Look What You Made Me Do (Wanda-SI/OC)

“This is me,” Natasha said, tipping her head toward the brick and stone façade of the small apartment building we’d stopped in front of. A small, mostly decorative wrought-iron fence and gate framed by well-maintained hedges led to a set of low-set stone steps up to the front door. She unthreaded her fingers from mine but continued to hold my hand, fidgeting with it for a moment as she met my eyes. “Did you want to come up?”

I paused, caught a little off-guard. It had been a really nice evening. She’d taken me to this little hole-in-the-wall Italian place on the Lower East Side where it seemed like she was a regular—the waitstaff all knew her by name and the owner had come over for a brief but warm chat while we ordered. We’d split a bottle of Cab Sav over dinner and the food was amazing.

While the party at the Tower had been a great chance to unwind, I was generally a little off-balance in big, shared social situations and it had still felt very performative, like I was interviewing for a job and didn’t want to make a bad impression. Dinner with Natasha, by contrast, had been comfortable. It was casual and friendly, and it didn’t feel like there were any expectations I needed to live up to… I could just exist and be myself and that was all she wanted. After spending so long running, hiding, pretending and putting up a façade for Pietro, I couldn’t quite articulate how much having something like this meant to me.

It was hard to balance that feeling with the caution I knew I should be exercising—Nat was a master social manipulator and I held no illusions about my susceptibility. I kept having to remind myself that I was a potentially dangerous asset that was being managed, probably not actually someone she could ever really be interested in, no matter my hopes.

With that in mind I’d basically expected that, after our after-dinner walk, she was going to tease and flirt with me a little bit more before carefully shuffling me back off to the Tower. I really hadn’t been expecting what seemed to be an earnest invitation upstairs. A crow cawed somewhere above us. “I mean… Are you sure?” I asked uncertainly.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” she said with an easy smile that made my heart flutter in my chest. “Yelena’s staying on the couch, so we’ll have to keep it down, but… yeah. I’m sure.”

“I’d love to.”

Dark wood finishings and sheltered wall lamps lent the building’s interior a warm, cosy feeling as we ascended the steps to the third floor. Nat unlocked the front door with a small set of keys she produced from seemingly nowhere. As we entered, she carefully stepped out of her heels and placed them on the rack by the door. Following her example, I removed mine and scooted them off to the side as well.

The one-bedroom apartment was tiny without feeling cramped—a living room sat on one side of the entrance with a couch and armchair tucked into the corner, opposite a kitchen and small square dining table. A short hallway between them led through to the bed and bath rooms. Yelena was curled up on the couch when we came in, watching something on TV.

The younger woman initially perked up a little bit when Natasha walked in, but, when she saw me, her smile died and she shot her sister a flat, unimpressed look. “You’re really bringing home booty calls while I’m on the couch? Really?”

I flushed, a little embarrassed, but Nat was unrepentant. “You’re welcome to go for a walk,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “Get out, live a little. Lots of stuff to do in the city at night.”

“Unbelievable,” Yelena scoffed, shaking her head before pointedly turning away to ignore us. As she did, she picked up the remote and pressed up on the volume control until it was blaring obnoxiously loudly.

Natasha grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, gently guiding me past the living room and into her bedroom before closing the door firmly behind us. I hesitated, vacillating at the foot of her bed, unsure what to do. A part of me was still in a bit of shock that this was actually even happening. She stepped in close to me, tilting her head to bring her lips to mine, and my mind went utterly blank for the next few seconds as we kissed.

Her lips were soft and the warmth of her breath had a mild tang to it, a lingering trace of the limoncello digestif we’d had after dinner. I reached up with a hand, my fingers gently tracing the side of her face. The kiss was gentle—almost tentative at first—as if she was as nervous as I was, even though I was certain that couldn’t possibly be the case.

After a few moments we broke off, both breathing more heavily, and Natasha let out a small chuckle. “If I’m being honest, I don’t normally do this sort of thing. It’s… been a little while, believe it or not.”

“Yeah, for me too,” I said quietly.

