Logs:Insecurity Theatre

Insecurity Theatre
CN: reference to gaslighting
Dramatis Personae Clint, Fury
In Absentia Elie, Lucien	2024-08-17 "This hogwash supposed to tell you if my head's been fucked with?"
Location <NYC> Roof Deck - Fury's Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
An easy walk from Times Square, this is a two-bedroom penthouse apartment in a carefully restored historic building, its southern exposure affording an excellent view and letting in as much natural light as the season allows. It's sparsely decorated -- a scattering of framed historical photographs of the city on the pale gray walls -- but comfortably appointed in chic monochrome. The kitchen is definitely the focus of this residence, its black marble and steel kept scrupulously clean and well-provisioned. The master bedroom is capacious, with a queen sized bed and its own bath to boot, but to the observant eye it shows few signs of regular use. The smaller bedroom is set up as an office with a twin bed and entirely too much advanced computer equipment, its door usually kept closed when there are visitors. There's no uninvited guest when Fury gets in, but there is a sticky note on the outside of his plate glass window, bearing only a chevron drawn in purple marker, pointing up. Fury's roof deck is, like his apartment, lovely but bland and little-used. There's a high-end set of black-and-white patio furniture arrayed around a fire pit, some tasteful low-maintenance ornamental plants, the obligatory infinity pool, and an astroturfed terrace--ostensibly meant for rooftop lawn games, but the embedded lighting and reflective paint around the edge are excellent for VTOL guidance, and it is really just the right size for landing a Quinjet. How about that. Clint is sitting on none of the fancy furniture, but rather atop the glass brick parapet wall. He's in black tactical gear, the lightweight set he favors for training, his bow folded away and clipped to his quiver, his goggles hanging from around his neck. He doesn't look at Fury immediately, though he has the roof access firmly in his peripheral vision and definitely knows when his host has joined him. "You remember when we first met?" Fury scoffs and wanders downwind of Clint, producing a pack of Newport Menthols and an ancient Zippo, leaning against the wall sideways to face the younger man. "You running the MAIN protocol on me?" He flips the lighter open and strikes until the cigarette catches. "I'll bite. You broke into my office looking for a piece of tech like a goddamn amateur. I caught you and thought you had potential, so I took a chance and offered you a better job." His eye fixes sharp on Clint. "I ain't never had cause to doubt that choice, not in any way that matters. Not yet." He raises his right brow expectantly. "Is that enough? Or you want me to break out some direct quotes." Clint turns to stare more comprehensively out at the city spread below. "That's plenty. I'm actually running the Telepathic Intrusion Detection and Evaluation protocol." He signs the letters of the acronym as he speaks. "You've given me plenty of reasons to doubt taking you up on that offer, but I'm still here. Draw your own conclusions." He turns back to Fury more fully, eyes searching his perpetual scowl. "Why did you let me get so close to you?" Fury's eye narrows. "Is that your interpretation of TIDE, or you just getting sentimental on me?" He leans a little harder on the smooth flat top of the parapet. "It's a shit choice either way. But if you need it for you detection and evaluation..." He looks down and flicks his cigarette meditatively. "You're dedicated, you work hard, and you're insanely skilled at something nobody expects." He pauses minutely. "You see what most folks miss, and you'll call my bullshit." "Bullshit," Clint says immediately, but he's smiling, even if only faintly. "You never listen, and the other things apply to most of your agents. You trust Coulson and Hill as much as you trust me, probably more, and you've certainly worked with them longer. But you haven't invited them to your..." He looks around the rooftop with a mild expression that isn't quite judgmental. "...least fake decoy home." "That you know of." The defensive tone of Fury's reply more or less confirms Clint's observation. "Look, you were going through some shit, and I ain't heartless." He takes a long drag on his cigarette and puffs out a smoky laugh. "Guess I'm the one getting sentimental. Don't get it twisted, though. You're my agent first and foremost, and that shit was getting in the way of your duties." Clint nods absently. "I know your priorities." There's no hint of criticism or malcontent in this. It's as neutral and impassive as a verbal report on