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Jasper Sitwell looked at his watch. It was well past 9 PM.
He went back to the remnants of his black, bitter coffee. Sitting at a table in a polyester booth of a poorly air-conditioned IHOP. He had already eaten his burger and fries, but was now just shuffling in his seat while he waited for Coulson to return. The place was well and empty, with only a single staffer currently washing dishes in the kitchen.
The perfect time for a quiet conversation. If there even would be one.
Sitwell rubbed his head and took off his glasses, and leaned back in his seat. He was quickly losing patience — but protocol required that he remained unassuming and non-confrontational. Unfortunately, he was finding it difficult to be both when he had been sitting in this damn place for hours… this was just not in the docket for him. He was supposed to be sleeping right now, not pretending to enjoy the pleasures of a half-closed Americana fast food drive-in.
He rolled his eyes. I hate this place. This is why no one eats at the tables anymore. Didn’t you people figure this out, what — several decades ago?
But he just clutched his fingers together. It was… fine, he supposed. Coulson was probably being held up by the meeting, or something big was happening that had taken his full attention. Sitwell was impatient to find out what, but he knew if he ever interjected he never would. Coulson had chosen him as his confidant for discussions of the sort, and it was best not to jeopardize their relationship while they still had time.
The door swung open, hitting a tinny bell. Sitwell twisted his head, and let out a deep breath: it was him. Finally.
Coulson strolled in with a stiff lip. Spotting Sitwell immediately, he adjusted his suit and slid into the booth opposite from him. He looked at him with bags under his eyes, like he had spent the entire day out in the blistering sun. Or had been listening to stupid people, with their petty squabbles.
“About time,” Sitwell retorted. “You missed breakfast. What a shame, they make such good pancakes here…"
Coulson gave Sitwell a dirty look, briefly opening his mouth to snap at him… but instead sinking into his seat with bitterness. Sitwell just drank his coffee again, before putting it aside.
“So… it didn’t go well?”
“No. It did not.”
Sitwell scanned Coulson’s face for clues. He wondered whether the blow being dealt here was a bad one. At least, for them.
“Tell me,” he asked. “Did they reject the initiative?”
“Of course not.” Coulson shook his head hurriedly. “They haven’t really made any demands that we are being forced to follow, unless ordered… and the Avengers Initiative is still a framework. We really only have Romanoff and Barton in big consideration at this point, as well as — you know.” He waved it away.
“Yeah,” Sitwell agreed. “But I think I've hit the point of discussion —"
“It is about that,” Coulson scowled. “They did make a request. The most idiotic, ill-conceived request imaginable.”
Sitwell leaned in.
“They want Blonsky on the team,” Coulson stated. His voice dripping with ice.
Sitwell’s mouth fell open. “The Abomination?”
“Sure. No one there apparently likes it when anyone calls him that, so… just a heads up.”
Sitwell was stunned. The Abomination? The monster who wrecked half of Manhattan? That??
And here I am then… sympathizing with Fury for once. Unbelievable.
“What about Harlem, then?”
“They're going to make an attempt to pin it on Banner,” Coulson sighed. “The US military is already being heavily scrutinized after being outed by the whole affair, leading to lots of skepticism and doubt — something they can’t afford to lose if they want to continue to make a good impression in the public eye. And Elizabeth Ross is an excellent whistleblower, but she knows very, very little about Blonsky’s involvement. Banner is an easy target.”
Sitwell nodded. “So when it comes to Blonsky…"
“They want to frame him as a war hero, as the good guy,” explained Coulson. “Then exoneration, release and addition to the roster. They think it would be easy to do, since very little people have evidence to prove what he’s done otherwise. But I have a suspicion it will lay the groundwork for a good scandal in the intervening years.”
“So,” Sitwell gestured. “We just provide enough evidence to the public through the woman to show otherwise! We already have some, enough that we can stop this —"
“Yeah, about that,” Coulson interrupted, chuckling. “We do have some that we've already given to her. Not enough, however. And besides… these cases take a long time to happen. The WSC wants an answer right now.”
Sitwell tilted his head in confusion.
“They think we have him?”
“We've told them what we already know. That Blonsky is currently in Ross’s sector at the Pentagon. They'll need to speak to him before the man gets released, and… he’s currently unavailable.”
“Missing?” Sitwell stared.
“No, just drunk. Last reported in New Jersey, waiting for the trial to begin. He’s not going anywhere.”
“And does Director Fury even want Blonsky?”
“Of course not,” Coulson grinned, like that was obvious. "He told them offhandedly to fuck off.”
Sitwell shrugged. Not very surprising, he thought. The scariest person we know. A real problem for anyone who crosses him — a genuine threat.
“But he’s still committed, I'm assuming?”
Coulson nodded. "He can’t ignore an explicit directive. So, he’s asking us to make sure we don’t have to.”
“To do something… to make something else not — happen?” Sitwell shuffled uncomfortably, and looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then he looked at Coulson. "How the hell does that work?”
