Against My Will 15A

“—reen Lantern’s got this!”

Even with all the work done in post, the voice off the projected video came through distant and faded; a miracle of technology that anything could be made out over that distance. That drunken orbit SHIELD birds and news choppers kept around the burning tower didn’t help one bit, the constant thump of rotors beating the air a nightmare for sound and the black smoke shearing off the top dozen floors no better for visibility.

In a matter of hours, Nicholas J. Fury had watched every single second of this footage two dozen times.

Exactly twenty-seven; the one running in front of him right now part of that count. The nine-foot screen only helped his review, the briefing room’s expansive white walls and bright lighting somehow not doing much to distract him from that task.

One eye narrowed at the screen again as green came in, a massive flare of light entering the shot from the left side.

Two hands. He’d already made a note of that the first time he saw them, the construct not unfamiliar from what he’d seen the kid pull off before.

The raw scale, though…

Each one was as wide as each face of Wells Financial, translucent and green and undeniably massive as each of those palms laid flush against adjacent sides of the structure. The analysts had nearly lost their minds, mentioning repeatedly in their reports about the specific way the hands were formed; dozens of panels split among them both, polygons pressed edge to edge with seams visible and almost blocky.

If Fury somehow had doubts as to whether this was the same kid who had blasted his way through the Triskelion a month back, the hands had certainly done them in.

Those squared-off knuckles were still the exact same, and the way that thumb sat… Like he’s never seen his own hand before. Odd anatomy aside, both constructs planted themselves against granite and — foot by foot — in a slow push, the tower came back up.

The process was far from clean, the effort clearly taking some type of strain — even with the car jack construct assisting at the base — but the structure came back up regardless.

In stages.

But upwards, all the same.

Almost as quick with his brain as he is with his mouth. The kid was learning how to use that thing, and learning fast by the looks of it, but Fury knew that wasn’t going to stop what had to happen — what was going to happen.

A second after the building was finally righted, the shot finally managed to focus on the figure behind it all; a quick zoom that spoke of hurried but professional hands locking on his place in the air.

A hundred feet off the north face, he hung there with nothing under him, skinny enough that the affiliate news camera picked it up immediately and Fury recognized it. Wrists thin enough to slip cuffs sat below shoulders that used to be broader but somehow the symbol hovering over his chest burned hard enough to make you forget all that.

A green circle between two thin horizontal bars; one at the top and the other at the bottom.

Nothing impressive on its own, but that same iconography had been burned into Fury’s mind for too long for him to consider it simple. Three months of study…

And the symbol’s light was far from localized; the green spreading over a brown leather jacket, a black compression shirt atop black jeans and a pair of boots that glowed just as bright as the ring he wore on his finger.

That same ring was aimed skyward a moment later, a small plane of green forming under its user’s feet, before it all vanished in a trail of green across the New York skyline. Every camera aimed his way lost their target immediately, unable to follow the speed and path of what had just escaped their frame.

Yeah… For the twenty-seventh time today, Fury thumbed the remote and ran the footage back to the top. He didn’t bother looking behind him at the sound of drawn-out chairs, the billionaire and the Norwegian shifting for comfort at their chosen tables.

One of them sat up front and the other was choosing to mill far further towards the back. Three guesses which is which. The first two didn’t count but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t bet his office on the latter being Stark.

He’d already seen the man when he walked in, Tony in a tan suit that cost about four months of a decent federal salary — if not more. Savile Row, by the look of it; Antonio Stark had crossed his legs, a loafer bouncing atop the floor, looking for all the world like a schoolboy with a beard and an overpriced tailor. All the same, that schoolboy had the sort of accelerated mind that he had no doubt could teach Banner and Pym much more than a thing or two. 

It was enough to shake a man up talking to that supernatural freak of nature, if he was being honest, a stark reminder that all men were not created equal.

Thor, on the other hand…

The ‘god’ was in full Thor wear, tall and muscular with hair as regal as ever for someone that ‘didn’t believe in shampoo’. He looked much the same as always — with one exception — suit and belt present but that hammer nowhere to be seen. Odd.

Plenty odd, but not particularly important right now. Both provisional members could do or wear whatever they liked as long as they contributed their part to this team and, for the last thirty days, both had done exactly that.

At this rate, Fury was expecting to remove the word ‘provisional’ from all the paperwork.

“Nick, how we doing?” The doors at the back opened wide, a certain buzzcut-bearing face stepping through with a smile.

