To Love Is To Destroy

Chapter 4

Phil Coulson was thirty before he realized that he'd never once seen a name on his wrist. His career didn't allow for it, he supposed, but didn't he deserve the dignity of knowing?

He wondered if it was a part of the battery of tests that he'd gone through. SHIELD had pumped him full of vitamins and protein, honing his body as well as his mind. Who knows what else they might have fed him through the syringe? Something that would dampen the Bonding hormone? He hadn't asked when he trained under Director Carhold.

Marcus might have taken over, but she was still his Director in a lot of ways. He still called her every month, long distance to Surrey, and gave his status report. He was no closer to finding Stefan's location, but he was hopeful. SHIELD had just turned up a whole storehouse of SSR files. Perhaps he'd find something more, scraps of paper that Howard hadn't burned in his paranoia.

She thanked him for his time, every time he called, and he thanked her for her patience. She'd been waiting a long time for Stefan to come home.

He was forty when he stopped waiting. He dated around, but nothing lasted more than six months. He contented himself with work, flings where he could. He joined Strike Team Delta under Nick's instruction. He found himself helping Jasper Sitwell, another agent; they put together a team that could do what the other teams could not.

All the while, his wrists remained blank.

He was just too busy for a soul mate. It was a cold comfort, if true.

He was forty-eight when he discovered Stefan Roosevelt's resting place. The first thing he did was email the encrypted information to Nick. The second thing he did was place a collect call to Surrey.

"Hello?"

"Director."

"Phil? It's four in the bloody morning. You'd better have good reason--"

"I found him."

Silence reigned on her end of the line, broken by the static that seemed to plague international calls.

"You're sure?"

"You know I wouldn't call if I wasn't. We're dispatching teams to the arctic as soon as I can roll Marcus's ass out of bed."

"Phil."

Her voice cut through his excitement, raw and aching. He wished he could see her, because he would have taken her hand. As it was, he quieted.

"Tell me how it is."

"Absolutely, progress reports every day."

"Thank you." She was silent for a moment. "You did well, boy. I knew there was a reason I chose you."

"Because I love him, too."

He could almost see the curve of her lips upward, the silent sweep of her expression that conveyed amusement and fondness for her protégé all in one.

"Just so."

Phil burrowed deeper into his coat. He knew all the agents on this project; he trusted them. He stepped into the Valkyrie, moving the blacked out goggles from his face now that he was protected from being snow blinded.

He had waited his entire life for this moment.

He reached the cockpit, and he looked around, sweeping his light over the cockpit.

He was going to find it, the spot where his hero fell.

He turned his light to the corner, looking carefully over the cockpit.

Phil couldn’t contain his excitement. He moved around the ledge at the back of the bridge, his boots crunching on slowly melting ice. He could feel his heartbeat speeding up, and he looked around, still alone in the chilled room.

His boot clanged against something, and he skidded, losing his footing. He landed on his knees, and his penlight skittered from his hand, sending a thin, sharp beam of light bouncing along the metal walls. It came to a stop, and the lens cracked, the unfocused beam scattering through the strange, clear crystals.

He looked down at the lump of metal under his hands.

Phil’s breath caught.

It wasn’t a lump of metal. His hands swept over the smooth, dome shape of a round shield. Concentric rings of red and white culminated in a blue circle with a white star. Phil stared, not quite comprehending what he was seeing.

“Coulson, what’s your status?” Jasper asked. Phil realized he’d made a squeaking noise over the comm as he’d seen the shield. He cleared his throat.

“Five by five,” he muttered. “I just slipped. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Jasper pressed.

“Fine,” he said, struggling to his feet. “I’m just—“

His voice cut short as his pen light illuminated what lay beyond the shield. A man, his eyes closed, frozen in a block of slowly melting ice. Phil didn’t even need to see the star on his chest to know who it was. He reached up and pressed a shaking hand to the front of the ice block.

“Scratch that,” he said, sounding strangled to his own ears. “I’m going to need a medical team in here, stat.”