(no subject)

[the_man]

Nick Fury walks into the bar.

His coat is dusty. His hands and face are littered with tiny cuts. He smells like blood and explosions. He is carefully favoring his right knee.

It is safe to assume that he has had a day.

When he sits down at the bar, a large glass of whiskey appears in front of him, next to an even larger glass of water. He drinks half of the water in two gulps before leaning an elbow on the bar and settling in.




[Advance warning: I'm off to the land of no internet tomorrow. Fury is here post-Avengers for one night only! And now this post is closed and I am headed off. Thanks for your tags, everyone. I always appreciate them.]

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[cutting_edgex23]

X approaches, slow and not quiet.

Her nostrils flare as she scents the air, checking on various things.

Then --

"You are not dead."

She could tell if he was.

"That is probably good."

[the_man]

"For now," he agrees.

"We saved the world today. You want something to drink?"

[cutting_edgex23]

"That is always true," she says equably.

"I would like a root beer float. Please."

A pause as she studies him, head tilting very slightly.

"I can ask who you saved it from? Or what."

[the_man]

"Aliens," Fury says, taking another drink.

"And then from nuclear missiles fired at Manhattan."

[cutting_edgex23]

"They were Skrull? The aliens."

X is frowning, though.

"The missiles were not the aliens."

A pause.

"It was not S.W.O.R.D.? Either."

[nerves_of_ice]

He'd come in from outdoors practice some time ago, and had taken a seat on the small bench in the dark corner near the stairs, with a cup of coffee to hand. It gives him a great view of the room, and enough shelter in the shadows to go unnoticed most of the time.

As he lifts his coffee cup for a final swallow, he spots the other man, and goes absolutely still. His gaze narrows sharply as he studies him.



All things considered, it doesn't take long for him to reach a decision.


The coffee mug is left on the bench as he melts into the crowd, circling the edge of the room.

[the_man]

Fury looks up from his (alcoholic) drink and meets Bucky's eye.

He nods.

[nerves_of_ice]

He nods back, and only then does he approach - taking care to remain in Fury's line of sight the whole way.

"Director."

A beat.

"Long day?"

[the_man]

"Sergeant. It was one of the longer ones. And it isn't finished yet." He straightens up a little, and indicates the open bar stools near him.

"Take a load off, if you want."

[dragon_dealt]

Defying Millitime, an extremely large and rather scaley head pokes through the doorway from the lake.

It juuuuuust fits.

[the_man]

Fury's eye widens a little.

But he does not produce any weaponry.

For now.

[dragon_dealt]

A golden eye the side of a grapefruit... winks at him.

"Bar," says a somewhat sibilant alto voice, from that mouth of big sharp pointy teeth, "can you give me tea from here, or do I have to come inside for it?"

The verdict, apparently, is a teacup the size of a daintily flowered bone china bucket on the bartop, and a waitrat scurrying over to ferry it to the door.

[the_man]

"I didn't know dragons enjoyed tea," he says.

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin turns from his plate of pancakes at the smell of blood and explosions, its really familiar. His human disguise is down so the lights catch his copper hair and his pointed ears are showing, "Any major injuries, sir?"

This man holds himself like a knight or the Duke who's fought something awful.

[the_man]

"No," he says. "Pretty sure I'll live. Thanks though."

Quentin's ears and his pancakes do get a longer look.

[heatherandsteel]

The pancakes have strawberry jam on them as that's tasty, "Good, always want to check with blood in the air."

[the_man]

"Yeah, I can see how that might be a concern around here. You work in the infirmary or something?"

[protect_and_survey]

It's really quite impressive how far Jemma Simmons can wander into the room while the vast majority of her attention is on her computer tablet and not on anything else.

She even dodges three waitrats. It's poetry in motion, truly.

The startled squeak and jump when she realizes that her boss is as the bar is just hilarious. If, you know, you don't know she works for a spy agency.

"Oh! Um. Hello! Sir." Sentences will come when the adrenaline dies down, surely.

[the_man]

"Agent Simmons, isn't it? I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you what the date is for you."

Fury's gaze is steady and calm.

[protect_and_survey]

Jemma's gaze aims for steady and calm and runs smack into stunned and mildly terrified.

"Er. September twenty-fifth, two-thousand thirteen, sir. Is... that alright?"

[the_man]

"That's fine," he says. "Just don't give me details about anything you're working on. I'm a little behind."

[cassiefuckingcage]

There is a clearly-military woman leaning back at the bar. Apart from her uniform, she is sporting a technically-regulation undercut and a sidearm.

She looks the bloodied man over. "Do I want to see the other guy?"

[the_man]

"The other guy was a fighter jet," Fury says. "So I guess that depends on you."

[cassiefuckingcage]

"Guess that depends on whose fighter jet," Cassie says.

"I like it when the good guys win."

[the_man]

"Me too. This time, we were the good guys. And we won. But now there's a shitload of cleanup to do."