Later that day, Harry was feeling more like himself—if by "himself," you mean a slightly disheveled teenager with a ridiculous amount of magical baggage, weird family history, and a fondness for dramatic monologues. He'd just finished a shower that felt like it should come with a warning label: may cause you to forget your last 48 hours of chaos. New clothes on, charm up, and feeling slightly more human—well, as human as someone who had been casually resurrected twice could feel—Harry decided it was time for his next big task: Ask Dumbledore for permission to let Logan—yes, the Logan—come to Hogwarts to help Cedric. No pressure, right?
He strolled down the familiar hallways, avoiding a few well-meaning first-years who looked like they were about to ask him where the broom closet was (pro tip: avoid it if you value your personal space), and made his way to the gargoyle statue that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Now, Harry had a few theories about how the gargoyle worked. The first was that it was some kind of very, very polite statue that was just waiting for the right password. The second was that it was probably more aware than any wizard and could tell exactly when Harry was in a hurry.
"Lemon drop," Harry said, more out of habit than anything else, half expecting to be met with a disinterested silence or a "Wrong again, Potter."
To his surprise, the gargoyle grumbled and shifted aside. No password required. No witty remarks. Just pure, unfettered convenience.
"Huh," Harry muttered, stepping onto the staircase as it spiraled upward. "Guess I'll add 'incredibly lazy security' to the list of things I've learned about this school."
The office door creaked open, and there, sitting behind his desk like he was some sort of wizarding James Bond—minus the tuxedo, plus a ridiculously wise and slightly quirky air—was Dumbledore. The old man had that gleam in his eye, the one that made Harry feel like he was either about to impart life-changing wisdom or offer him a lemon drop.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice warm and welcoming, like he was discussing the weather or the latest tea gossip. "What can I do for you? I'm sure this is a social call and not another attempt at sneaking off with a Time-Turner, hmm?"
Harry leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Yeah, no Time-Turners this time, Professor. But speaking of things that can go horribly wrong…" He trailed off, figuring now was as good a time as any to dive into it.
Dumbledore's eyebrow arched with a knowing glint. "Ah, I sense a tale of caution and wisdom is about to unfold. Please, do continue."
"Cedric Diggory," Harry began, "has been having… issues. Mutant issues. He's got these powers—claws, heightened senses—and he's trying to figure out how to control them. He's stuck between being a wizard and being… well, a mutant." Harry made air quotes, but Dumbledore, unsurprisingly, didn't react. "I was hoping maybe we could get someone with experience to help him out."
"Someone like Logan, I presume?" Dumbledore's tone was casually curious, as though discussing mutant assistance was part of the regular Hogwarts curriculum.
Harry blinked. "Yeah, exactly. The Logan. You know, that Logan—cigar-smoking, berserker-raging, claws-for-fingers Logan? He's the best at controlling the whole 'inner animal' thing."
Dumbledore's lips twitched. "Ah, yes. Logan. A complicated man, to be sure. I've had the pleasure of meeting him on several occasions. Shall we say, his methods are… unorthodox?"
Harry grinned. "Understatement of the year. But yeah, Cedric could use someone who knows what it's like to embrace that kind of… raw power. I mean, who else are we gonna turn to? The Hogwarts guidance counselor?"
Dumbledore gave an exaggerated sigh. "That would be an interesting choice. But, in this case, I think Logan's experience might be just what Cedric needs."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, so you're okay with this?"
"Logan has walked a darker path, one that few can truly understand," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. "But as you rightly pointed out, Harry, if anyone can help Cedric find balance, it is he. I trust you, Harry. If you believe Logan can help, then I see no reason to deny him access to Hogwarts."
Harry stared at him, mouth slightly open. "Just like that? No endless speeches about the dangers of mutants or random philosophical riddles?"
"Only when absolutely necessary," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye that suggested there was more going on behind those wise old glasses than he was letting on. "But do let me know how it goes, Harry. I have a feeling this will be an interesting turn of events."
"Well, you're not wrong there," Harry said, pushing himself off the doorframe. "I'll let Logan know he's got the green light."
"Do take care, Harry," Dumbledore called after him. "And remember, the best way to control one's destiny is to embrace the chaos when it comes knocking." He gave a smile that seemed to suggest he'd already seen this scenario play out a hundred times.
"Right," Harry said, smiling back, though he wasn't entirely sure what that meant for the future of Cedric Diggory—or Hogwarts in general. "Embrace the chaos. Got it."
