EDITED: 9/02/2022
Nick Fury truly has a gift for knowing something before everyone else finds out.
I had told no one that I planned on returning home after all these months – I hadn't even initially planned it at all if I were to be completely honest. One moment I had been sulking back to my car in defeat, preparing to leave the empty warehouse in Belgium behind me and move on to find the next possible lead. The next, I was back in my motel room hastily packing my bags, feeling more than ever that home was where I needed to be right now.
It had been a last-second decision, yet he still managed to figure it out.
Whatever it was that he had travelled all this way to talk about, he wanted to do so away from prying eyes and eager ears. So, we had quickly moved to the front porch, forcing Clint to usher the younger members of the Barton clan back inside, promising them to push them on the swing in the morning before school. With the kids distracted with television and books, Fury and I stand and sit respectively on the porch, a sense of anticipation filling the night air between us.
The sun has well and truly set by now, and crickets chirp and owls hoot in the inky blackness of the night sky, the air surprisingly warm and pleasant for this time of year. With my back pressed gently against the back of the bench I currently sit on, I can make out the dark outline of the two sheds down the road and hear the odd car drive down the highway in the far distance, their headlights like bright beacons in the night sky. I keep thinking that one of them might be Laura returning from a long day at work, but none of the vehicles have yet to make the turn down the long and windy driveway.
With my arms crossed lazily over my chest, I regard the Director of SHIELD leaving casually against one of the white pillars holding up the roof above us before me. He almost bleeds seamlessly into the dark night with his clothes – I swear to God, I've never seen the man dressed in anything but his black uniform and signature leather trench coat – but the orange haze from the front light above us is enough to illuminate his silent presence.
Drumming my fingers against the side of my arm and deciding to be the first to break the prolonged silence, I ask, "Are you here with an assignment?"
"I take it that your recent search didn't end as well as you hoped."
A spark of annoyance ignites within me at his decision to ignore my question altogether, and what exactly it is that his words imply. "Have you been spying on me?"
"Of course not."
"Then how the hell did you know that I would be home today?"
His lips purse as he is caught out on his lie. "... think of it as keeping tabs on you and your endeavours."
I hold back a bitter laugh. "That's invasive."
"It's a precaution. You went missing on us once already, Hathaway. I'd rather avoid that misfortune happening again."
Now it's my turn to purse my lips. Despite how genuine he sounds – or is trying to sound, at least – there's a part of me that doubts that what he's saying is the entire truth. This is Fury, after; world's best spy, least trusting person on the face of planet earth. The man always has ulterior lies which he tries his best to conceal with more agreeable lies and can be ruthless at times in achieving what his mind is set to. He may claim that spying on me was him acting in my best interest, but in reality, I can't help but think that in some way, he got some benefit out of doing so as well.
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The Seventh Avenger
أدب الهواةLydia Hathaway never asked to be kidnapped by an unknown organisation. She also never asked to be experimented on and granted elemental abilities before she was finally rescued. After a year of torment and pain, Lydia returns home and quickly finds...