Fury offered a chuckle and a glance upwards. “Taking my lines, Hawkeye?”

“Me?” Barton just shook his head, hands in his pockets and purple lenses on indoors; the man dressed in the gray S.H.I.E.L.D issue training gear with that yellow eagle on the left breast. “Not even. Not unless you’re in the mood to hand me that Director spot, too.”

Romanova came in behind him, dressed in the same thing as her usual partner; the woman not even bearing a single bruise or bump from earlier today. It’s no Super Soldier Serum but Soviet work is at least good for that much.

“Gentlemen.” Fury allowed himself two steps off the stage, hands clasped behind him. “I’d like you to meet the leading lights of SHIELD’s black-ops division, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, Clint — Tony Stark, Thor.”

“Romanova, if you prefer it.”

Fury shook his head. “You know I don’t.”

“Well…” Stark leaned over towards the redhead as she approached the tables. “I wouldn’t mind trying it out.”

Behind his Senior Agents, the twins made their entrance; Pietro moving at exactly the speed of everyone else, and Wanda at his shoulder with her hands behind her back — two behaviors enough to make a wary man warier.

But that wasn’t the point of today.

“Both Barton and the lady Romanoff get upgraded to public status alongside you two flyboys end of the month.” Fury took two more steps off the stairs, the front of the room all his. “After their backgrounds are falsified enough to survive a Times reporter with a FOIA request and a grudge, at least. So, about two weeks… maybe fifteen days on the outer end.”

Tony’s ears pricked up, the magnate managing to pull his attention off the woman slowly applying lipstick as red as her hair. “So, are we going to talk about Twin One and Twin Two back there?”

“Not particularly.” Fury blinked slow at the curious billionaire. “As far as you’re concerned, the fine pair of Maximoff and Maximoff are none of your business. Both of them are on the Shadow Roster.”

Thor’s blond head turned round to face Fury. “For which reasons?”

“For obvious ones, big man.”

“Far be it from me to be surprised at the actions of the American hegemony, General Fury.” The Norwegian’s arms went tight across his chest, arms that could wrestle the hulk rippling as he eyed both Pietro and Wanda. “But for the Brotherhood of Mutants to be nestled deep within SHIELD? Employing Magneto’s own children, no less?”

“Now’s not the time for jokes or morality plays, Odinson. Ain’t the first time anyone has made a deal with terrorists. In this country or out.” Fury almost scoffed as those words left him, the truth of the matter so plain he didn’t need to go into detail. “Won’t be the last either. Man who shot at you in one country’s a consultant in yours the next year. Just something you’ll get used to.”

Even with one eye, he didn’t miss Thor’s scowl. “I very much doubt that.”

“Give it a year.”

“Eh…” Clint leaned back in a chair, the man balancing on one leg only. “I’d say two. Thor seems like the upright type, if not the uptight type.”

“Besides that…” Romanoff sat next to her partner atop the table, her back to Fury as she faced the mutant siblings seated behind her. “The Brotherhood talks a great deal on television about their goals and views, but we all know they’re not above shaking hands with us homo sapiens trash. Among other parts.” 

The woman quirked a smile at the twins. “Isn’t that right, Wanda?”

“I believe what the general is trying to say…” Like her brother, Wanda didn’t bother to take a seat — at a chair or table. “Is that my brother and I are assisting and participating in appropriate SHIELD operations in exchange for a reduction of the pressure on mutantkind from this administration.”

That’s definitely a way to phrase that. Fury kept his face flat, thoughts on the actual deal made between the Brotherhood and the United States kept to himself. Arguably, that deal was made more for leeway on political prisoners and eventual loosening of the screws toward mutants, but considering that mutants were a large part of the reason SHIELD became as expansive and globally-reaching as it was… doubtful.

Regardless, whatever the twins wanted to believe to keep doing missions was whatever Fury would let them believe; anything to keep operatives as powerful as they were under his umbrella. Besides, the Sentinels were no longer active and the Brotherhood wasn’t currently being hunted for terrorism. Not much more rope to loosen, there.

“Oh, and what happened to you this afternoon, darling?” The Black Widow leaned forward, chin propped up on two fingers. “Last I saw, the two of you were sitting in a cute little cafe giggling and kicking your feet.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. If you slow down the security tapes, and I do mean slow them down, you’ll find I saved both your lives on three separate occasions.” As much as Pietro controlled his speed when it came to movement, the mutant had a habit of running his mouth a hair faster than most. “Ungrateful sow.”