As Harry left the office, feeling slightly lighter than before, he couldn't help but think about how weird his life had gotten. I mean, who else gets to roll up to their headmaster, ask permission to bring a mutant to school, and get an okay in under five minutes? Harry Potter, that's who. The next few days were going to be a ride, and he had a feeling it was going to be a wild one.
"Good luck, Cedric," Harry muttered under his breath as he headed toward the common room, ready to pass the good news on to Logan. "You're gonna need it."
—
Logan was sitting in a booth at a greasy spoon diner, the kind with cracked linoleum floors and menus that hadn't been updated in decades. He was staring into his cup of coffee, which, if you squinted hard enough, looked like it might be older than the two of them combined. The scent of frying bacon and eggs lingered in the air like some sort of greasy perfume, clinging to the walls. A part of him almost liked it here, mostly because the place hadn't changed in a hundred years, just like him. Well, the grumpy, middle-aged, perpetually-annoyed part of him liked it. The other part—the part that secretly enjoyed a bit of nostalgia—didn't mind either.
He didn't expect anyone to walk in. Not today. But when the door opened with that obnoxious little jingle (why do diners always think that noise is charming?), and in walked Steve Rogers, Logan didn't even flinch.
"Son of a—" he muttered under his breath, not even bothering to turn around. He knew that walk. That posture. Steve Rogers was back in the game.
Logan took another sip of his coffee, more out of habit than anything else. There were some things you didn't need to look at to recognize. Like the sight of Captain America strolling into a diner like it was a normal Tuesday.
Steve, looking like he'd just stepped out of an old Captain America comic—tall, broad, and still built like a tank—made a beeline for Logan's booth. The guy was wearing civilian clothes, but anyone who knew anything about military posture could tell he was still holding himself like he was about to charge into battle. He slid into the seat across from Logan, the old booth creaking under the weight of decades of shared history.
"Logan," Steve said, giving him that half-grin. The kind of grin that said, "Yeah, I know I look like a deer caught in headlights in the 21st century, but you're here, so it's all good."
"Cap," Logan replied, his voice rough as sandpaper, but with that familiar, dry humor he always had. "Didn't think you'd still be walking around after you went all popsicle mode. Thought you'd have turned to dust by now, old man."
Steve gave a huff of laughter, but it was clear there was more going on behind those eyes than he was willing to admit. "Yeah, well, apparently I've got better durability than my laundry."
Logan took a long sip of his coffee, savoring the bitterness, and let the silence hang between them for a moment. He could feel Steve's discomfort without even having to look. It wasn't like they hadn't talked before. They had. But it was always the same—Steve was playing catch-up with the world around him, and Logan wasn't exactly the type to offer guidance.
"So, what's the deal, huh?" Logan finally asked, raising an eyebrow. "You all thawed out and still trying to figure out what to do with yourself, or are you just here for the coffee?"
Steve shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck like he was about to launch into one of those long speeches about 'coming to terms with the modern world' or some other deep, brooding stuff. Instead, he just shrugged, his eyes scanning the diner as if the place might offer some answers. "Yeah, trying to get my head around all this... technology, people, the way the world's changed. Feels like I'm living in a completely different place than I remember. Some days I feel like I'm just... floating."
Logan studied him for a second, then gave a half-smile. "Yeah, I get it. I spent, what, a century or two floating myself? Trust me, the trick is to just keep moving. Even if it's in circles."
"Circles?" Steve asked, genuinely curious.
"Yeah. You'll figure it out," Logan said, tapping the side of his coffee mug. "Eventually."
There was a pause—awkward, but not exactly uncomfortable. Logan wasn't one for speeches, and Steve sure as hell wasn't going to air his existential crises in front of anyone. But Steve had that 'I'm lost in time and space' look in his eyes, and Logan didn't need to be a telepath to know exactly what that felt like.
Finally, Logan changed the subject. "Listen, I've got a favor to ask."
Steve raised an eyebrow, eyeing Logan carefully. "A favor? From you?" He smirked. "You know how I feel about your favors. Last time, I had to clean up your mess in a bar in Tokyo."
Logan's grin widened. "I told you not to open the door! Should've known better, Cap."
"Yeah, yeah," Steve muttered, but the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was used to Logan's shenanigans by now. "Alright, what's the favor?"
