take prisoners," Steve says with a shake of his head.

Thor grins and claps the other man on the shoulder. "She minds me somewhat of Sif – or of the Valkyries back home. Either way, I would not wish to be on her bad side."

"Too late for that." They start walking towards the dining chambers. "She doesn't like superheroes much."

"She appears to enjoying your verbal sparring."

The other man smiles, a little rueful, a little wry. "We've signed a truce. It's not quite an armistice, but it holds. And Maria – Lieutenant Hill – is an insight into S.H.I.E.L.D. and just how much things have changed. For women in particular."

Steve's eyes go distant and Thor recalls what he knows of the other man – the knowledge that is common here but which required explanation – from Jane, from Darcy, from Bruce, and from Steve himself. There was a female agent with whom Steve worked and was friends all those years ago. Doubtless he thinks of her in the comparison with Lieutenant Hill.

"As Sif might say, she appreciates my assistance but it is not required, especially not when she must battle the expectations of her on top of the enemies we fight."

"It's better now," Steve says after a moment. "At least, here it is, but from the look of things, it's still not easy."

"It gives one an appreciation for what they achieve." Thor thinks of Sif and her bright, bladed certainty. "I must bring Sif to Midgard sometime and introduce her to Lieutenant Hill."

Steve grins then, broad and bright as a shout of laughter. "Thor, are you trying to level New York?"

Thor considers this for a moment. "On second thought, perhaps not."

Someone – Bruce doesn't know who – called it a sandworm. Someone else at S.H.I.E.L.D. – Bruce also doesn't know who – will probably give it a technical, biological name that he hopes will not be geonemotodium Arraknis but will certainly be forgotten within the week as everyone ends up calling it 'the sandworm'.

Whatever it is, it's huge, it's dead, and it stinks.

"Classic sci-fi/fantasy," he tells Steve, feeling a little awkward as he wraps himself up in the burnous-like robe the locals gave him after he transformed back from the Hulk. He'd like a headcloth, because the midafternoon sun is making his hair burn and his eyes ache, but he'll survive. "It's after your time. I'll loan you the books. There are movies and a couple of TV series but they're not very good."

"I was thinking the look is very Lawrence of Arabia on you. Gone native."

"Wouldn't be the first time, although it's the wrong country," Bruce remarks, staring out over the heavy sand dunes and too-bright sun of the Sahara desert. Over by the landed Quinjet, Agent Hill is conferring with a group of locals and a man who's dressed like one of the locals but quite clearly isn't one. "Unfortunately Lawrence of Libya doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"Not quite." Steve agrees and shades his eyes against the setting sun. "Are those Quinjets coming in?"

"Probably." Bruce looks around at the carnage and the locals who are standing on the ridges of the dunes, watching them with curious eyes. "They need to get the thing out of here somehow. I wonder where they're going to take it. It's not exactly something you put on the helicarrier..."

He also wonders if he'd be allowed to study it – although S.H.I.E.L.D. will have xenobiologists to work on this, Bruce can't help feeling a small amount of possessive interest in the sandworm – after all, he helped bring it down.

"I could ask Maria if you like." Steve's head turns to where the slim figure is now walking back to them, her arms bare and bright in the light of the late afternoon, her hair tied back in a ponytail as she touches her fingers to her earpiece, probably calling Fury to let him know the situation's been dealt with and clean-up is imminent.

Maria, is it? Bruce thinks as the Hulk chuckles inside him. According to Tony, Steve's been stuck working with Hill – 'liaising' with S.H.I.E.L.D. Of course, when Tony talks about it, he references in a pitying tone of voice, as though Steve's being kept in detention.

Somehow, given the intensity on Steve's face as he watches Agent Hill coming towards them, Bruce doubts the other man thinks of time spent with Hill as a punishment.

"Don't worry, I'll ask when she comes over," he says, but Steve isn't listening, his eyes narrowed.

"Maria?"

Bruce turns, even as Steve strides forward to where Hill has stopped halfway down the dunes, her eyes wide, her face suddenly stiff and startled in the bright afternoon. She takes a step back as Steve reaches her – not rejection, just shock. One hand gropes behind her, as though seeking support. Bruce hurries towards them – anything that could send 'hardass Hill' into shock has got to be bad.

Steve provides stabiliation by grabbing her shoulders. "What is it?"

She rallies, pushing him away, and interestingly – at least to Bruce – Steve lets her go, although he doesn't move away.

"You initiated the Persephone Protocols," she says to the person on the other end of the line. Her voice is flat, and now that he draws close, Bruce can see the tightness about her eyes, the flare of her nostrils. "And when exactly were you planning to inform me of this, sir?" Her lips press into a very straight line that conveys a wealth of emotion in very little expression, and her voice parcels out words with biting precision. "I see. May I speak—? Very well, Director. We'll be en route as soon as the clean-up crews get here – that's Rogers and Banner as well as myself. ETA the helicarrier in an hour. Hill, out."