Natasha just smiled his way. “Liar.”

Fury let the argument run, not bothered by thirty seconds of pointless bickering. Besides, a little bit of testing boundaries this early on was healthy, especially with heads as big as theirs expected to work together.

Speaking of big heads…

Fury’s eye drifted to Stark, the third richest man on earth sitting there with his attention on the screen and nowhere else; not even on the two beautiful women. 

Which was… a first.

“Hey, Nick…” Barton’s thumb hooked over his shoulder, the digit aimed at a certain white-haired mutant trading barbs with a redheaded Russian. “What’s the story with the star-spangled man with a plan? No offense to present company at all, I like everybody in this room the normal amount but…” 

Those too-sharp eyes stared at Fury through those purple lenses. “I was led to believe we were gonna be getting backup from the big man himself. And speaking of big men…”

A slow — and entirely unnecessary — look around the room came with a raised eyebrow from the archer. “Where’s Pym?”

Mmm.

“Your guess is as good as mine, son.” Fury hated the words as soon as they left his mouth because, contrary to what everyone seemed to think, he was not omniscient and neither was SHIELD as an apparatus. “We had a trace on Rogers same as we had one on Pym.”

Not knowing where their prize super solder was as humiliating as not knowing where their head scientist was, especially when the man had damn near put his own wife through a coffee table five days back. “The satellite hasn’t turned up squat on either. SHIELD’s tech is cutting-edge and quality. Unfortunately, it’s not magic.”

Scarlet Witch stood up straighter—

“And no, that was not a request to improve SHIELD’s systems with magic.”

—before leaning into her brother’s shoulders again.

“Nick, please.” A manicured hand came up to gesture at the screen. “Stark International is down a solid mil for every ten minutes I sit in this uncomfortable chair, old boy.  Would you kindly get this show on the road? I’d consider it a personal kindness.”

“Personal, huh?” As irreverent as Stark was, the man made it entirely clear why he was worth every dollar of his four-hundred-billion tall net worth. With a sigh, Fury clicked the remote and the tape ran again, Stark leaning forward in his chair almost immediately.

“What is that?”

Fury blinked at the screen, the footage of Natasha dropping from three-hundred-and-sixty feet above Wall St staring back at him. “What is what?”

“The little green diamond.” Stark’s finger jabbed forward. “Over her head. That’s…” The man’s face opened up, a smile on his face too big to be smug. “That’s from the Sims.”

“The what?” One eye blinked over at Stark, the last few words out of his mouth sounding close to gibberish. “What are you talking about?”

“The Sims. It’s a thing called a video game. Very big with the kids, Nick.” Stark spread his hands like he solved something, still wearing a grin as all the eyes in the room turned on him. “That’s a thing called a plumbob, or a plummet. Ironic, considering that’s what our wonderful Widow was in the middle of d—”

“Stark.”

“Before anyone else says anything, I need you answer me, Nicholas.” That same manicured index pointed out. “Are those Timberlands?”

“Yes, Stark.” Fury closed his eye, not needing to look behind himself to know that the kid was currently hanging over Wall Street with six-inch boots, glowing a brighter green than everything else he had on; the logo on the side undeniable. “Those are Timberlands.”

The man in the tan suit leaned all the way back in his chair, hands laced on his stomach like some satisfied Southern lawyer resting his case.

That’s enough of that. The remote hit the podium, Fury leaving it behind as the general took center stage. “What you’re all looking at was footage taken this afternoon. 1518 hours at Wells Financial in lower Manhattan, after a device of unknown make went off on the twelfth floor.” He let that sit with all present as he took a breath. “The individual in the frame is the same one known in the press as Green Lantern.”

“Yeah, I remember him.” Stark nodded back. “The terrorist who used Banner’s little run-around as a chance to hit this place, right?”

“Yes…” Fury’s mouth went tight at the corners. “He used the chaos of the Banner incident to escape this facility. Correct.”

“Escaped.” The Norwegian’s eyebrows went up. “Did he?”

Fury met Thor’s suddenly curious stare. “That’s the word.”

“Forgive me if I am wrong here. I was always one for battle over statecraft.” Thor’s crossed arms opened, both falling to his sides. “But to escape requires that one first be held.”

“…you would be right.”

Blue eyes narrowed up at the stage. “So he was held.”

“In the simplest terms, again, yes.” Fury’s answer came terse and quick, the man eager to speed this up without too many questions on this. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t even have allowed this conversation but a public showing like that… Goddamnit.

