Chapter 15: Know the rules well, so you can break them effectively (Dalai Lama)

Phil Coulson knew by the moment he stood outside his front door trying to unlock the lock that something was wrong.

The knob felt strange, the otherwise smooth metal had dents and felt as if someone had compressed it. The door opened without him having to insert his key.

The elation that had accompanied him over the last few hours withdrew a little and gave way to that strange feeling in his stomach - as if the thing was trying to digest itself.

For the first time that day, his conscience managed to make itself heard at least a little.

Of course, capturing Ross could have been done differently. He just didn't want to discuss with Stark of all people how amoral it was to use Banner as a decoy and not even tell him about it. He had no desire to listen to how dangerous it would be if the Hulk appeared at this Christmas market.

There were four Asgardians present, one of them a world-class magician, and the rest had probably taken on pretty much everything the universe had to offer. The artificial intelligence had monitored everything, Ross was in custody, and no one was hurt.

In his eyes this was a very positive outcome of this mission.

However, he hadn't taken a second to consider that Virginia might see things differently. That she might not like how he manipulated the AI, after all, she seemed to be as fond of anthropomorphizing the computer program as Stark was. That she… would have preferred being asked for permission before Stark Tech that belonged to Stark Industries had been involved.

The engineer had volunteered his computer in case Iron Man should be needed.

He had also made it abundantly clear that Potts ruled SI – and she would decide what technological wonders were handed out to S.H.I.E.L.D., and which not.

She was stonewalling him every time he tried to get improved cell phones for free for his agents, shot him down every time he asked for weapons – Stark Industries closed the Weapons Manufacturing Division, Phil, you know that – made him wade through mountains of paper work when he wanted a software upgrade for the helicarrier, and he knew there was a form or five he would've had to fill in if he required J.A.R.V.I.S.'s assistance.

She never let him play the boyfriend card – how on Earth had he come to the conclusion that she would this time?

He expected her to sit in a strategical position to glare her disapproval of the entire situation at him and his brain was already cooking up explanation after explanation, mostly using the timeframe and J.A.R.V.I.S.'s willingness to help as an excuse when he finally pushed the door open.

He was pretty sure that this situation required more to be mended than a dinner in her favorite restaurant…

Somebody did sit in a strategical position to glare at him.

It was not Virginia.

Jackson Gibbs had watched how Leroy picked on the food on his plate while emptying two cups of coffee within 10 minutes. Linda did the same, throwing her husband a confused look.

She had only met the other man once, and he had shown her his worst side. She had long since made her peace with how shocked she had been with his reaction to her presence at the funeral, after all, he just had lost his wife and his child.

In the past 20 years, in all this time where Jackson became Dad to her children, Jackson's son had never contacted his father.

Well, Jackson had also not reached out to his son, but there were more hard feelings there than she would have guessed. It took her a few years to figure out that Ann, his first wife, had incited the boy against his father whenever she felt something was unfair to her.

Ann Gibbs had not been a good wife.

After Gibbs Junior's accusations of Jackson sleeping around ever since his mother had gotten sick again, she had to admit that she was a bit distrustful, her eyes following her boyfriend whenever he was only talking to another woman.

He was friends with many ladies in Stillwater. He was flirting with them, they were flirting with him. They asked him to repair this and that and thanked him with home baked cakes and other small delicacies that had him take up running again to avoid getting fat, and which made the ladies of their small town happy to have somebody who appreciated their efforts instead of rolling their eyes on why there was no meat loaf on the table.

Once she saw it as this kind of exchange, of appreciation of another person and nothing more, she began to realize that there were times where a simple thank you made him beam with joy (or, occasionally, also confused him as if he didn't really expect to be thanked).

One afternoon, when she saw her 50-something boyfriend play with her kids in the paddling pool, both Nathan and Violet squealing with happiness that Jackson (who took up most of the space in the rather small basin, but none of the three cared) joined them in some regular shorts because he did not own swim trunks, she asked herself if he ever had something like that during his first marriage.

She proposed to him that evening.

And bought him some swim trunks the next day while the kids were busy talking him into getting a real pool.