“I guess you must be pretty pent-up, then, huh?” she teased, her hands tracing a path across my body before firmly taking hold of my hips.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Natasha pushed me backwards until I hit the edge of her bed and was forced to sit down. She didn’t stop there, continuing forward to straddle my hips before reaching up, threading her fingers into my hair, and kissing me again. This one was deeper, more insistent, our bodies pressing together eagerly as my heart pounded in my chest. I made a small, involuntary noise of pleasure in the back of my throat and Nat broke off again, grinning as she locked eyes with me.

“Careful, Romanov,” I murmured. “You keep acting like this and I might start to think you actually like me.”

She leant forward, teasing the lobe of my ear with her teeth and tongue for a moment before she whispered back. “How about I show you exactly how much I like you?”

 

--

 

Loki lounged lazily on his divan, idly turning the pages of the tome he’d been making a vague attempt at reading. His eyes skimmed over the paper, not really absorbing the contents—some epic about King Buri, first King of Asgard, father of Bor, grandfather of Odin, blah blah blah.

Flipping the book closed, he dropped it carelessly to the floor with a loud thud that echoed through the chamber and stood up. Taking a few steps forward, he moved toward the open arch of the balcony and gazed out over his domain, feeling no small sense of satisfaction. The shining golden spires and pure white paved streets of Asgard greeted him, teeming with his subjects. His subjects. His kingdom. The birthright he had always deserved.

“My king? Did you require anything?” ventured a timid voice from behind him.

He suppressed an annoyed sigh and turned. “No, Verun. I was merely careless with my reading material. Please leave me.”

The plain-looking woman bowed and scraped on her way out. She was one of his mother’s former handmaidens, still looking for some way to make herself useful since Frigga’s death. Loki felt a sharp pang in his chest as he thought of her and did his best to suppress it, smothering the emotion with the annoyance he still felt at having to masquerade as his father, Odin.

While he did enjoy the fruits of kingship, he chafed greatly at the fact that he was not ruling openly as himself. It had been a spur of the moment decision to fake his death and seize control of the throne, but there didn’t seem to be any better way he could have done it. If he’d remained alive in the public eye, hailed as a hero alongside his brother for saving the Nine Realms, perhaps he could have still replaced Odin. He could have used his duplication casting to maintain a double of himself so as not to arouse suspicion, then had ‘Odin’ gracefully step down from the throne and declare him the new king.

That would, however, have caused a host of other problems. Grudgingly, he had to admit that Thor would not have fallen for it, not after his last attempt at the throne. And while his subjects may be generally dull of wit and glazed of eye, even the stupidest among them would have harboured some suspicions. And so he had no choice to languish in obscurity, with none knowing that their wise and benevolent ruler—he was fairly certain was doing a much better job than Odin ever had—was, in fact, Loki himself!

Even now, there were still half-hearted protests any time he tried to celebrate his accomplishments. After all he’d done for these people! He’d managed to push through the commissioning of one magnificent statue of himself—framing it as Odin memorialising the noble and heroic sacrifice that his son had made. More than that might be pushing his luck, but surely there were other ways he could use his position as ‘Odin’ to subtly celebrate the real him?

A production of that dreadfully trite play by Isond Seithdóttir that had been captivating the dull-minded masses was scheduled for this evening. He’d been invited, of course, but he had no intention of sitting through that utterly unoriginal and hackneyed excuse for drama for a second time and had made his excuses graciously—a king’s work was never done, after all. However, now that he thought more about it, it sparked a rather interesting idea.

His father had always been a strong supporter of the arts and there were several theatre troupes that had previously enjoyed the Allfather’s direct favour and patronage. Perhaps he could commission one himself? A play… no, a whole series of plays commemorating the life of Loki, lovable trickster and favoured son of Odin. His fool brother would, of course, be cast as the boorish and derisible comic relief. Given how partial the rabble of Asgard were to stagecraft, it would also serve nicely as easily-digestible propaganda to help uplift his tarnished reputation. Yes, that seemed like it could be rather fun.

