"Natasha, I think it's time you told me exactly what you've been doing with your time lately."
Nick Fury stared at Natasha as she tilted a bottle back, nursing a drink. His face was as dark and inscrutable as ever. Not long ago, he had nearly been ground into dust by an explosion—even if his presence there had been nothing more than a minor, unfortunate accident.
"I'm on vacation. Is there a problem?"
Natasha glanced up at him, her eyes momentarily fixated on his glistening, shaven scalp as if the reflection there was the most interesting thing in the room.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. needs your strength, yet here you are, taking a holiday," Fury countered. "Tell me, Romanoff—do I need to list the names of those who have sacrificed their lives for world peace while you've been away?"
Fury was a master of psychological leverage, skillfully wielding "morality" and "duty" like a bludgeon. He knew exactly which nerves to hit to move her.
"So, what you're saying is I have one less friend to drink with?" Natasha asked, her voice trailing off, her gaze turning misty. Despite her striking features, a profound exhaustion was etched into the lines of her face.
"Yes," Fury said after a brief, heavy silence. "Coulson is gone."
In his heart, Fury believed that if Phil were still "alive," he would be comforted knowing his death served a purpose for the sake of global peace. Phil was, above all else, a good man.
"How did he die?" Natasha lowered her eyes, staring at the snow piling up on the ground.
"Are you planning on seeking revenge?" Fury's lip curled slightly. He glanced over at Liz, who was currently huddled in the arms of the Hellboy.
The "son of Gehenna" no longer looked like a demon; he appeared merely as a tall, burly man. After Baal had crushed him, the Nephalem Orek had managed to cast out his soul along with the human remnants of his flesh. He still possessed formidable strength, but he had lost the fragments of Hell's Authority that once defined him.
"It sounds like another convoluted story," Natasha said, exhaling a long, gin-soaked breath. Her eyes were rimmed with red. "But the one thing I can be certain of is that your hands aren't clean in this, Nick."
"Black Widow, S.H.I.E.L.D. needs extraordinary power to face the chaos unfolding. Come back." Dum Dum Dugan joined the conversation, while nearby, John Wick silently observed their surroundings with a cold, calculating eye.
"Why didn't you go to Barton first? And you, Dum Dum—I thought I was never 'trustworthy' in your eyes?" Natasha's voice dripped with irony.
"I can apologize," Dugan said sincerely, even bowing his stiff neck slightly.
"I don't accept it," Natasha replied flatly. Then, a bright, rehearsed smile broke across her face—the mask she had worn for years. "So, Director, when do we start?"
She had enjoyed her peace long enough. At the very least, she wanted to do something to honor Coulson's dream.
"Tomorrow," Fury nodded.
With Natasha back in the fold, Hawkeye would follow. Barton had always earned a measure of Fury's limited trust, and that hadn't changed.
"Tony, I've been wanting to see you again... to offer you a sincere apology."
Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, reached out with his remaining arm and gripped Tony's shoulder. He was only able to do so because Tony wasn't wearing his suit.
"Winter Soldier? I don't really want to call you that." Tony looked up at Bucky. Compared to the existence of Hellish Arch-Demons, the resurrection of a dead man didn't seem particularly noteworthy anymore. Besides, Tony had already found a way to move past the hate.
"You can use my name. Bucky Barnes. Call me whatever you like," Bucky said. There was a lingering sorrow in his eyes, but it was a far cry from the hollow, lifeless stare he had carried when they first met.
"Fine, Bucky. What is it you want?" Tony flashed a trademark, aristocratic smile. "If it's an apology, don't bother. I forgave you back then. I just didn't expect you to give me the thrill of my first kill."
Tony looked every bit the playboy again, his tone light yet sharp. "By the way, have you seen the Captain?"
Tony noted the stump of Bucky's missing arm. It was clear the man had been through hell inside the Nephalem Rifts.
"No. I hadn't been here long before I ran into that demon, Baal," Bucky admitted. He had been searching for Steve, but the opportunity had eluded him.
"Sounds like your luck is as bad as ever. Forget it. I've forgiven you, but don't expect an invite to my next gala. You're a bit out of place in my world, old soldier." Tony patted Bucky on the shoulder and sauntered off to find the blacksmith, Lasuk.
He had truly forgiven Bucky, but wounds of the heart don't heal as fast as skin. That would take time.
"Good boy! That's it! Bite it! Go on!"
Barnal shouted at a husky, waving a skeletal leg bone in his hand to tease the dog. Beside him, Rumlow—the man once known as Crossbones—felt a headache brewing. He couldn't begin to restrain a man like Barnal.
"Barnal... Ancestor. You just came out of a life-and-death battle, and the first thing you want to do is play with a husky?" Rumlow asked in a low voice, still wary of the Ancient's unpredictable temper.
"Are you asking why I can act like nothing happened when I know how many were sacrificed?" Barnal looked up, pulling the husky into a hug. The dog whimpered, looking slightly uncomfortable in the warrior's powerful grip.
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