“What I mean is…" Coulson cleared his throat. “We need to send a liaison to the General within the next twenty-four hours. We get to choose, and their job will be to convince the General to hand Blonsky over. Simple.”
“And we don’t want him.”
“No. So we don’t want it to work.”
“Ah,” Sitwell looked out of the window into the night, watching the road and considering the options. He loosened his tie a little so he could think better — unlike other cases, he was willing to collaborate. The alternative was a step too overt.
“Then we send a patsy,” he finally decided. “Someone to sabotage the debriefing.”
"How?” Coulson squinted.
“Someone who’s so inept, and affable…" Sitwell stroked his chin. “That it will sway General Ross to refuse the request. I could do that — I make a great patsy,” he pointed to himself, chuckling. “Excellent at screwing things up on purpose.”
Cutting it close there.
“Yes,” Coulson snickered. “Your patsy is legendary. In fact,” he sneered at him. “When I think of the word patsy —"
"Ha ha ha. Don’t rub it in.” Sitwell’s smile wiped itself off his face.
“Wasn’t going to,” Coulson said mischievously. “But maybe, it'll be too obvious…"
“Well, if you have any other ideas at hand… we have Barton, we have Hill,” Sitwell counted them off. “Neither of them great at being a patsy, which I'd think they'd appreciate. You know of anyone we can trust?”
"Hmm. What’s your clearance level?” Coulson raised an eyebrow.
"Heh, that’s funny,” Sitwell said sarcastically. “Level six, same as you.”
Coulson didn’t respond. He just looked Sitwell up and down.
Then, Sitwell got a strange feeling… and he stared at Coulson, leaning forward with his arms on the table.
No. Really? “There’s a level seven?”
Coulson shrugged.
When did I — in all my years of being part of this damn company, I… Sitwell rubbed off the sweat that had suddenly accumulated on his forehead. I never heard anything like this. How did I miss this in my reports?
This is unacceptable. Negligent of me. What does this even… how has Fury even…
“A level seven??” Sitwell repeated, eyes widening.
Coulson just cupped his hands together. “I wouldn’t know. But it wouldn’t surprise me, honestly… you know, there’s always something else at the top.”
He shook his head. “Now, I'm thinking that for this, we need a slightly different skill set. If we want the General to refuse this request… then we need to send someone who we know can annoy him. He is a bitter, spiteful old man and I'm sure he won’t listen to most people. But that’s not enough.”
“Well… there’s always —"
“Someone arrogant. Abrasive with a disdain for authority… someone capable of offending people to their very core.”
Sitwell looked at Coulson, trying not to think about his current clearance level — be a professional. Yet the person he was speaking of was super obvious… he just hadn’t realized it yet. Just like Coulson didn’t realize much about most things with him.
“You're talking about the Consultant, aren’t you?”
“No, I'm not.” Coulson snapped his mouth closed.
“You just described him to a tee.”
“I am telling you right now, stop it.” Coulson lectured. “I'm not calling the Consultant.”
“Wha — why not?” Sitwell huffed. “Is he really that busy?”
“Always!” Coulson insisted. “Especially right now, after what happened when we left for New Mexico.”
"He’s not the CEO though anymore, is he?” Sitwell asked. "He owns a private jet. I'm sure he can drop by New Jersey if he —"
“When we did this song and dance last year,” Coulson muttered. "He held me up, all the time. Fury was waiting for me to report to him constantly — there was a real chance back then that I thought I wouldn’t be able to see him. Now, we have to send someone within 24 hours —"
“But you managed to see him,” Sitwell interrupted. “And now you're friends. It won’t hurt to try, will it?”
“I — I don’t know,” Coulson said blearily, throwing up his hands. “I don’t even know where he is! He could around the other side of the world, for all we know.”
“Considering what he’s doing, I'm sure he is,” Sitwell said impatiently. “Just call him, Phil. For Christ’s sake.”
“Okay, okay —" Coulson brought out his phone. “I'll put it on speaker.”
The phone rang. After a minute, the call connected.
Sitwell drew in a sharp breath as he heard him on the phone. “Agent Dunham. What’s up?”
Sitwell smirked at Coulson. I told you so. Coulson just moved the phone closer to him, looking miffed. “Stark, I normally don’t do this…"
“Ah. I'm needed?”
“Just a small, simple task. You know General Ross?”
A slight giggle came out. One of those laughs that predated some long-due mischief. “Oooh... you bet your ass I have.”
"He’s in New Jersey,” Coulson continued. “I'll send you the details of places he might be, but essentially you are… being asked, not by us but by the World Security Council… if, uh, we can add Blonsky to the Avengers.”
Silence — you could almost hear a pin drop. Sitwell wondered if Stark was also processing the absurdity of this endeavor.
“Seriously?”
“Unfortunately,” Coulson confirmed. “Fury’s busy, but he asked us to find someone. To complicate matters.”
“I see.” They heard shuffling on the phone. “Well, good news for you, my friend — I'm actually in the city right now. Stark Tower.”
Sitwell lit up a little, hearing this. “Is that —"
“Shh. Yes.” Coulson raised a finger to his mouth.
