Title: Mortem Cantor: Behind the Shield

Summary: It was a good thing the new scientist, Dr. Harry Evans, was working out so well. Because nothing else was going Fury's way. And that was before Loki made off with the Tesseract and some of his people. Maybe AU to Mortem Cantor by Kyandua.

Characters: Nicholas Fury, Harry Potter

Rating: T for Fury's language, lots of it

Disclaimer: Merely borrowing the characters and plot lines. The Harry Potter series belongs to J. K. Rowling. The Marvel Cinematic Universe (Avengers, Thor, Ironman, Hulk, Captain America, etc) belong to Marvel. Mortem Cantor (excluding parts that belong to the Harry Potter or Marvel Cinematic Universe) belongs to Kyandua. You'll also find occasional references to other movies, which belong to their respective owners.

PLEASE READ:

This story is essentially a fanfiction of Mortem Cantor, which is an Avengers/Harry Potter crossover fanfiction. This means that this story may or may not be Mortem Cantor compliant, just like fanfictions are not always canon-compliant. Also, if you haven't read Mortem Cantor, this story may not make much sense, so please read that story first: ffnet/s/8240089/1/Mortem-Cantor

M.C. Chapter references are provided based on chapter names, not Fanfiction's automatic chapter numbering system.

ooo

Chapter 1: Fury's Very Bad Day

[Backstory immediately prior to Mortem Cantor Chapter 1]

The dustup in New Mexico was bad enough to read on paper. It got worse when Agents Barton and Coulson returned to Headquarters, and Fury had to listen to all the details that didn't make it into the brief preliminary report. No. Thor wasn't some delusional steroid-enhanced druggie. Thor was Thor the Norse God, Crown Prince of Asgard. And Asgard had magic, military strength, and the ability to transport themselves anywhere on Earth whenever they damn well pleased (or would once the bridge was fixed). And just to fuck with him, Asgard's guardian, Heimdall, was described as "all-seeing" and "all-hearing". It was a Bad Day.

Some days, he wakes up (assuming he went to sleep in the first place) to find there's a credible and imminent threat against the Heads of State of several nations. Other days someone sets off a chemical weapon and S.H.I.E.L.D. has to track them down before they're recruited by one of any number of terrorist organizations. Or maybe there are reports on a new mutant/superhuman making trouble in Detroit, or a group of them in Zagreb, or in Hong Kong. Or maybe they find another sleeper agent or infiltrator (Most of them were Hydra. Fury would love to know how a dead agency could still have such heavy recruitment. And whether they'd bothered to infiltrate anyone else given the resources they seemed to be throwing at S.H.I.E.L.D.). Or maybe Stark holds another fucking press conference (Fury makes sure to watch every single one of the damn things live after the SI's-out-of-the-weapons-business and I-am-Iron-Man bombshells. He also takes aspirin and Motrin beforehand just in case). Or maybe an unmovable object lands in the New Mexico desert.

All of those are Good Days. Maybe the safety of a city or a country or the entire world is threatened. Maybe the current world order is under attack. Or maybe it's just some random oddity that requires a thorough investigation. But these types of threats are familiar. Similar enough to previous occurrences such that S.H.I.E.L.D. has standard procedures that have been drafted and reviewed and codified and edited and implemented (and revised and released and revised and released) until the whole organization moves like slick grease (comparatively). They have the experience and expertise to handle these types of situations. Days like these are what S.H.I.E.L.D. was created to handle.

But today was a Bad Day, when all of their preparations are in vain because this particular situation was unanticipated and unprecedented. One of the Princes of Asgard had decided to send a giant robot to murder his brother on Earth's soil. The closest they had to a scripted procedure for this was 'SSP2007-01-2b: Procedures for handling contact with hostile NBEs', a joke someone had plastered the walls with after one of the Transformers movies came out.

(Fury had had to deny Coulson's request to implement said protocol on Ironman after the botched news conference (Coulson's record now included a failed coverup mission, unfortunately). And then he'd had to use Coulson's almost debilitating hero-worship to keep the agent from deep-freezing Stark in his own tower anyway against orders ("Captain America is frozen somewhere in the Arctic. Do you want Stark to share /anything/ in common with the hero?") until the man finally calmed down and agreed to return the liquid nitrogen... and the cryogenic freezer... and call Barton off... Coulson was frighteningly efficient. Most days Fury regretted not letting Coulson finish. Stark was just that irritating and Coulson was always utterly unsympathetic when Fury deigned to complain.)

Phase 1 for dealing with this clusterfuck of a Bad Day involved employing and funding Dr. Jane Foster and generally keeping the woman happy and safe. She was, after all, Thor's love interest. (Assuming the spoilt foreign prince wasn't just looking for a fling.) Asgardians apparently resolved personal disputes by sending giant death robots to kill each other. Fury didn't want to know what Thor would do if something happened to Foster while he was away. He especially didn't want to know what would happen if Foster fell in love with someone else. He just Did Not Need that shit.

Funding her research should keep her focused and busy. Foster was the type of scientist who wasn't interested in anything else while she was immersed in her science project. Anything else included essentials like eating and sleeping. Her assistant could stay (and remind her to eat and sleep), but her male coworker would have to be separated, just in case. Even if he was friends with Thor. Even if his personality, looks, everything, was diametrically opposed to what Foster apparently wanted in a man. Something else would be found for Selvig. (Fury would not allow Earth to be destroyed by some alien in a jealous rage. It wasn't fucking happening.)

The silver lining was that Foster's research wasn't just some insignificant pet science project. S.H.I.E.L.D. desperately needed to learn how Asgard's bifrost bridge worked. How to create one in order to meet Asgard on more equal terms. And, more importantly, how to detect a forming bridge, how to block a bridge from forming, and how to destroy a created bridge. Dr. Foster (and Dr. Selvig) were the only scientists who'd even started looking into the matter, nevermind the only ones who had made any kind of progress. Two birds, one exploding arrow. Just the way Fury liked it.

Phase 2 was figuring out how to defend against Asgard if it turned out that they were not friendly. New Mexico had shown them that Asgard was in the middle of a deadly internal power struggle. And Earth might just be drawn into it. (Who knew what the political ramifications would have been if the Crown Prince of Asgard had been assassinated on their soil even if Earth hadn't been informed he was here.) Thor might be friendly. Loki was not. Odin was an unknown quantity, assumed unfriendly. And who knew which one of them would be in charge when the bridge reconnected?

The best weapons (and armor) manufacturer Earth had was Tony Stark. The man was a menace. But talented. Very talented. Unfortunately, Stark was a) out of the weapons business, b) dying and then recovering from almost dying (there was nothing quite like watching Coulson and Romanova squabble like children over who got to stab Stark with a hypodermic needle), and c) refusing to talk to S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson was working on re-establishing communications by going through Potts. In the meanwhile, he supposed he knew what he'd give Dr. Eric Selvig to work on.

Fury's Bad Day, on the other hand, had just gotten worse. Wouldn't you know it? Last night's all-nighter had prevented him from restocking his personal stash of coffee. So now he had two choices. Well three, but going without coffee wasn't an option. Not after last time. So, either choke down the watered-down crap the cafeteria served, or go out to grab a cup. Screw it, he needed caffeine. "Coulson, get the scientists settled. Barton, with me."