To Love Is To Destroy

Chapter 7

Stefan wasn’t so sure about Agent Coulson.

Natasha Romanoff seemed to trust him, and everyone seemed to look to him for guidance. She told him about the trading cards, and that was something interesting. He didn’t know what he’d done to earn such admiration, but he would take a moment to sign them if the agent wanted.

Later, though.

Right now, the focus was on finding Loki, and Stefan shook hands with Doctor Banner, a nervous, dark-haired man who looked as though he was ready to flee the ship. Natasha regarded him with a healthy measure of distance between them. Stefan wasn’t sure if it was because of the Hulk or the fact that she didn’t like to touch anyone.

“Word is you can find the cube,” he said to Banner. Bruce looked up, his eyes narrowing a bit as though to try and read something behind Stefan’s eyes. After a moment, he pursed his lips.

“Is that the only word on me?” he asked softly. Stefan offered him a quirk of his lips.

“The only word I care about, Doctor Banner.” Bruce’s lips lifted in return, and Stefan’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

“If you gentlemen will follow me inside, I’ll take you to the bridge,” she said. “Might be a good idea to get in anyway. It’s about to get a little hard to breathe.”

“Why?” Stefan asked. He stepped to the edge and looked down. Bruce did the same. “Is this a submarine?”

“Really? They want me submerged in a pressurized metal container?” Bruce shivered, and Stefan could see the lines of tension that held the good doctor taut, like the strings on a guitar, ready to strum out a melody of violence at the slightest pressure of a fingertip. The aircraft carrier began to rise into the air, and Stefan caught his breath, his hair whipping in the wind generated by the turbines.

Bruce barked a laugh, looking at Natasha.

“Oh, no, this is much worse.”

Agent Romanoff walked with a leather cuff wrapped around her wrist. She had never taken it off in anyone’s presence, but Phil knew that she wore it for good reason. She never talked about it, but Phil wondered if her soul mate knew she was out there, even after all these years. At first, he thought it had been Clint, but Clint denied it one night over beers. He’d said that, like Phil, his soul mate had never been revealed to him, so he didn’t think it was Nat.

“After all, my name ain’t James.”

He paused in the hall, watching her pass.

“Don’t worry, Coulson, he said he’d sign your cards.” She smiled at him, a slight lift to her lips as she stopped to regard him, too.

Phil paled. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. Payback for making me go pick up Banner.”

“Боже мой,” he muttered. She grinned outright then, patting his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I was very respectful.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t, I bring you donuts.”

“Just…briefing room. Stark’s already here.”

“Oh, good, I needed an ulcer today,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He seems very well-adjusted for a guy who woke up to a world at war.”

“Captain Roosevelt fell to a world at war,” Phil said, adjusting his suit. “He’s not adjusting so much as adapting. Jasper’s been very good with him.”

“Surprised you haven’t jelloed his locker again.”

“Really not appropriate, considering who’s on board.”

“Very true. Stark might take it as a challenge.”

“Come on, we have a briefing to attend.”

“You really think this is going to work?” Deputy Director Hill looked at him over the rim of her coffee mug. Phil gave a one-shouldered shrug. They were on their way to Stuttgart, and there wasn’t much he could do save for wait. And try not to bump into Stefan too much. He was already making an ass of himself with the Captain, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. So he’d retreated to Maria’s office to drink coffee and hide.

She tolerated him because he made a damn good cup of joe.

“Stark is, as always, an unknown. He’s an ass, and he and the Captain will undoubtedly clash. Especially if the Captain brings up Howard Stark.” Phil sipped at his coffee, reclining in his chair across the desk from her. “But really, we’re scrambling here. I don’t like being desperate. And I sure as hell don’t like flying blind, but Loki’s holding every single card, and we need Stark and Banner to narrow things down. They’re the best shot we have. Even Thor alone won’t be able to stop everything, as strong as he is.”

