(This is not my chapter and the credit of the characters goes to their respective authors)
Funnily enough, it was Coulson who met Percy first. He had been in contact with the demigod long before any of his colleagues. One could even say that their first meeting hadn't even been that odd!
Well, it was slightly odd, and not quite the best of meetings either, but still. That was life.
It was a sunny Thursday morning and Coulson was happily taking the newest of the Tech Department's gadgets out for a spin – their recently created armoured computerized "spy" car. In reality it was named the FRI-16.79 Vehicular Unit or something similar, but Coulson and the other childishly excited agents were happy to call it the "Bond" car.
Now, as a senior and trusted agent, Coulson got to be the first to take it out for an urban drive. The sleek car purred softly as it rolled across the pavement, and the man enjoyed the sensation of power under his hands. The techies were chatting in his ear over the comm, discussing the data they were getting from the sensors.
"Okay, Coulson, try out the computer-controlled mode," said the senior researcher.
Coulson's finger hovered over the button, but he asked doubtfully, "Is it really a good idea to let it go computerized in a city? There're obstacles everywhere."
The researcher scoffed. "We've already run it through simulations; it works perfectly."
Of course that just jinxed it.
The first few minutes were fine, with Coulson warily eyeing the manual takeover button. It was just when he was starting to relax that it happened.
A firetruck, with sirens wailing, roared through the intersection behind them. The car, programmed in 'civilian' mode to move out of the way, sped up to clear the road. Of course, the programming stopped there and it continued to speed along, heading straight for a moving truck parked at the side of the road.
"Shit!" Coulson switched the modes and grabbed the wheel as quickly as he could, but he couldn't completely avoid the collision. He clipped the truck, enough that it shuddered and skidded a foot, and he groaned as he came to a halt a few meters away. "Simulations my ass," he growled, and undid his seatbelt. He climbed from the car and looked it over – at least the techies had done the armoring right because there wasn't much more than a small dent and a scratch on the paint.
"Hey!" called a voice from behind him. Coulson turned and saw a man in a green T-shirt and black pants standing next to the truck, arms crossed and scowling.
"I apologize for the inconvenience," Coulson said, stepping forward and pulling a textbook face of innocence distress. "My car's driving capabilities fell short and I wasn't able to avoid your vehicle. I'd be willing to cover any damage costs." It'll be coming from those techies' pockets, he thought as he sent a glance at the truck. He hoped that if anything inside had broken it was insanely expensive.
"You better be. These shipments of mine cost money and effort," the man said, turning back to the truck's contents. Coulson followed and winced when he saw the mess inside. Glass bottles were thrown about, most of them shattered and their strong-smelling liquids on the floor.
Coulson wrinkled his nose at the mess and silently grumbled over the fact that he had to wreck the goods of a bartender of all people. Spilled alcohol was always so annoying to deal with. Picking up one of the unbroken bottles, he raised his eyebrow when he saw a completely unfamiliar label. Bloody Spear Mescal, Ambrosia Brewery it read, with a red background and, unsurprisingly, a spear with small flames licking around it. Underneath were the slanted words 'Unique to the Golden Fleece' and the little stamp that showed legal authorisation. A glance across the street proved that a bar of the same name was pressed to the quiet street. Huh, it was an odd day if the alcohol truck he crashed into didn't even have illegal alcohol.
"Is this of your make?" he asked, putting the bottle down.
"Yeah; it's my regular shipment from a brewery a friend gave me. It's pain in the ass because you can't order back up stock from anywhere." The man didn't look happy, but Coulson was pleased to note that he didn't seem angry with him.
He watched the man rearrange the last of the salvageable bottles in a basket, then pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.
"Here, write down your name and address and I'll get the company to reimburse you."
"Thanks." The man handed back the paper a moment later, and Coulson considered it as he walked back to his car.
"Percy Jackson," he said as he put the car in drive. "Interesting."
————
Coulson returned to that homely bar several days later with an envelope of money to cover the damages to Percy Jackson's business. It was, of course, SHIELD's money (actually, the arrogant scientist's pay for the next month and a half) but it was disguised as a discreet accident insurance company, one that the spy agency had created for this very purpose.
The inside of the bar was as comfortable looking as the outside, with tasteful dark accidents and a warm atmosphere. Percy was there at the bar counter, working alongside a hostile-looking man with red hair.
"Good evening," Percy said as he took a seat at the counter. "Can I get you anything? The Stiff Medusa Shots are on special, if you're waiting for friends, as well as Hearth Cognac if you want something to warm you up."