The silence in the kitchen was thick by now, Jackson had forced himself to turn back his eyes to the newspaper. The younger Gibbs was eating his by now cold breakfast and had turned to his third cup of coffee, and all Linda wanted to do was sigh.

When Jackson was like that, it took more than a nudge to figure out what exactly was wrong. He needed his ass kicked and interrogation techniques that would make her a prime candidate to join the CIA.

She bet that Gibbs junior was of the same brand.

This would take some creative meddling, then.

Thank God their hicktown produced more than enough weird people that unintentionally were providing help.

"I forgot to tell you that Jeff called yesterday. He said he'd keep the tree until tomorrow, but then he'll sell it to the highest bidder if you don't fetch it", she broke the silence, wearing an innocent smile as her husband frowned at her.

"I swear that prick is even more annoying than his old man ever was", Jackson grumbled. Nate had already bought the tree, they had planned on getting it anyway in the next days.

Leroy took another sip of his coffee.

"Jeff Brewster? They still have that conifer farm?" he asked and his father turned his attention on him.

"You went to school together, didn't you?"

Leroy took another sip.

"Yeah."

Jeff Brewster had liked bullying everyone and everything that was smaller than him or had a name he thought was weird and therefore a reason to mock.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was having none of that already at a very young age.

"He's afraid of me for some reason…", the agent smirked behind his cup, a smirk that, to Linda's surprise, now was mirrored by her husband, together with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Wanna get re-acquainted?"

"Sure, why not?"

Linda had to lift her part of the newspaper to hide her smile. Scaring poor Jeff Brewster would not solve their problems. But at least both men would have a chance to talk.

Loki sat on his bed in the exact position Tony Stark had envisioned for J.A.R.V.I.S., knees drawn to his chest, hugging his legs, his chin resting on top of his knees.

He had tried reading, but the open book lay on the sheets right next to him, untouched for quite a while now.

He had thought about watching some senseless TV show or some of the amusing videos on the youtube, but the tablet was on the table, and that would have meant leaving his bed, and this pathetic position, and he really did not feel like getting up in the moment.

Yes, he knew he should go and talk to Thor, make it very clear that using Dr. Banner as bait had not been his idea. He should stop pettily ignoring J.A.R.V.I.S.'s attempts to talk to him, to actually apologize for something that was not his fault.

When there was a knock on his door, he did not even look up. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

Another knock. And somebody tentatively said his name.

"Loki?"

Anthony.

Anthony was here. Well, he had known that, J.A.R.V.I.S. had dutifully informed him that Sir had arrived and that he was invited to Dinner in the Penthouse. He had tried coming up with excuses in the past hour why he couldn't join while at the same time talking himself out of this cowardice again, because he really wanted to see the engineer again, wanted to make sure he had recovered from this horrible assault by Aldrich Killian.

Loki had been beyond furious when Odin had ordered him back to Asgard. Whenever something did not work the way the Allfather wanted in his gilded realm, his only solution seemed to be make Loki do it. It may be partially his fault that the Bifrost had been destroyed. That they had apparently no-one bright enough to actually read the construction plans after Anthony had pieced them back together and created a program that would walk them through the construction process step by step, that, however, was not his fault.

His friend had been gravely injured, the young God had literally held the other man's life in his hands when he made sure that we was not bleeding out from where Killian had gutted him. He had never really trained healing other people, stabilizing wounds like this – warriors on the battlefield had died under his eyes because there was no time to tend to them, because they were too proud to let a mage help them (as if a healer was anything different than a mage).

The lady Pepper had faced down Killian, fiery and ruthless. She had given him time to knit Anthony back together the best he could while she annihilated this filthy human being who had kidnapped and experimented on her.

The human doctors had taken care of Anthony's heart, of fractured bones and torn muscles – and Loki had had to leave before his friend woke for more than two minutes, before he could make sure that the engineer did not resent him for using magic on him without his consent. Not that he was afraid of the other man resenting him – Anthony was far too curious about all things, including his seiðr for that.