Logan leaned forward, lowering his voice as if this were some top-secret mission—because, knowing him, it probably was. "I'm working with some kids. They're strong, capable, but they need someone with experience. Someone who's been around the block a few times, knows what the hell they're doing when it comes to real fighting. Sparring, hand-to-hand, all that good stuff."
Steve eyed him suspiciously, taking in the weight of Logan's words. "Mutants?"
"Not exactly," Logan said, his expression darkening just slightly. "It's a little... complicated. But they could use someone like you. Someone who can show 'em the ropes."
Steve leaned back, his brow furrowing. "You want me to teach them to fight?"
"Exactly."
"Who are these kids?" Steve asked, the tone of concern creeping into his voice. "What kind of situation are they in?"
Logan grinned like the cat that ate the canary. "That's the thing. You'll find out when you get there."
Steve blinked. "You're not telling me anything more?"
"Nah," Logan said, leaning back, giving Steve a side-eye. "It's gonna be a surprise. You know I like to keep things interesting."
Steve stared at him, skepticism radiating off him. "Logan..."
Logan held up a hand. "Trust me. You'll be doing a good thing. Plus, I'm calling in an old favor. One of those 'back in the day' favors."
Steve's expression shifted, his stance softening slightly. "Fine. But if this kid turns out to be some sort of supervillain or I end up fighting a clone army again, I'm blaming you."
Logan chuckled darkly. "You know the drill. Could be worse, Cap. Could be worse."
Steve sighed, resigned to the fact that when Logan called, you didn't exactly have a choice. "Alright, I'm in. But you're gonna tell me something eventually, right?"
Logan didn't answer. He just grinned and took another sip of his coffee.
"Well, that's one mystery solved," Steve muttered under his breath, but it was clear he wasn't convinced this wouldn't turn into a mess of epic proportions.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Logan replied, flashing him a grin that could mean anything—or nothing at all.
And with that, they both fell into a more comfortable silence, each of them knowing that whatever this was, it wasn't going to be boring.
Logan had a plan. But, as always, he was keeping the best parts a secret. For now, anyway.
—
Logan took a long sip of his coffee, trying his best not to wince. He knew better than to expect something remotely good in a diner like this. It tasted like the universe had handed him a mug full of disappointment and a side of existential dread. But hey, it had caffeine, so he choked it down anyway.
"So, where you crashin' these days, Rogers?" Logan asked, leaning back in his chair with that casual swagger of someone who definitely didn't care—but, you know, kind of did. "Still shackin' up with the big guys at S.H.I.E.L.D. or did they finally give you a real bed, something that doesn't smell like bureaucracy and regret?"
Steve let out a quiet laugh, but there was something... guarded about it. "Yeah, I'm staying at one of their safehouses. They've been, uh, helping me out—getting me up to speed on everything, keeping an eye out for me." He shrugged, but Logan could tell the whole 'being kept in a cage' thing didn't sit well with Steve. Steve was too much of a lone wolf for that.
Logan raised an eyebrow, tapping the rim of his coffee mug with a finger. "Safehouses, huh? Sounds cozy. Got a nice view of the 'best of humanity' while they tell you what to do?" He leaned in closer, almost whispering. "Or does Fury have you on a leash still?"
Steve stiffened just a little, enough for Logan to notice. "Fury's got his hands full, yeah. But he did try to recruit me for something he's calling the 'Avengers Initiative.' Ever heard of it?"
Logan snorted, leaning back like the very idea of the Avengers was just ridiculous enough to be worth his time. "Oh yeah, I've heard of it. Fury and his little club of self-righteous do-gooders. He loves playing the 'we're saving the world' card, doesn't he?" Logan rolled his eyes, pushing his coffee mug aside like he might start an actual rebellion just by looking at it too hard. "Let me guess. It's all 'assemble a team of heroes' and all that garbage?"
Steve just nodded, looking almost apologetic about it, which, let's be honest, wasn't Steve's style. "Yeah, something like that. But..." He paused, furrowing his brow like he was searching for the right words. "I don't know, Logan. Something about it feels off. Especially Fury."
Logan could practically hear the gears grinding in Steve's head. It wasn't that Steve was stupid; it was that Steve wanted to believe in the good guys. Which, unfortunately, had a 50/50 chance of making him a target for anyone who'd seen the uglier side of things.
Logan shook his head, a half-smirk curling on his lips. "Well, you're not wrong. Fury's got more skeletons than a Halloween store. You trust that guy, you're playing into his hand, Cap. You remember the last time you trusted a guy in charge? Look how that turned out."
