it's been a long, long time

chapter 3: fury

Nick Fury does not need to be liked.

He has not built a career in espionage and global security as long-lived as his by needing to be liked. What his coworkers, his superheroes, his enemies think of him matters less to him than the fly that sometimes appears in his apartment. (He's not sure if it's the same fly every time. He doesn't care). He is proud of the fact that his work is so unaffected by the feelings of those around him, because allowing emotions to play into something as volatile and dangerous as his job could be disastrous for everyone. Worrying about his reputation would've led to HYDRA completely consuming SHIELD, and then the entire earth. It would've led to Tony Stark still not being a member of the Avengers, probably. It would've led to not even forming the Avengers in the first place, back when all his colleagues told him it was a terrible idea bound to implode violently and spectacularly. Worrying about his reputation could have meant the end of the world as he knows it.

So, no, Nick Fury does not need to be liked.

Which means there is no explanation for the sheer discomfort he's feeling at the moment, locked inside his office by himself. There is no explanation for the way Steve Rogers's face keeps appearing in his mind, full of grief and anger and something else he can't quite place. There's no explanation for the way Tony Stark's description of the night before keeps replaying itself in his head.

"...practically in hysterics, at least by her standards."

Natasha Romanoff. Hysterical.

His brain, behind some of the greatest world-saving schemes in history, can't seem to comprehend these two things together. Natasha Romanoff, hysterical? You may as well show him a video of a rat driving a car. The most level-headed person he knows, hysterical. In the many years he's known her, she has never, ever lost her cool. She is cold, calculating, and efficient. She was his mentee, and so much like him. Unemotional. Maybe that's what had drawn him to her, had caused him to take her under his wing. He thinks that he saw himself in her, a KGB assassin who had a good heart, who could use her skills to do good instead of bad and could compartmentalize her emotions so that they never interfered with her work.

He has the utmost respect for the other Avengers, but God, they could be so emotional.

Romanoff, though? Nick Fury has never known her to be emotional, which is perhaps why he can't stop thinking about Stark's description of her. Yes, he thinks, that must be it. Not that they might hate me for sending her away.

Because, honestly, he didn't have a choice. Ammo was becoming more and more powerful, consolidating his holdings while somehow simultaneously keeping them spread-out, so that it would have been impossible for the Avengers to just go in and blow things up or beat some people up. No, this had to be taken down from the inside. It had to be a process. And Romanoff, with her extensive undercover experience and the ability to be subtle and unrecognizable, was the only person for the job. She'd done it plenty times before, and even she'd agreed that nobody else could do it.

He thinks that he just can't figure out why she was so upset about it, but even as he starts to ponder the question, Steve Rogers's grief-stricken face swims into his mind. He glances at the briefing room camera in front of him and sees the group gathered around Rogers, concern and sympathy written all over everyone's features.

Oh.

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, but then suddenly feels like something he should have seen a long time ago. Of course this wasn't just like her old missions. Things were different now. She'd started to trust more people, started to open up to the people she'd worked with (or someone she'd worked with, anyway). She had other people to live for, now.