Briefly, he felt a slight twinge of guilt in his chest. Odin was being well-looked after in the mortal’s aged care facility—he’d stolen-and-paid top dollar to ensure that—but still, he wished that his father could see him here, where he belonged. It was funny. When he’d found out that he was adopted, he’d been so angry at Odin for keeping the truth for him. At the time, he’d said some things that, in hindsight, he regretted. But after everything that had happened, any apology would ring hollow—if he could even ever bear to give one. Now here he was, still chasing the phantom of Odin’s approval.

Movement on the bridge to the palace caught his eye. “Oh, shit,” he swore, turning and moving with purpose. Thor was back. That meant he’d probably finally succeeded in his mission.

As he walked through his chambers, Loki refreshed the illusion of Odin’s appearance, switching from casual robes to a set of formal black and golden armour, scooping up Gungnir, Odin’s spear, from where it lay discarded on the floor. Opening the door, he practically flew down the corridor, hoping no one would see his undignified rush as he moved to arrive in the throne room prior to Thor entering.

When his brother arrived, it was to see ‘Odin’ sitting upon his throne, as if the return of his son had been entirely expected. Gungnir sat loosely in Loki’s grip, haft braced against the marble floor.

“My son,” he called out, trying to bring some warmth into his voice. “You have returned—and so soon.”

“It is good to see you too, Father.” A slight smile curved Thor’s mouth as he approached the throne.

Loki remained seated, hiding his satisfaction when Thor’s steps faltered halfway up the steps. Proper protocol dictated that he was not to ascend any higher while the king remained seated, which kept a comfortable distance between them. It was a little more standoffish than Odin would normally be, but the sight of Thor feeling off-balance did delight him so.

“Father, Heimdall informed me that you had instructed him not to respond when I sought his guidance. Why?”

Loki regarded him coolly, doing his best impression of how their father spoke. “The Gatekeeper of Asgard is not an errand boy to serve your every whim. Heimdall’s duties are paramount to the safety of the realm and he is not to be distracted with menial requests.”

Loki had sent Thor out to recover Thanos’s sceptre and ordered Heimdall not to assist him in any way. The longer it took his brother to succeed in his task, the longer he’d be away from Asgard and out of Loki’s hair. Besides, Thor loved Midgard. Loki was basically doing him a favour. Of course, he’d also implemented a whole raft of other changes specifically to make Thor’s life just a little bit harder—if his brother thought this was inconvenient, he hadn’t seen anything yet. Some might call it petty, but for Loki it was one of the perks.

“I see… There are pressing matters I must speak to you about.”

“I have little time for idle chatter, my son. Have you recovered Loki’s sceptre? I do not see it.”

“That is one of the things we must speak about. The sceptre was powered by an Infinity Stone—that of the Mind.”

“…Naturally. Did you think its true nature was hidden from me?” Loki schooled his reaction, grateful that the illusion he was projecting of Odin did not need to match up one-to-one to his actual expression. He’d had no idea that Thanos had given him an Infinity Stone.

“Of course not. I… it has been claimed by someone. A mortal witch who says she has seen the future.”

“The future? And you believed her?”

“I am beginning to, yes. There are some other things that she spoke of—things she had no way of knowing. She has claimed that the Mind Stone has chosen her as its protector. I know you have spoken strongly of the dangers of keeping more than one of the Stones in the same place, and given that the Tesseract already resides within Asgard’s vault, I thought it best to judge her worthiness and then speak with you.”

The Tesseract—or, more properly, the Space Stone—was currently a prize in Loki’s collection in Asgard’s vault, and their father had spoken several times of the dangers involved in gathering the Stones. Perhaps it might be for the best if one of them remained on Earth.

Loki had been intending on destroying the sceptre in any case; thinking about how it had manipulated his mind, twisting his ego and goading on every little megalomaniacal urge he’d had, still made him shudder. Not that he wouldn’t have absolutely revelled in conquering Earth and showing Thor up, but still, it was the principle of the thing. His mind was his. Sacrosanct.

“Very well. And how did you judge her?”

“I am conflicted. I believe she may be worthy. She is earnest enough on the face of it and has willingly submitted herself to the judgement of the Avengers.”

