❝ your allies will die or go mad. you'll never know whom to trust. you'll never have a normal relationship. and if you do find love, as impossible as it is, you must remember one rule. the most important rule: never have kids. NEVER. ❞ - n.r.
COVERS...
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But my name is a secret I'm tired of keeping.
Nick Fury slowly walks up to the canter that waits for him. He wears his usual clothes, the long leather jacket and the black eyepatch to cover away his scarred face. To the world, Nicholas J. Fury is long gone and buried in a nice green grass cemetery. He needs to keep it that way; or, really, he wants to keep it that way. No one is coming to bother him with updates on the latest missions. He doesn't have to think about any agents he is worried has turned or any stupid Avengers making stupid decisions. He isn't being shot down or slammed into by some insane assassins. Everything has been relatively silent in the wake of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fall. Who knew that being dead would be so relaxing?
Fury stares at the tactical equipment, information, and weapons he's spent years gathering and preparing in case he would ever need them. They were his preparation for the bad days. They were his backup for when things went so haywire that he had nowhere else to turn. And, now, none of that matters anymore.
Fury walks through the small canter, keeping his face blank. His fingerprint allows a small box to open, revealing his passport, his gun, and a few other choice items. He changes into civilian clothes, watching in the mirror as he pulls off his eyepatch and replaces it with a pair of dark shades. As he pours gasoline around, he pauses by a cabinet. He pulls the second of the many metal drawers open, staring down at the countless cream files housed within. He blinks tiredly and takes in a small breath as he sifts through them until he comes to one marked: Natalia Romanova. He pulls it out and leans back against the other wall, flicking the file open.
The ragged picture of a young woman is covering the right half of the profile. Her green eyes glare into the camera and her red hair falls around her cheeks and she has that all-knowing smirk cutting across her lips. She was so young when she earned her badge. Just a kid. She still kind of is. Nick thinks most people forget that. Natasha is strong and wise beyond her years, but she is still young. She doesn't deserve to go through the misery she does. The ex-director taps his finger down the profile and stops at the non-redacted familial category.
Unknown, Father.
Unknown, Mother.
Unnamed, Child, Deceased.
He supposes they all can forget that last part now. Plan B, or whatever the heck HYDRA called her, is very much alive. Even if that kid did survive hell in order to meet her mother, Nick is relieved to know that his number one agent isn't going to be completely alone without S.H.I.E.L.D. Besides, she's got the Avengers to make sure she stays in trouble.
It is the file that catches fire first. Nick watches as the words crinkle and burn away. After the words declaring Natasha Romanoff alone have completely blacked out, Nick slowly backs out of the canter.
Everything else goes up in flames.
His eyepatch catches fire along with stacks of old passports and his countless files. Stepping back, he watches the past burn, marking the end of an era. Along with the decades long war between the heroes and the villains, the age of S.H.I.E.L.D. has come to a close. Still, that means HYDRA has been exposed. It means that a man and a child being forced to murder are free. It means that all those people who were killed did die for something.