"I'll just have," he scanned the list of specialty drinks (he recognized the drink from earlier, but mescal was too strong for him), "a glass of Leopardali, please."
Some wine would do him good.
Percy moved efficiently and slid him his drink a moment later. It was a strange red-amber color, with black bubbles floating lazily to hover at the surface. Leopard indeed. Coulson hummed as he enjoyed the rich flavour of the liquor, and then extricated the envelope from his coat pockets.
"I don't know if you remember my face, but after the collision a few days ago my company came up with the compensation money and asked me to deliver it.
Percy accepted the envelope, and after a cursory glance at the address and stamp on it he put it in a cupboard under the counter. "Thanks," he said. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble."
"It was none at all. On another topic, when was this bar opened? I don't come through this neighbourhood often, but a year or so ago it wasn't here."
"Yeah, I just started up recently."
As Percy spoke, Coulson's gaze wandered to the cabinet behind the counter - and the assortment of ornamental but definitely usable daggers hanging there, easily within the bartender's reach but just out that of any visitor.
Interesting, he thought again.
He returned to the bar the next week. And the week after that, and again...
————
Months then years flew by, and Coulson maintained a firm friendship with Percy. They hit numerous rough patches (like that time Percy got attacked on a walk and displayed his fighting prowess, and that time he got pushed off a bridge and didn't die when he hit the water, and when Coulson revealed his status as a spy when he tracked down what they thought was a bunch of vigilantes and accidentally put Percy and the group of huntresses at gun point) but they always laughed it off and carried on. It wasn't until one day when Nick dropped a recruitment mission folder on his desk and Percy's name was in it that things began to change.
"What is it?" The ever observant Nick noticed his pause immediately, but left him to it when the agent just shook his head.
So Nick and Percy will finally meet, he thought, rubbing his chin idly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cheer or cry – his two goods friends, both strong and with differing levels of paranoia; they could become allies.
Or, both strong and with differing levels of paranoia, they could rip each other apart.
It was an experiment worth conducting.
—————
Hours later, Coulson didn't quite know what to think. Percy and Nick had met, and while they hadn't clashed, they hadn't clicked either. It was like there was a sputter of something, like both were curious but too cautious to just leap forward like regular people.
When he caught sight of Nick testing the bottle of liquor Percy had handed over, he had to hide a smirk. Any other gift from any other unknown would have found its way into the garbage the minute Nick returned to his office. Instead the chocolate-skinned director sat at his desk, looking pleasantly befuddled at the fire the drink had left behind.
Coulson chuckled amusedly and made a silent bet with himself – if Percy and Nick developed... something (even just a close friendship) within the next year, he would treat himself with two more commemorative, limited edition Captain America trading cards. He was confident he'd be getting his prize – but the months passed, steady as always, and Nick, the insufferable spy he was, didn't give anything away. Nick was a strong and independent character – he wasn't one to gossip or talk about feelings and new developments. Coulson wouldn't be getting any news from him.
So he went to Percy. Mid-Sunday afternoon, before Percy would open the bar and the day before his new shipment, Coulson found himself at the front stoop of the comfortable home.
He knocked lightly on the door and called his friend's name. He shrugged when there was no answer and bent down to jiggle the lock. The enchantments Percy's more powerful 'friends' had placed were keyed to recognize him as a friend, so they didn't send out an alert or whisk him to some unknown dungeon, like that one unfortunate would-be thief. He shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. The kitchen and living room were empty, so he idly crept up the staircase to the second floor. He froze when his head cleared the railing and he caught sight of the open library area across from Percy's office and the bedrooms.
Laying there on the couch was Percy. He was wrapped around another man, who was frighteningly familiar. They were both still with sleep, bodies lax and breathing steady.
Percy Jackson was napping on his boss Nick Fury.
Coulson really wanted to spontaneously start cackling. He was right! He had predicted it, and was so looking forward to waving his newly-confirmed knowledge in Nick's face (along with his new trading cards).
But he couldn't randomly erupt into laughter, because both Percy and Nick were monsters when rudely awakened. So he did the next best thing.
He whipped out his phone and began to snap pictures. He was nearly a hundred percent certain that Percy's friends and godly watchers would love to see this scene, and no way was he going to miss out on this blackmail material.
There was a restless shift as the two sleeping men felt the devious aura radiating from Coulson. The spy quickly pocketed his phone and its incriminating evidence, and hurried from the apartment.
It was time to visit that pawn shop he'd been watching – he had to buy those Captain America cards before anyone else did...