Steve opened his mouth, probably about to defend Fury. Logan could see it coming from a mile away. But Logan cut him off before the words could escape.
"Listen, Steve," Logan said, voice low and serious now, "Fury's the kind of guy who plays chess when everyone else is stuck on checkers. You trust him, and one day, you'll be his pawn. And when he's done using you, you'll be nothing but a memory. And don't think you'll see it coming. Trust me. I've been down that road."
Steve's expression flickered for a moment, like he was struggling to reconcile his respect for Fury with Logan's warning. Logan knew that look. It was the same one Steve had when he was still getting used to the idea of things being more complicated than "fight the bad guys, win the war."
But Logan didn't stop there. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping even lower, like he was letting Steve in on some dirty little secret.
"You know, Fury tried to recruit me too. Yeah, the big guy thought I'd be a perfect addition to his 'team.' Told me we'd 'save the world' together. Imagine that. Me, playing dress-up with Fury and his little Avengers squad." Logan snorted, shaking his head like the thought was just too ridiculous. "Guess who didn't take that offer."
Steve blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed that. "You turned him down?"
Logan grinned. "You bet I did. Besides, I've got better things to do than play in Fury's little sandbox." He sat back in his chair, eyes sparkling with that mischievous gleam Steve knew all too well. "But you, Cap? You've got potential. Don't waste it in Fury's playpen."
For a moment, the two of them just sat there, the weight of Logan's words hanging in the air between them like an awkward silence at a family dinner. Steve was quiet, his face unreadable, his jaw set with that stubborn determination Logan had seen a hundred times before. But then, after a long pause, Steve finally cracked a grin, like he couldn't resist the banter.
"Guess the world's better off without you playing dress-up," Steve said, his tone light but with a knowing edge. He was trying to ease the tension, but Logan could tell it didn't completely land.
Logan gave him a half-smile, though it was more like a grimace. "You bet it is. I've got better things to do than play the 'hero.' The world doesn't need more people like that."
Steve leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "I'll figure it out on my own, Logan. But thanks for the heads-up."
Logan's smirk softened just a little, but his eyes stayed sharp. "Yeah, you do that. But keep your guard up, alright? Fury's a tricky bastard. He's got this way of making you think you're doing the right thing while he's got his own agenda behind closed doors." He got up, tossing a few bills onto the table. "And when the time comes, don't say I didn't warn you."
He walked out of the diner, the door chiming softly behind him, leaving Steve with his thoughts. Logan didn't look back. He didn't have to. Steve would figure it out—eventually. If he didn't, well, Logan wasn't the type to babysit.
But as Logan stepped into the New York night, something told him this wasn't the last time they'd have this conversation. Steve was stubborn like that. And that was the one thing Logan respected.
Just don't say I didn't tell you.
—
Steve Rogers was, for the most part, a guy who tried to keep things simple. Born in Brooklyn, fighting bad guys in tights and shields? That was about as straightforward as his life got. But lately? Well, lately, it felt like the world had hit him with a big ol' dose of "surprise, everything is complicated." Take his latest conversation with Logan, for instance.
"Fury's got a way of pulling you in, making you think you're doing the right thing. But it's all smoke and mirrors," Logan had said, all gruff and squinty-eyed like he always did.
Steve didn't even have to think about it for long to know Logan wasn't exactly wrong. But still—Fury? The guy who had helped him back in the day when Steve was just a soldier who'd woken up after, what, seventy years? The guy who had built the Avengers? Fury might be a little rough around the edges, sure, but he wasn't some puppet master pulling strings. Right?
Still, as Steve shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and walked down the crisp New York street, those words kept playing in his head like an annoying song stuck on repeat. It didn't help that Logan wasn't the type to make idle threats. The guy had seen it all. Literally. He'd probably been around since the dinosaurs were a thing (okay, that was probably an exaggeration, but it felt true in Steve's gut).
By the time Steve reached the safehouse, he was starting to feel like maybe he'd left a part of himself back in that alley, somewhere between the flickering streetlights and Logan's warning. This place—this tiny, unremarkable building tucked between a hot dog stand and a rat-infested bodega—was his refuge. The rest of the world could be blowing up, but here? Here he could count on quiet.
He rang the doorbell, the low hum vibrating through the hall. A beat later, the door swung open, and there she was. Natasha Romanoff, ever the picture of mystery wrapped in leather and smirking like she knew a joke only she understood.