Maria nodded absently, tapping a finger against the rim of her cup. “Did he tell you what he’s aiming for?”

“In R&D? No. All I know is that we’re researching. We’re on a need to know basis, as usual.”

“Well, you know how he is.” A wrinkle formed between her brow as she made a couple more notes. “What do you think about those new recruits on the New Mexico mission. Did they hold up well?”

“Fitz and Simmons showed a remarkable resilience,” he said. “They should be evaluated for field duty soon. How far along are they?”

“Level two,” she said, closing the file and setting it aside. “We’ll evaluate after this. If things don’t explode. Or if the X-Men don't blow up the moon first.”

“They haven’t yet.” And wasn’t that the key word? "Wait, the X-Men?"

“It was a very vivid dream. And we should be fine on the explosion quota. No thanks to Stark.”

“Amen,” he said, sagging back in his chair.

The helicarrier shuddered, and Phil skidded into the wall. Agent Marks swore as she dropped her cup of tea, and the porcelain shattered on the slanted floor.

“The hell was that?” she asked, leaning against the wall. Phil’s eyes narrowed.

“Barton.” He sucked in a breath. “Loki came too easy. It was a bluff. I knew something was off. He wasn’t a prisoner, he was bait.”

His gut churning, he squeezed her shoulder. Blue eyes came up, and she snapped to attention, years as his junior agent stiffening her spine.

“Get the non-requisite personnel to the storerooms. They’ll be away from the fighting. Don’t let them take you, but don’t get anyone killed by taking unnecessary risks, all right?” She nodded and he patted her shoulder. “Good. Get going.”

“Where are you going, sir?” she asked.

“I’ve got to head to R&D, clear them out and lock it down,” he said. She nodded.

As she ran down the hall, he cut the opposite way, ducking through the halls as he listened to the frantic chatter on his earpiece.

Hostiles on the third deck. Armed with submachine guns and–

Hostiles on second deck, heading toward the bridge—

It’s...oh, s**t, it’s Barton, he’s—

No, please—

–like machines, my god, they just executed that guy—

Phil turned it down to a dull roar, polished shoes clicking on the metallic floors as he booked it to R&D. The scientists, following procedure, had locked it down. He padded through the silenced halls, looking at the tech. He knew he was going to assist, and he’d need the firepower.

Ah, there it was. On the pedestal in the ‘war room’, where all the experimental equipment was left, sat the newest fruits of R&D’s labor. Labeled Test Model RX-456D, it was big, it was intimidating, and it was heavy. He smiled, petting over the black chassis.

“What do you do?” Phil mused as he looked over the gun. Seemed simple enough. Flip the switch, power the reactor, then fire. “Whatever you do, I like you.”

A roar echoed through the craft from end to end.

Banner is loose, I repeat, Banner is loose—

Target sighted, engaging target.

Target angry, target ANGRY—

It sounded like Banner was clear of the helicarrier at that point. The next logical step would be to see to the Hulk tank, since it wasn’t put to use for its intended purpose. He hurried down the hall. If he ran, he could make it. The chill in the air seemed foreboding. Still, Phil moved to the containment room, the gun propped solid at his hip.

He watched Loki trick his brother into the tank, and then threaten to drop it. He stepped in.

“Move away, please.”

“You’re going to lose,” he said. He could taste the copper on his lips, and feel the rattling of his breath as he inhaled. He knew it was the end.  His vision was fading, wobbling in and out of focus as he regarded the demigod. The Destroyer rifle was laid across his lap, and he could feel the mechanism charging. Eighty-five percent.

He could have done more than this. He could have tried harder. His only regret was that this was his sacrifice play. Loki was still in the way of his barrel. He could do some damage, at least. What was it he had said to Thor?

They think you immortal, but we both know that’s not true, don’t we?

Loki turned, his eyes sweeping across the face of the downed agent. “Am I?”

Ninety percent. “It’s in your nature.”

“Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky... where is my disadvantage?” Loki’s smile was ingratiating, humoring a downed foe. A cat toying with its supper.

“You lack conviction.” Ninety-five percent.

Loki’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth. “I don’t think—“

Phil looked at the smoking hole in the wall, a wry smile gracing his lips. Blood trickled down his lips, curling into the collar of his shirt, staining it nearly to the kite shield that rested in his lapel.

“So, that’s what it does.”

Dying hurt a lot more than they let on.

Phil could feel the blood draining from his chest, even as he tried to keep Director Fury in his blurring sight.

He coughed. “I'm sorry, boss. The god rabbited.”

“Just stay awake. Eyes on me.” Fury knelt next to Phil, his voice commanding.

“No. I'm clocked out here. M’sorry, Marcus,” he said.

“Not an option.” Nick snapped his fingers in front of Phil’s face. He tried to focus, his vision doubling and tripling. “Eyes on me.”

“It's okay, Boss. This was never going to work...if they didn't have something...to...”

He knew he had to hold on for the medics, and for the rest of them. They weren't going to be able to do this without him. He took a bubbling breath, his words tinny in his ears. He was so tired. His eyelids drooped, and he fell silent. His chest didn’t rise again, and Nick reached out, gentle fingers closing his eyes all the way.

“Agent Coulson is down.”

“Paramedics are on their way.”

“They’re already here.” Fury’s voice was grim. “They called it.”

Half the length of the craft away, Stefan looked down at his hands, his knuckles going white as his jaw flexed.

"Phil."

The voice woke him, and he stretched. Summer sun hit his face, and he blinked the spots from his eyes as he looked around him. Bees buzzed in the garden, and he saw the small figure bent over the flowerbed, digging in the moist, rich earth.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, turning to smile at him. Holly. His Holly. Blond hair pulled back in a messy bun, her fair skin burnt a bright pink by the sun even under her large garden hat, she knelt in a long t-shirt (one of his old school shirts, he saw, go Irish) and a pair of overalls, dirt smudged across her forehead.

He looked around again, remembering...but no, this was her house in Portland, he was here for the weekend.

Wasn't he?

"Holly," he said. She smiled, picking up a trowel. "Did I sleep long?"

"Not too long," she said. "You want to help?"

"Sure," he said, and then looked down at himself. He was still wearing his work suit, name badge and all. That wasn't right. He always changed out of his uniform before visiting. He never let on to Holly what he did.

"Oh, don't worry about it now," she said. "Just come and help me get these planted, before their roots dry out."

He didn't have much of anywhere to be, after all. It was the weekend. He could get it dry cleaned. He shrugged, and squatted next to her in the garden. She handed him a spare pair of gloves and a trowel. He drew them on, flexing his fingers in the sturdy leather, and dug a hole for the first potted flower.

She pulled the temporary pot off of a marigold, and handed the small plant to him. It was bright red, with streaks of yellow throughout, and Phil was reminded of Tony Stark's armor as he looked at the delicate petals.

"The truth is...I am Iron Man."

He could see him then, brash and full of his own kind of fierce defiance. Tony Stark was a headache, it was true, and Phil would never admit it to the man's face, but he respected him a lot more for the questioning of authority and the defiance that led to him joining the Initiative with SHIELD, if only on a consultant basis. He gave a faint smile and placed the marigold in the hole he had dug, smoothing the soft earth around the roots and giving it a fond pat before he turned to dig the next hole.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Holly asked.

He hummed in agreement, digging in the earth again. Holly handed him a delphinium, the dark purple blooms rich as a thundercloud that was pregnant with the sort of rolling strikes of lightning that heralded either heavy storms, denizens of Asgard, or both. His lips quirked in a faint grin as he remembered the first time he'd seen Thor for what he truly was.

"Know this, son of Coul. You and I, we fight for the same cause – the protection of this world. From this day forward you can count me as your ally."