She stands quite still after the call ends, her hands closing into fists by her sides. Then – suddenly, startlingly – she thumps the bottom of her fist on Steve's shield, which he's still carrying on his arm. It's not much of a noise since it's vibranium and she's only human. And it doesn't seem to assauge her frustration, so she does it again, this time with a little noise of rage.

Bruce thinks that either she's so furious she's forgotten she has an audience, or she must really trust Steve – and Bruce.

"Hey!" Steve catches her hand and covers it with his own. "Maria, don't. What's happened?"

Agent Hill looks up at him, her eyes bright and crystal-sharp with anger and disbelief and betrayal. "Phil's alive," she says, and her voice shakes a little. "Fury lied to me. Phil survived."

A junior agent looks up from his tablet, sees Phil coming down the hall towards him, and walks blindly into the engineer backing out of the elevator.

Phil sighs as the boxes wobble and tumble, then steps around the crash site and takes the junior agent – Nathan Gibson – by the shoulders, propelling him out of the way so the cursing engineers can reload their fallen cargo. "Look where you're going, son."

"Yes, sir, Agent Coulson, sir!"

Still, the words nearly tie the boy's tongue in knots and he almost trips over his feet as he walks away, face scarlet as he dares glance back over his shoulder at the legendary Agent Coulson.

Coming back from the dead is more complicated than Christ made it seem.

Phil can hear his Nonna chiding him for such blasphemous thoughts, but he's pretty sure our Holy Lord and Saviour didn't have to deal with this shit when returning from the dead.

Not that there aren't bright spots.

Phil pauses outside the conference room, takes a deep breath and ignores the pounding in his chest that has nothing to do with his injury. He reminds himself that he's an experienced agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., a respected colleague of Director Fury, and nearly twenty years Steve Rogers' senior in experience and life lived. And, yes, he'll be working with his hero almost daily – God! As a handler for Captain America – but that's no reason to behave like Agent Gibson and trip over himself.

He enters his passcode into the conference room door and the doors slide open to white clouds in a bright sky, and two people sitting at a table spread with reports and lunch trays.

"Agent Coulson." Rogers drops his burger, rises and offers his hand, before realising it's dirty. "Sorry." He wipes it apologetically on a wet towellette Maria unfolds and hands him across the table. "I'm glad you survived, sir."

The mishap is a relief, instantly easing the tension in Phil's shoulders on meeting Rogers this time around. The handshake is damp but firm, and the smile is frank and pleased, and Phil lets himself relax.

"Call me Phil." He glances over at Maria who hasn't moved, hasn't batted an eyelash, although her mouth has tilted ever so slightly. "Hill."

"Coulson. Glad you could join us from the afterlife."

Ah. So he's not quite forgiven for that. Understood, perhaps, but not forgiven. It's not unexpected coming from Maria – a number of the other senior agents in S.H.I.E.L.D. are similarly hurt at being kept out of the loop.

Phil's still not sure if it's him they're mad at, or Fury. He supposes he'll find out in the next week as he slips back into the routines of the helicarrier and life as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

"I'm glad to be back from the dead," he says and means it as he takes his place at the head of the table. "But sorry to interrupt your lunch."

"We're nearly done." Maria gives Rogers and the plates in front of him a pointed look. "At least, some of us are."

"I metabolise faster," Rogers retorts as he sits back down and takes up his burger again. "I don't eat faster."

Maria doesn't smile, but her expression softens, fractionally. "You've seen the reports," she says to Phil after a moment. "Are there any points you particularly wanted to go through this afternoon for the handover?"

"A couple." Phil watches as Rogers leans over to grab one of Maria's fries and dips it in the mayonnaise cup she has on her tray. "Nothing major. I was thinking you might have something more along the lines of recommendations for dealing with Stark?"

Maria arches a brow at Rogers who looks rueful. "Maria usually made me deal with Stark."

"His people skills are better than mine. Where 'people' means 'Tony Stark' and 'better than' means 'it doesn't involve my blood pressure skyrocketing'."

"I've said that Stark prefers it when you crack the whip," Rogers says to her, a strand of hair from his forelock falling over his face. "He mostly argues with me."

"True, but you're the guy his father praised for most of his childhood." Maria takes one of her fries and reaches over to dip it in Rogers' ketchup cup. "And Stark's competitive, but he respects you."

"I still think he prefers it when a beautiful dame's telling him off, though," Rogers says with a smile as he steals another fry from Maria's plate. "Which obviously isn't going to work for Agent Coulson. No offence."

"None taken."

"Negative attention is still attention." Maria chews and swallows another mouthful of burger with a shrug. "But I don't think you need to worry too much about Stark, Coulson. You're his hero after the Chitauri invasion."

A glance at Rogers shows him nodding in agreement. And Phil sits back in his chair and regards the two of them, the tablets, their trays, their lunches, and their papers, quite bemused beyond all expectation.

Of all the outcomes he imagined when he suggested Maria manage the Avengers, this was not in any of them.

"All right," he says at last, half-amused at his own arrogance, half-resigned by it. But what's done is done and cannot be undone. "Take me through what you think I need to know, then."

tbc