"Back from your chat with Logan?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Yeah. You could say that," Steve replied, trying to mask the unease in his voice with his usual cool. It didn't work. "He's as charming as ever."
"Did he try to talk you into running off into the wilderness again?" Natasha teased, though there was something in her tone that told Steve she wasn't just making small talk.
"No," Steve said, pushing past her into the dimly lit living room. "But he did have some... interesting things to say about Fury."
Natasha's playful smirk faded faster than a bad dream. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter like she was suddenly calculating every word Steve had said. "Interesting how?"
Steve rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of how to explain the mess that was Logan's warning. "He thinks Fury's got us all playing a game. Like we're pawns, and we don't even know it."
Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't say anything right away. Instead, she just nodded like it was another day at the office. "Logan's got a lot of experience with people who have hidden agendas. Doesn't mean he's wrong."
Before Steve could respond, Clint Barton, who'd been lounging on the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, perked up. The guy was flicking through some channel, probably watching a show with explosions and bad dialogue. It wasn't until Steve walked in that Clint hit the mute button and gave him the kind of look that only Clint Barton, former circus performer and expert sarcasm distributor, could manage.
"You're back," Clint said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Everything okay with the old grumpy grizzly?"
"Yeah, everything's fine," Steve said, though even he could tell it was the least convincing thing he'd said all day. He slumped into the armchair, rubbing his face like he was trying to scrub away the conversation that had just unfolded. "We talked."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "Did he manage to get into your head that fast?"
Steve didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stared at the wall, letting the weight of everything settle into his bones. The thing was, Steve didn't know if Logan was right. Maybe he was. Maybe Fury really did have something up his sleeve. Steve had worked with Fury long enough to trust him... but Logan's words still stung.
"Logan's got a way of getting under your skin," Steve said finally. "He thinks Fury's pulling the strings, and we're just pawns."
Clint snorted, clearly trying to hide his amusement. "Well, no kidding. You mean the guy with the eye patch is a little shady? I never would've guessed."
Steve shot him a half-hearted glare, but Clint wasn't wrong. Fury was a walking secret. But he wasn't wrong about Fury being on their side either. "I know. But I just—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair, frustration building. "I don't know, Clint. Fury's the guy who's putting the Avengers together. He's not just playing games. Is he?"
"I wouldn't bet on it," Natasha said, her tone quieter now, but no less sharp. She pushed off the counter and walked closer, her eyes focused on Steve like she was trying to read him. "Fury's got a way of making you think you're on the same side... until you realize you're not. I'm not saying he's evil or anything, but... trust's a tricky thing, Steve."
Clint, ever the realist, stretched his arms out and shrugged like he was more interested in finding the remote than diving into a conversation about shady government operations. "Yeah, Fury's been around long enough to pull the wool over a few eyes. No surprise there."
Steve stood up, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of everything. "I don't know what's going on anymore. I just—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I just need to keep moving forward. That's all I know."
Clint gave him a look, his voice suddenly serious for once. "You're Captain America. You always move forward. You don't know how to do anything else. But just keep your eyes open, man. Logan's right about one thing—we're all on Fury's radar. And we're not the only ones he's watching."
Natasha stepped forward, her gaze softening just a little. "We're all part of something bigger, Steve. Whether we like it or not. Just don't let anyone, Fury included, make you forget who you are in the process."
Steve nodded, his jaw tightening as he glanced at his two teammates. They were family—more than family, really. But the road ahead was full of shadows. And Steve wasn't sure who he could trust to guide him through them.
"We'll figure it out," Steve said firmly, though his voice felt like it was bracing for something he couldn't yet see. "One step at a time."
But deep down, he knew that stepping forward in this world was becoming a whole lot harder than it had ever been before.
—
Nick Fury was standing in front of the massive monitor on the Helicarrier, his posture that of a man who had just been told he's about to make history… and he doesn't like it. The room was filled with the hum of activity—agents darting back and forth like ants trying to avoid a boot—but Fury was focused, laser-sharp, on one thing: the footage from the safehouse. Specifically, Steve Rogers.
Next to him stood Phil Coulson, arms casually folded across his chest, looking like the only guy in the entire building who wasn't about to snap at the first sign of trouble. Fury wasn't fooled, though. Coulson was good, too good, at hiding his concerns.
"You know, Director," Coulson said in his trademark calm tone, "if you're going to keep an eye on Steve like this, you might as well just get a seat at the table. The Avengers won't mind, I'm sure."
