"-No, no, I don't give a flying fuck," Fury was snarling into his head piece as he strode purposefully down a hallway in the bowels of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Different day, same old shit, it never ended. He ended the call abruptly (fuck them, they didn't want hear what he was saying, so he sure as hell wasn't going to listen to them) and scowled as a door in the hall ahead of him opened. This was sure to be some other annoying interruption because god forbid he ever got a few fucking minutes to himself. It was lunchtime, god dammit.
When the motherfucker creeping through the door turned out to be Stark, Fury brightened considerably (his deep scowl became a small frown) and he nodded in greeting. What was Stark doing here today? Some kind of experiment with the portal, that was it. Coulson was in charge of that. "How'd it go, asshole?" he asked, almost cheerfully. He clapped Stark on the back hard, but he only paused for a second before he jerked his head for the other man to follow him. He was a busy man, and there was a nice steak waiting for him at his favorite strip joint.