And an ally he had been. He'd found his way back from Asgard when the Initiative had needed him the most. He was a fighter, true, but he was also the most noble man that Phil had the pleasure of knowing. Thor fought his hardest to protect, using his great strength and speed to protect Earth – Midgard, and Jane Foster.

He smoothed the earth over the delphinium's roots, digging another hole where Holly pointed.

His head wasn't as fuzzy as before, and the air was full of the sound of fat buzzing bees as they sampled the fruits of his labor. They dug more holes for the plants, sweat beading at his temples and upper lip. She handed him a geranium, the lush pink with the deep red center reminding him very much of Pepper.

She'd called him Phil, much to Stark's dismay; it was a small victory in a string of battles waged with the billionaire's ego, and it made him just the tiniest bit smug. Still, he was glad she was happy. She kept Stark grounded, kept him fighting for the right things, and she was just as much responsible for Stark doing the right thing as he was. Phil smoothed the dirt around the roots and smiled. He liked Pepper.

"Next one," she said, and handed him a gladiolus. The large cup of the flower was a deep, rich red, tapering out to sharp points at the base and on the petals. It was a delightful little flower, and as he placed it in the ground, Natasha's face swam into view. Sharp and foreboding on the outside, but with a fierce protective streak for those she cared about, the spy had defected to the United States, and then to SHIELD, when it seemed that she could do the most good. She still thought her past deeds needed avenging, though. He smoothed the dirt over the roots of the plant.

She was doing her best, and that was what mattered the most right now. She'd wipe that red from her ledger yet.

A snapdragon was placed in his hands next, along with one of Holly's sunny smiles.

"Be careful, this one's delicate."

It was, he could see. It was fragile, and almost as defiant as Stark in some ways, but it wasn't Stark he saw in the bright purple bloom. It was touched with jagged streaks of red, and he placed it in the ground, wondering if a pot on a balcony wouldn't suit it better. Clint would approve, he thought. Something solitary and brash about the little flower, just like the archer.

Clint might have been closed-mouthed about a lot of things, but as his handler, Phil was privy to a lot of them. He'd helped Clint work through a lot of them, and in some ways, he felt a little like the father Clint had never known. He didn't know if the assassin felt the same, but he was proud of the kid regardless.

The next plant placed in his hands was one he didn't recognize. Beautiful and a delicate purple that darkened to black at the tips, it curled in on its center as if to protect it.

"It's a rare one," Holly said, sitting back on her heels and working a kink from her back. "It's called a Protea flower."

Phil placed it in the ground, smoothing over the roots as his mind wandered to Dr. Banner and his exploits. A good man, although with the dash of the unknown that made him dangerous. He and Stark made unusual colleagues, he and Pepper made unusual friends, and he and the rest of them made a phenomenal team. His fingers brushed the flower petals, a small gesture of respect, and he turned for the next one.

The bright orange of nasturtium caught his eye, and he smiled. The small, sturdy flower was Captain Roosevelt to a tee. He remembered leading the team to find him, helping get him to land and recovered, and at long last meeting his hero. He hadn't gotten his cards signed yet, he hadn't had time. There would be time later. Captain Roosevelt always made time to speak with anyone who needed him, he'd just ask for a minute later.

He smoothed the earth over the plant, the orange flowers bobbing in approval. The next one, however, made him pause. Lavender wafted to his nose, and an old saying of his mother's came to mind.

"Never trust lavender, unless you're looking to kill what ails you."

He took the plant, the dark eyes and cunning face of Thor's brother swimming into view. He placed it in the ground with reluctance, almost as if killing the plant could prevent Loki from striding the earth.

It hadn't prevented it the first time.

Nor had it prevented his crippling attack on the helicarrier. Phil frowned, the memory coming back to him. It was fuzzy, but the pieces fell into place as he smoothed the rich earth over the roots. He looked down at his suit and saw the darkening bloom of red on his white dress shirt.

