Alexander Pierce looked up when he heard the door to his office open.
Director Fury closed the door behind him and paused at the other end of the room, looking around slowly at the cityscape that graced the face of every floor-to-ceiling window in the room.
“Every time,” he said, finally turning to Pierce and catching his wrist behind his back. “Every time I come up here I end up going back jealous of this view. Incredible.
” He walked forward slowly, a smile on his lips. It seemed genuine, but Pierce knew him better.
Hardly was Nickolas Fury genuine unless he wished to genuinely display how irritated he was in particular situations.
“Nick, how good to see you.” Pierce responded. “And yes, the view is quite remarkable.”
Fury eventually arrived at Pierce’s desk.
Pierce looked up expectantly. “What can I do for you, old friend?”
Fury laid a stack of folders on Pierce’s desk. “I sent you an email about the situation with the STRIKE team a while back, didn’t I? I recall that I did—it was a few weeks ago.
You said I should tell you the ideas I have and so I’m here now telling you my ideas.” He paused, raising his eyebrows.
“Of course I had emailed you back about that first, but you never responded, so I figured I’d come up here. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”
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