Fury didn't even flinch. His good eye was locked onto the screen with the intensity of a guy watching someone try to get away with a murder he knew they committed. "Not funny, Phil. I'm not spying on him. I'm… making sure. Can't have any surprises popping up."
Coulson tilted his head slightly, the ever-patient voice of reason. "Making sure of what? That he's going to eat a sandwich? Fury, it's a safehouse, not a high-security prison. They're just hanging out. You do realize that, right?"
"Well, it's not a normal safehouse, now, is it?" Fury said, eyes still glued to the screen. The camera feed showed Steve, Clint, and Natasha lounging around. Clint was tossing an empty bottle between his hands, Steve looked like he was mentally calculating the best way to be a super soldier in a world that couldn't figure out what to do with him, and Natasha was, well… Natasha was Natasha. Serious, but with that look in her eyes that always screamed I'm about to give someone a piece of my mind they didn't ask for.
Fury tapped a button, zooming in on Steve, who was seated, running a hand through his hair. The tension in the air was almost palpable. Something was wrong. And Fury? Fury trusted his gut like an old, weathered compass. "These people, Coulson… They've been through hell and back, and now we've got Steve Rogers sitting in a room questioning the very system he's supposed to be fighting for. That ain't right."
Coulson gave a knowing smile, rubbing his chin. "You sure this isn't just you projecting a little paranoia? Because, you know, it's your go-to move."
Fury shot him a look, deadly serious. "I don't project paranoia, Phil. I manage it. That's how we stay alive."
Coulson, ever the diplomat, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Right, right. The guy who once installed a panic room inside his own panic room."
"That's classified, and it's for good reason," Fury grumbled, tapping a few keys on the console. "Now shut up and let me listen."
The conversation from the safehouse crackled to life, and Fury's lips tightened into a thin line. Steve's voice came through first, rough and almost too tired for someone who was supposed to be America's most enduring symbol of hope.
"I know Logan's a pain, but he's not wrong," Steve said, looking down at his hands like they were a set of puzzle pieces he couldn't quite solve.
Clint's voice came next, dripping with sarcasm. "Is there a single day he isn't wrong about something?"
"Doesn't mean he's wrong about everything," Natasha chimed in, her voice cooler than the arctic blast outside a freshly cracked window. "We're on the same side, Steve, but don't kid yourself. Fury's not exactly our guy. He's got his own agenda. And you've seen how that ends."
Fury's fingers curled into a fist as he leaned in closer to the screen. "You hear that? They're second-guessing me. Again."
Coulson, never one to let a small thing like Fury's blood pressure get out of hand, sighed and patted his friend's shoulder. "They're questioning things, Director. Not necessarily betraying you. Again with the paranoia."
"I don't have paranoia, Coulson," Fury snapped, his voice low and gravelly. "I've got instincts. And those instincts are telling me something's off with Steve. They're questioning me, and that—" He paused, voice low with sudden fury. "—that never ends well."
Coulson, unfazed, leaned in toward the screen, as if trying to read the situation through the pixelated, grainy footage. "Okay, but you've gotta admit, Director, there's a big difference between questioning you and questioning your methods. I mean, Steve's not exactly the type to flip a switch and go rogue just because you didn't tell him where the next mission is, right?"
Fury turned to him slowly, eyes narrowed. "You didn't see the Hulk go rogue, did you? Or Black Widow, when she decided to go off the grid for a bit? People crack, Coulson. Even the best of 'em."
Coulson's eyebrows shot up. "I was there for that, remember? And you've got to admit, that was entirely your fault. I mean, not everyone thinks a complete shutdown of communications is a good idea when you've got people out in the field. Ever thought of, you know, delegating the insanity sometimes?"
Fury let out a heavy sigh and turned back to the screen. "It's my job to keep them in line. They're the best of us, but even the best have to be checked sometimes. They get too comfortable, too loose, and that's when everything goes to hell. We're not dealing with average people here. They need to be on edge."
Coulson gave him that half-smile of his, the one that always said, "You're gonna do what you want anyway." "Yeah, Director. But maybe it's not just Steve who's off balance. Maybe it's you."
Fury's eyes flickered back to the screen, watching the team bicker over what could have been an entirely normal day of down time. His jaw clenched, but his eye softened, just a little.
"I'll keep my eye on them. Just in case."
Coulson shook his head. "You always do, Director. You always do."
And with that, they were back to watching the footage. No sudden moves. No explosions. But something in the air told Fury that something was coming. And it wasn't going to be pretty.
---
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