"Ah," said Holly. "You get it now."

He looked up. Holly stood next to him, looking down at him. In the shadow cast by the brim of her hat, she looked almost pale...skull like. He shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

"Holly was never much of one for gardening." And that was true; she'd hired landscapers as long as he'd known her.

A trill of laughter escaped not-Holly. "Ah, you always were a detail man, Phil. Walk with me?"

He stood, dusting his knees off and leaving the half-planted row. The garden stretched much farther than a small back yard in Oregon should have; he felt as if he could walk miles before seeing the end of the rich natural beauty. If he were to try, it was probably true.

"I don't understand," he said, hands in his pockets as he paced alongside the woman. "Am I...dead?"

“Very nearly,” she said, and stopped to pluck a sprig of hydrangea flowers from the bush. She brought it to her nose and inhaled the scent. “You’re currently in surgery. Unfortunately, you won’t make it. I’ve foreseen it.”

“So, why am I here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t I be…dying?”

“Well, would you rather stand here and talk with me, with the beautiful weather, or would you rather gasp out your last moments on an operating table as your lungs fill with fluid and your heart stops? All in all, I think this is rather nicer.”

“You do have a point.” Phil reached up and caught a cherry blossom. It felt real. It smelled real. "Who are you?"

"Phil, you know." And, all of a sudden, he did.

"Death," he said, his voice quiet.

"Told you that you were a detail man." She tucked the sprig of hydrangea behind one ear. "You're so entwined with Chance and History, you've written yourself a Destiny."

The way she said it levered importance to the words, as if they were beings instead of concepts. Although, he was speaking to the embodiment of Death, so that might just be an understatement. Phil gave a mental shrug. He'd blasted a demi-god back to earth, he could deal with the embodiments of ideas manifesting themselves.

It was amazing what he was willing to accept right about now.

He turned to the landscape, the long vista of beautiful trees and flowers, as peaceful a place as he could manage to think of. Was that why Death had brought him here? Surrounded him in comfort, worn Holly's face? Was it to lull him into security?

"No, I didn't choose the place," she said. He slid a glance to her. Now she wore Natasha’s face, her hair pulled back and clipped behind her head, green eyes turning to regard him with a small smile. "You did. Your personal heaven looks exactly as you choose. As for me? I can look like anyone I choose."

"Didn't think I was good enough to get into Heaven." he said.

"Saving almost the entire population of New York, and subsequently, the world itself, tends to balance the scales in your favor." Her smile was wry. "Even if you did it obliquely."

He chuckled. "Nice to know."

He turned to look at the view again. It was beautiful, and he inhaled the scent of green growing things, flowers and trees and the wet, rich earth. It smelled like home, but he didn't know enough, wasn’t comfortable enough, to stay just yet.

He tipped his head back to look at the sky.

“I never even got to meet my soul mate,” he whispered. It was almost lost with the warm breeze that blew through the hydrangea, shirring blossoms down on their shoulders. Death stopped at a bench he would have sworn wasn’t there before, but it looked like it had been there forever. She sat, and held a hand out to him.

He took it, sitting next to her and feeling the trigger callouses on Natasha’s hand, just as he remembered them.

“Would you like to know who it was?” she asked, and Phil nodded, not looking at her.

“When would I have found out?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t deal in Possibility, only what Is. I am the only Absolute in the universe, after all. Well, me and taxes.” She took a breath, and Phil relaxed, leaning back against the warm wood of the bench as his eyes closed. “But I know you would have loved them very much.”

“Well, of course. I waited almost fifty-one years for them. My…my fifty-first would have been in two months,” he said.

“Passage of time doesn’t matter here. Where have you got to be?” He looked over, and Clint’s warm blue eyes regarded him. He grinned, his legs crossed at the ankle as he leaned back. “Come on, Phil. You lived a good life, and fought the good fight. You earned this. It’s the golden watch, the pension plan. You don’t even need a 401k. You should know, though. They waited much, much longer for you.”