an uneventful mission. "You're still the closest thing I've ever had to a real father. That's kind of fucked up, but it means something to me, and I think it does to you, too." "Did I stutter or did your ears --" Fury breaks off and pulls on his cigarette instead. When he picks back up he sounds reluctantly conciliatory. "I said I ain't heartless. But I ain't no role model neither, and I sure as hell didn't sign up to be nobody's father." He switches his cigarette from one hand to the other, uncomfortable close to fidgeting. "This hogwash supposed to tell you if my head's been fucked with? You need to re-read the goddamn documentation." "My ears don't want to be involved with anything that's going on here." Clint gestures palm-up at the space between them. "But my eyes read the goddamn documentation several times. I guess you blotted the 'emotional recall and empathic response' module from your memory. You didn't even notice me running the other ones." Under different circumstances, he might be a bit smug about pulling one over on Director Nicholas J Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D., but under the current one he just sounds kind of resigned. "The only thing it's told me is these protocols needs a lot of work, ideally by someone who actually knows things--plural--about telepathy. Right now, it's just security theatre. And not even good security theatre. This is the Cats of security theatre." He purses his lips thoughtfully. "Don't tell Coulson I said that." "Sneaky sonuvabitch," sounds decidedly like a compliment despite the deepening of Fury's scowl that attends it. "Maybe your mystery telepath done erased it from my memory." He is probably not taking Clint's suspicion all that seriously, nor is he dismissing it altogether. "I ain't hiring no mutants if that's what you mean. Don't have to be a mutant to know from mutants, though." He strokes his beard and turns around to lean against the wall. "Wait, is this --" He catches himself and turns to face Clint again. "Is this about Tessier?" Half a beat later. "Lu -- you know which one I mean. Errbody on my staff been losing they minds, Ionno why I thought you wouldn't have heard." A minute hunch in his posture that suggests he would like to cross his arms, but cannot do so while handling a cigarette. "Coulson loves Cats, you know." "If you think I'm sneaky, you should see the guy I learned from." Clint pauses a beat, the twitch at the corner of his mouth almost like a smile. "Except you can't, he's too sneaky." He studies Fury's face, scarred and lined and craggy. "This 'Mister Tessier' thing has to be a bit by now, and it's not...not about him." His flat expression droops a little. "You hurt him. How could you just dismiss what happened to him like that? Did you even investigate? I don't know what his mother told you--" His jaw tightens visibly. "I don't care what his mother told you. Trust him. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith." He turns his face up to the hazy sky, where only a few stars are visible. "He's worth it." Fury's face contorts with anger that he does not voice. He just sucks harder on his cigarette, and blows a long stream of smoke into the night. Finally, "So you think his ma brainwashed me, and that's how I realized what the real problem's been all along? Shit. You a paranoid sonuvabitch, too." He gives a quiet scoff. "Considering where you learned that, I only got myself to blame. This ain't about what Madame Tessier said or whose 'side' I'm taking. We're all on his side!" He runs a hand over his scalp. "Now, he don't see that, so yeah, it hurt him to hear it from me. But he's been hurting a long time, on account of he needs help. I sure would like to bring him in and sort it out where he's safe, but that boy is slippery as a greased eel, and he done rabbitted twice already." He fixes Clint with a keen look. "He still trusts you." Clint's jaw tightens "If I'm being more paranoid than you are, maybe that's a sign you should step back and think real hard about why you're so unsuspicious of Madame Tessier. But..." His eyes search Fury's face, and though his expression doesn't change something suggests he did not find what he was looking for. "He does need help," he admits, reluctantly. "And he does trust me, but only to a point. He knows I answer to you, and you could ask me to...bring him in. The best way for you to help me help him right now is to back off. Let me handle this my way." His eyes narrow slightly at something in the distance along the Hudson piers, but the expression underlines the note of finality in his request. "You may not have signed up to--" He turns sharply back to Fury, eyes narrowing further. "Wait, were you serious about Coulson and Cats?"