Phil Coulson (secretagentman) wrote in ageofmarvels, @ 2016-03-31 20:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | agent coulson |
Narrative: Pew Pew
Characters: Phil Coulson (Open to SHIELD)
NPCs: ---
Location: SHIELD HQ, NYC
Timeline: 3/31
Description: Phil is anxious to play with his new toy.
Rating: PG
4:36... Phil glanced anxiously at the package that sat on the edge of his desk. There was work to be done, and that work was so very important. Life or death, world saving kind of work. It was always that intense. Still, there was a part of him that resisted studying topographical maps of the Peshawar region, part of his brain that was with that package.
4:41... If he just waited it out a few more minutes, then most of the in-office staff would be gone, and their judgy faces would go with it. Sure, there was skeleton crew. International agencies like SHIELD weren't known for their off hours, but still, there would be less people. Certainly there would be less busy bodies who might barge in and ruin his moment of excitement. He drummed his fingers on the desktop as he stared at satellite images. Trucks moving to and fro. Probably all transporting a heck of a lot of no good. He committed it to memory for the next briefing—time stamps, patterns, and even when things stayed oddly the same.
5:01... He could hear a gaggle of analysts leaving together for the day, discussing hypothetical scenarios about whether an astronaut or caveman would win in a fight. He smiled. People were leaving. He leaned back in his seat, craning his neck to look down the hall and see if anyone looked ready to pop in and bother him. He scooted closer to the hallway door with his chair, fingertips reaching out to push it closed. It was time.
He tore into the package with glee (and a little frustration at how well it had been taped). With a little bit of effort, he freed his delivery from the packaging, turning over the vintage Captain America doll in his hands. He marveled for a second at how it really looked nothing like the man, but the likeness could be about more than just about facial features. He already had one of these, of course. In mint condition. One that had been sealed away for display and that human hands would only touch again over his cold, dead body. This one was the one meant to be touched, meant to be experienced. It clearly had a little wear and tear to it, but he could feel the history in it, even as he held it in his hand. The children born after World War II would have played with this. Kids who grew up in a world a little freer in some ways and a lot more scared in others. It was the post-atomic age. Cap represented a purity in justice that Coulson sometimes doubted existed anymore. They were post-atomic, post-terror, post-mystery bullets killing off.
Still, it was nice to remember what they could aspire to. He propped its lumpy doll feet on the edge of his desk, propping up its gunholding hand with a finger. "Pew pew!"