“Was it Holly?” he asked, out of habit. She was younger than he was, but…he’d heard a theory about souls boomeranging to be back with their chosen any way they could. “Could she have been?”

“No. She played beautifully, but it wasn’t your red string she wore on her pinkie, although she loved you every moment she had you.” Nick leaned his elbows on his knees, Death speaking through him. “Good guess, though.”

“Who, then?”

“Do you really want to know?” Death asked, and he could sense that the being had shifted shape again, but before he could raise his eyes to her, his chest began to hurt. He clutched at his bloody work shirt, sliding from the bench to his knees. “Wait. Phil. What are you…hold on. No. This isn’t right.”

“Death?” he asked, his vision going dim. He had a brief glimpse of the face she wore before his sight faded completely. “Death, where are you?”

“Phil, what have they done? What have they done?” Rage filled the being’s voice, and Phil shuddered. “They’re messing in my domain now. They’re not going to like me when they see me. Phil, I need you to let go. Let go. Come back to me.”

“I’m trying. Hurts,” he moaned, his chest feeling like it was on fire. A bright light suffused his vision, and tears streamed down his cheeks. “No, don’t…stop.”

 –he’s not responding to the treatment. I need another dose of GH-325. Don’t argue, just—

“Please, let me die,” he said. His mouth was dry, and it felt like there was acid in his brain. His limbs were sluggish, like they were bolted to the table. He strained, and found he was strapped down, his arms and legs strapped to the table to keep him still. His cries echoed through the chamber, and he could feel the eyes on him as he stared up into the bright lights.

“…please. Let me die,” he begged.

–he’s stabilizing. Keep him awake. Don’t sedate him. We need to reconstruct the neural pathways so we can implement TAHITI. I want him monitored—

“No, please. Stop. Please. Let me die. Let me die, I was happy. Don’t do this,” he said, searching for Death in the harsh light of the operating table. “I saw them. I almost knew…p-please. I want to go back.”

–need you to stay with us, Phil. We’re going to get you through this. You’re going to get through this. Hang on, oh, dammit, he’s crashing again. Get me the epinephrine, now, move—

Phil woke to the smell of mango and passionflowers. He blinked, shifting on the clean sheets, his chest feeling like it was lit up by Christmas lights. Nick Fury sat next to his bed, and a tired eye met his as he struggled to sit up.

“You damned fool i***t,” Nick said. Phil cracked a smile. “I’m going to beat the hell out of you when you can walk again.”

“Nice…” Phil’s voice was a rasp, and he coughed, grimacing. Nick poured him some water, and he sipped it through a straw. “Nice to see you, too.”

“You realize I’m the only one who knows you’re even back yet, right?” he asked. “We had a scare stitching you up, and you were so touch and go that we didn’t know if you were going to make it. Loki’s staff nicked your left ventricle. You’re f*****g lucky he didn’t try to eat your damn heart. What in the hell were you thinking?”

“Thor needed backup.” It sounded stupid, even to his own ears, but he tried to remember what had happened, coming up with a blank. His head hurt as he tried to concentrate on it. He let it slip away for the moment, the haze of the morphine drip too much. “Loki was gonna drop him.”

“Loki did drop him, right after spearing you like a salmon. So don’t give me that. You rest.” He turned to the open windows.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Sigma Base, in Tahiti,” Nick replied. “And it’s damn good to have you back, PJ.”

“Damn good to be back, Marcus,” he said. His eyes slipped closed, and when Nick turned around, he was asleep again. He stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. Agents ducked away from him as he swooped down the hall like a bird of prey, his eye fixated on the door to the outside. When he reached it, he stepped away from the helipad where his Quin waited.

Nick pulled out his cell and punched in his secure line. It was answered on the first ring.

“Melinda May.”

“May, this is Fury. I have a new assignment for you.”