The God was actually looking forward to spend the next few days with the inventor. While his life on Asgard had become easier once he had decided to simply cut toxic people like Sif or Hogun out of his life, and kept the interactions with those who were indifferent to him like Volstagg to a minimum, he missed the other man's rambling just as much as he missed his tea time with Bruce or chatting with J.A.R.V.I.S. about more or less everything that concerned life on Midgard. On Earth.

Frigga tried making his life easier as well, however, as much as he had appreciated her gentleness and guidance before all this mess that had accompanied Thor's almost-coronation, having feast after feast to ensure to all of the nine realms that the King and Queen of Asgard still considered him their son was not really helping.

Most people on Asgard had cemented their opinion of him already before those occurrences and they would hardly change. Most other realms were mildly interested in the fact that Odin stole the heir of Jotunheim's throne, creating enough pressure to ensure that the entire affair was not simply swiped under a large enough rug.

They had yet to reach out to Jotunheim again, dreading not only the Frost Giants' reaction to their long lost crown prince. Their king was gone, murdered by his own son. They knew not who had followed Laufey on the throne and how the new regent would take that news.

It was a topic that would have to be addressed sometime soon, something they could not ignore, no matter how much the royal family tried to.

Thor was still favored by Odin, Frigga still did everything to appease her husband, and the people he once had considered his parents did everything to make it seem like he was re-integrated into their family.

Not that Odin did anything to try doing the same in private. Announcing Loki Odinson to the public did only so much when he was not talking to his so-called son on any other occasion.

Anthony, Bruce, and J.A.R.V.I.S. knew more about how Loki felt and what he thought about this situation than his self-proclaimed parents or the man who never stopped calling him his brother. They knew he still had the Casket of Ancient Winters, something that no one on Asgard had addressed so far. He could not help but wonder if anyone even noticed that it was gone.

He had discussed the possibility of using it as a means to negotiate a peace treaty with the Jotnar with his human friends when all Asgard did was throwing another feast for the return of the second Prince from his unfortunate capture by the Mad Titan.

All Loki wanted was return to Earth, to the life he had created in the few month he had spent here. Where he could be himself, where people did not look down upon him. Where he could be himself, nobody considered him a lesser being for things he simply could not change. Back to Bruce, to J.A.R.V.I.S.. To Anthony.

Before the inventor could knock a third time, the Trickster was out of bed and at the door, opening it a bit more forcefully than he had intended, not caring about the ruffled hair on his head, caused by running his hands through it all the time, and the slightly red, puffy eyes.

"Hey Lokes, how… uff!"

If there was one thing Tony Stark had not anticipated today, then it was ending up with a Norse God hugging the stuffing out of him.

Thomas Morrow was not really an intimidating man. He and Phil had to meet from time to time, after all, officially, he was Coulson's superior since S.H.I.E.L.D. had been transformed to be a sub-division of the DHS. Phil had become accustomed to seeing him as an equal, after all, he dealt day after day with matters of national security. To be honest, he considered S.H.I.E.L.D.'s work to be much more important and, above all, more dangerous – the DHS might be struggling with terrorists. But they were still normal people, while everything alien or non-human that S.H.I.E.L.D. was dealing with was much more unpredictable and probably more powerful.

Morrow had him work mostly autonomously, staying out of S.H.I.E.L.D. affairs as long as they did not threaten national security.

"Tom. To what do I owe the honor?"

Normally, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. would not have worried about being unable to justify his actions. Ross was a threat and had to be removed from his post before he could do too much damage. After all, Phil himself was no longer 100% human, and it was only a matter of time before the General started a witch hunt on all mutants or non-humanoids.

What he had somehow forgotten with this attitude, however, was that Ross actually fell within Morrow's jurisdiction and that he had not involved his superior authority in any way. A mistake S.H.I.E.L.D. had already made under the old leadership. A mistake that Morrow, this time, apparently, was no longer willing to tolerate.

"I think you know why I'm here, Phil."

Getting along with Tom Morrow wasn't exactly difficult. Even Jethro Gibbs and he were connected by something like friendship.

