"At the Convention"

The crowd at the convention was much bigger than Steve had expected.

He wasn't the only Avenger there; they were all seated at a long table, signing autographs. Tony was at the far end, basking in the usual admiration; next to him was Bruce, who blushed with all the attention. Then there was Clint, smirking whenever a young lady asked to feel his arms (which seemed very forward to Steve).

Natasha was beside Clint; she had relaxed when she realised that she could dispense advice to all the young girls who looked up to her. Next was Thor, hair pulled back so it wouldn't get in the way while he signed each item with a flourish.

Steve was the last, constantly overwhelmed by all the people approaching him, chattering non-stop, and reminding him of someone so important, someone they had lost…

I didn't know it could be this bad, he thought, breathing easily when there was a lull, and they could take a break. Compared to these people, Phil had been understated.

And his heart clenched again. But for once, it wasn't his guilt and regret that caused it.

"Hi," a familiar voice said. There was silence from the rest of the Avengers, as they all stared.

"Uh." Steve had lost his voice. It was Phil Coulson; it had to be. He wore a Captain America cap, brim turned up, a Captain America hoodie, and he had a pile of merchandise in his hands: books, novelty ties, boxed figurines. The casual clothing and excited, ten-year-old fanboy-look could have been deceptive; but the face, the stance, and the voice were definitely that of Agent Coulson.

"My name is John, and I'm a big fan, Captain America, sir. O-of all of you," he added, half-smiling nervously at the rest of the Avengers, who hadn't moved since he started speaking. "I was, uh, hoping to, uh, get you to sign these for me." He had to dump his loot on the table; it was threatening to fall out of his arms. "I don't have any cards, otherwise I would've brought them with me…"