"— So I have time to pop over to Jersey for a bit. I'll contact you when I've finished… in any case, I'm glad you've brought this to my attention. It would have been a shame if I had found out too late…" Stark trailed off, his voice laden with irritation.
The call ended. Sitwell looked at Coulson expectantly.
“Yeah, I'll admit it,” Coulson said reluctantly. “It was a good idea.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Sitwell said, smiling forcefully. “I hope you won’t mind if I head back to my motel now? I am overdue for some sleep.”
“No.”
They parted.
Jasper Sitwell looked at his watch. It was well past 7 AM.
The IHOP behind him was now back open. He looked around at the gravel highway that marked the long stretch of desert between Albuquerque and the Mexico border, before turning and reentering the diner, while straightening his tie.
The place was now slightly more open, with more patrons ordering breakfast at the booths — and a familiar man at the same exact table from last night, now helping himself to a stack of pancakes. Coulson still had those bags under his eyes, but he beamed at Sitwell as he sat back down in front of him.
“You were right. These pancakes are good.” He reached out and grabbed a serviette.
“Glad to hear,” Sitwell said, uninterested. "How did it go?”
“Mission accomplished,” Coulson said, with a twinkle in his eye. “The Abomination remains in its cage. And if we're lucky, it'll remain there... there is apparently someone else I'm hearing about in the news who’s in support for its release. Someone with close ties to the soldier that Blonsky once was; but she shouldn’t be a concern.”
“Interesting,” Sitwell narrowed his eyes. “And the Consultant?”
“Outdid himself. Ross got so mad, he tried to have him removed from the bar. Stark responded by buying the place. It’s scheduled for renovation next Thursday.”
Sitwell sniggered. He was not surprised to hear this — it, of course, would have been a foregone conclusion for Tony Stark. He was always determined as they were. That warranted a lot of admiration to consider for the future.
“Stark says I now owe him a drink,” Coulson finished, chewing. “That sly bastard. He owes a damn bar now, he can get one himself.”
“So that’s done, then. And what about the Hulk?” Sitwell asked. “I suppose the WSC will have to change their minds?”
Coulson rolled his eyes. “They're open to it. Stark said he is going to try and convince them to enlist Bruce Banner for consideration, and neither me nor Fury are going to stop him.”
“Will it… be hard to do that? The Hulk wasn’t so different from the Abomination, wasn’t it?”
"Hmm. Banner is an interesting case,” Coulson replied thoughtfully. “From what Betty is saying, he made the choice to stop the creature himself, taking initiative. He has a lot of problems, but he seems to have found something to work with in the midst of them… and that, I would say, is pretty heroic. Besides, the man who controls him seems like someone worth working with.”
Duly noted, thought Sitwell. Something to keep in mind.
“So with all that done with,” he said slowly. “It does seem like the Avengers are now a definite possibility. Are they?”
Coulson chuckled. He put down his knife and fork, and looked out of the window wistfully.
“You know: if you had asked me that several years ago when Fury came up with the idea originally, I honestly would have said no. It did seem like a strange idea then, and we had only an inkling of a reason for it — I mean, that’s how it felt when it came to me.” He gestured to himself. “But… the more I see in this job, the more we see…"
He raised an eyebrow at Sitwell. “The more I start to understand why he felt it was necessary. And it did start with an idea — but it was only in recent years that he decided to fully commit to it.”
I definitely could notice a change, Sitwell remembered. It must have been when he became more secretive. When he started locking up his own office, at least as far as I've heard others say… or maybe when something happened to his eye…
A lot of curiosities there. I need to know more about them — but it seems like Coulson will not have the answers.
“When you say that you saw what he saw… what do you mean by that?”
Coulson’s face remained still.
“We saw a small glimpse of it already,” he just said. “Back in June. But —" he sighed. “There’s more to it than that. Just in general in the last few years, I've noticed that something has… changed. Not just in Fury, but in the world around us — more strange things happening every day, more things that we've needed to cover up.”
“But… it can’t last.”
“No,” Coulson agreed. “Everyone’s already been scared shitless by what happened in Harlem. Once they see what else is happening… everything as we know it is fundamentally going to change. It’s like I said yesterday: there’s always something else at the top.”
Wise words to live by, thought Sitwell rebelliously.
“I'm kind of excited about it,” he said. “A new world order. Something new for us — something different.”
“Really?” Coulson stabbed a fork into his pancakes. “I guess it may be. But be careful what you wish for.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not much,” Sitwell said mysteriously. “And as long as SHIELD is in charge, there will always be some sense of normalcy. We just have to seize every opportunity we can.”
Coulson frowned. He looked at Sitwell with confusion. But Sitwell remained impassive, turning to the aisle to wait for a server to come up, so that he could order.
“Once we've finished here,” he just said. “We'll head back to base.”
Sitwell looked out of the window, against from Coulson. It is a beautiful day, he thought happily. And he grinned — one of those smiles that predated long-due retribution.
I can’t wait to see what the future holds.