What many people forgot was that the man had been the head of a federal agency for decades. Scandal-free. Without making any enemies worth mentioning (at least Phil didn't know of anyone sawing Morrow's chair), but always close to the president.

Not necessarily the best person to piss off.

Coulson closed the door behind himself, turning his eyes at the other man again when he was done, still trying to figure out how to assess this situation.

"I didn't know that you made house calls, Tom", was his answer, hoping that Morrow would at least smirk. Both of them were old hands in this business. Yes, the op had been a rather shady one.

As if intelligence agencies didn't do stuff like that all the time.

"You want a drink? Because I want one. That secret base alone and what we'll find there makes me wanna drown a few." Phil didn't drink. He wasn't even sure if he had any alcohol in his flat. Virginia had liked champagne before Extremis. Now it didn't have any more effect on her, and somehow also the taste was different, so he stopped keeping a bottle around.

Not that this mattered now. He had to somehow sweet talk his boss to keep his job, after all.

Morrow just kept looking at him.

"You don't even have rubbing alcohol in the kitchen", the older man stated then in a no-nonsense voice, his stare making the normally cool agent want to fidget like a scolded school boy.

"With today's action, you've driven away our biggest private financier. Tell me, how should we proceed? Act like nothing happened? Like you didn't undermine my authority over you? An entire agency's authority over your sub-division?" Morrow didn't even fold his arm when he made Phil squirm.

"We've got Ross in custody. We've got enough evidence to prove that he…" Coulson shoved one of his hands in the front pocket of his pants, trying to sound professional.

"Oh, I know exactly what you have found", Morrow interrupted, now standing up from the chair, making Coulson take an unconscious step back.

"This is also why you will hand in you resignation instead of us firing and suing you. The outcome might not justify the means, but things will only get worse if we declare this an unauthorized op. This will happen after the DHS and Stark Industries declare a mutual interest in letting some exclusive contracts expire in favor of establishing governmental ones that benefit more than just one sub-division of one department. You'll get a generous settlement, Phil."

Morrow didn't look like he was very happy about that, but would cope with it since the outcome could be way worse.

"Listen, I can talk to…"

A glare from the other man cut off the, obviously former, director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

"You think that anything you have to say will change anything when the new conditions of the new contracts with the government are so much better than what S.H.I.E.L.D. had with Stark Industries? You think that your little exclusive liaison should stay exclusive, don't you?"

"Of course he does", a voice said from the direction of the bedroom, making Coulson turn around.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. was always more important than anything, the end always justifies the means, doesn't it, director Coulson?" Virginia spat, shouldering the small overnight bag she kept in his flat since she had opted to stay with him whenever she was on business in Washington DC. Not that he thought much about what she was doing when she was in town – the clean energy market was hardly his business.

She, in contrast to Morrow, did look intimidating the way she stood there, in her crisp, white business costume, in her sharp heels that most probably cost more than all of his shoes together, her lips painted in a brilliant red.

"Virginia…"

"I don't want to hear any of your excuses. When I broke up with you over Extremis it was because I wanted to protect you. This time, I have so much more to protect. So, goodbye, Phil."

Coulson wanted to answer something, demand a more elaborate explanation when he already knew what he had done wrong, however, he was not able to produce any sound as he watched how she walked into the room, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She turned to Morrow and extended her hand.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Thomas. Please send Matthew my best wishes for the holidays when you see him. I will have J.A.R.V.I.S. schedule a conference with all parties concerned after the holidays."

Morrow smiled as he took her hand.

"Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Miss Potts. Thank you for letting us in."

Virginia smiled at the other man before she left the apartment without even paying Phil another look.

Coulson's eyes followed her, briefly stopping at the sideboard right next to the entrance door where she had left her key.

She closed the door behind herself, and he was still staring at the small metal object when he heard another sound, this time from his office, and spun around only to see Morrow sincerely look at him. Two black suits appeared from the other room, carrying boxes with what he assumed would be whatever files and computers they had found in there.

"You pissed off a powerful woman who is on first name basis with the president, Coulson", Tom said then, reaching for his jacket that he had placed on the couch.

"And I suppose he will be the smallest of your future problems."