On a SHIELD op, especially? His hands were closer to chopped off than tied on this. “The individual was in SHIELD custody.”

“That’s a weird way to phrase that.” Stark had turned around now. “Custody.”

And here’s the bullshit I expected. He’d seen this conversation coming since a green sun lit up his building four weeks ago in July and he spent the next three nights deciding how much of it these people were getting. It took some real effort even to share as much as he had with Hank but it was only the lack of moral fiber the scientist had — no different than Banner — that convinced Fury at all.

And he’d only given Pym sixty percent at most. These people aren’t getting more than ten.

Fifteen if he was feeling pushed.

“Four months back, early April if you want to get into the specifics, SHIELD was mobilized out to the Pine Barrens in New Jersey due to reports of an impact event.” His hands clasped even tighter behind his back, posture no less crisp than his Class B service uniform as he stepped further down off the stage and began pacing the front row. “A crater wide enough to fit this room in it and then some, the grass that wasn’t scorched to shit flattened in a ring outside that. At the bottom of it was a young man, alive and well, which is odd considering that impact would have liquefied anything close to him.”

“An alien, then.” Clint’s answer came quick. “Right?”

“Our first guess, Hawkeye. And I’d love to tell you we’ve locked it down or let it go four months later but that’s just not happening. He came down with four primary items of major interest on his person.” Four fingers rose up to his shoulder. “A green ring, a lantern-shaped device of the same color, a cellular telephone, and a laptop computer. Everything else in his pockets or bag was considered a lesser interest.”

Stark blinked slow. “A laptop.”

“A laptop whose storage architecture and inner workings our people are still years off from reading without risking destruction or data loss.” And wasn’t that a bitch? Banner must have been riding a wave of optimism after getting his title back the way the man had promised Fury the moon when it came to those devices. “Entire decades past anything on the market and generations past what anyone’s building for themselves.”

With a sigh, he tipped his head Stark’s way. “Even you.”

“I…” The hunger in Tony Stark’s eyes was almost feral. “I’d like to see that.”

“I’m sure you would.”

“No, I mean I’d genuinely pay y—”

“He was held under the designation ‘Jade’.” Fury bulldozed right over the top of Stark, the rich man scoffing and throwing his hands up. “Orin Hunter Kelly was the name on his identification and he even had a driver’s license nearly as futuristic with every last feature on it the obvious next step yet to be implemented en masse in that combination.”

“Then what’s the problem, Fury?” Natasha’s question came with a raised eyebrow, her attention half on the boy flying under his own power. “Because it seems like there’s something missing here.”

“Well, for one, the date of birth on it is not for another four years and a few months.” Fury held back a smile as the room shifted at that bombshell, several eyes going wide. “If you can believe that.”

“A fellow traveler, then.” Thor’s arms came back across his chest as the big man nodded. “One through the halls of time, rather than the winds of space.”

“Our research team is under the belief that he may be chronally or extradimensionally displaced.”

“Belief.“

“Yes, Thor.” Fury held back another tight sigh as both hands found the table Thor sat at, the god the only one that took the position at the very front of class. “Belief. We do not know. And given that it’s our job as an intelligence agency to know shit, that’s a very terrifying realization for a man like me.”

Thor remained quiet as Fury stood up straight again. “And I want everybody in this room clear on that fact right there, because there’s four people in here who are band spanking new to a provisional Level 7 clearance so you’re gonna be finding yourself in front of a lot of sentences today that end in we don’t fucking know.”

A room full of nods met him without a question, Fury returning the movement before he started speaking again. “What we do know is that there is no Orin Hunter Kelly. He doesn’t exist and even if we can attribute that to time travel, he seems privy to some information about SHIELD dealings he had no conventional means of getting access to.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning there’s too many unknowns, Stark.” Fury started pacing again. “And we couldn’t afford to play nice when we could have been dealing with any number of things.”

“And then…” Wanda’s voice, all the way from the back, had Fury blinking over several other heads. “And then what, Director?”

“And then Doctor Banner had his city-shaking tantrum and the whole building turned its attention toward Manhattan for roughly fifteen minutes.” The remote found itself back in his hands. “Kelly tore through the research wing during that window and, I want you to pay attention with this next part so you’ll understand my grievance here…”

Fury clicked the remote, the screen changing to an internal casualty summary of that night listed in stark blacks-and-reds; page one of six filled with names and designations and next-of-kin status. “Twenty-seven dead.”