Whoever this witch was, she was hardly a threat, then. It was laughable. An Infinity Stone at her command and she rolled over and showed her belly to the likes of Steve Rogers and Tony Stark? What an absolute fool. If he’d know that the sceptre contained the Mind Stone, he’d have done things a little differently. He’d have claimed its true power and wielded it properly, enslaving them all to his will.

“I see,” Loki said imperiously. He tapped the haft of Gungnir on the floor once. “Then it is my judgement that this humility she has demonstrated, along with her submission to the protectors of Earth, is sufficient for her to retain the Stone. For now.” He could always change his mind later.

“Thank you, father.”

“Now, if that was all, I’ll just—”

“Actually, there’s more we must speak on.”

Loki suppressed a sigh of annoyance. “Very well, but do make it quick.” Thor frowned slightly at that and Loki winced internally. Had that been a bit snappy for ‘Odin’? Ugh, he really needed Thor out of his hair so he could relax again. He’d need to think up a new mission. Maybe send him after Surtr? The decrepit fire giant king had been rattling his sabre recently. That’d probably keep him busy for a while…

“The Mad Titan Thanos was the one who sent Loki to conquer the Earth with the Chitauri, seeking to recover the Tesseract.”

“I know,” Loki said testily. He was trying to stop his annoyance at this continued conversation from showing, but it was proving extremely difficult.

“Thanos is not content to continue his current crusade across the stars. He seeks to unite the power of all six Infinity Stones and use that power to annihilate half of all life in the universe.”

There was a pause as the bottom dropped out of Loki’s stomach. Thanos intended to do what?! Loki was all for seeking power for power’s sake and lording it over others, but what was the point if everyone was dead? “He’s a madman,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. He knew firsthand what level of power Thanos could bring to bear. “He will not succeed, not so long as Asgard holds the Space Stone.”

Thor nodded. “Of course. As well as the Stone held by the witch, I thought it important for you to know that Earth is host to a second Infinity Stone. There is an order of sorcerers who have taken it upon themselves to guard it—I understand that they have successfully done so for thousands of years. I worry that keeping two on Earth could draw Thanos’s attention. Should we consider relocating one to Asgard?”

“No! Er, I mean… that will not be necessary.” Keeping two Infinity Stones in his vault would make Asgard Thanos’s primary target. Earth could go fuck itself. “I will marshal Asgard’s forces and ensure that we are prepared to meet this threat. Thanos may have his armies, but they do not hold a candle to the full might of Asgard. You… you will serve as Earth’s primary protector as you have in the past.” He hurriedly tapped the haft of his spear on the floor again. “That is my judgement.”

“Very well. Do you know of a place called the Dark Dimension? A universe beyond our own?”

Loki hesitated. “The Dark… Dimension? You’re not talking about the Dark World? Svartálfheim?”

“No,” Thor shook his head emphatically. “The Dark Dimension is said to be a timeless place, home to a being called Dormammu. He seeks to claim Earth for his dominion.”

“I… no. I’m not familiar with this being. There may be something in the libraries.”

“Then I will look for answers there. Lastly… Father, I seek knowledge of the Celestials.”

“Whatever for?” Loki’s forehead crinkled in confusion. The stuffy old primordial gods rarely stooped to involve themselves in the business of other pantheons, despite their incredible power.

“The witch who sees the future—she has said that a Celestial child is growing within the Earth and its Emergence will wreak destruction on the Midgardian civilisations.”

“Oh.” Well… huh. Good thing he hadn’t actually succeeded in conquering the planet, then.

Thor straightened up, his posture growing stiff. For a moment, Loki thought he’d given himself away, before realising that his mule-headed brother was simply thrumming with barely-restrained excitement. It was actually a little bit endearing how puppy-like Thor seemed at times. “If you do not know a way to remedy this, I would seek your leave to journey to Omnipotence City. I will petition the Celestials there for an audience, or, if that fails, seek aid from the Council of Godheads themselves.”

“Uh, that’s fine. Good.” Excellent. Thor would head off to Omnipotence City—probably to go fawn over that blowhard Zeus that he idolised so much—and Loki could go back to ruling Asgard without concern.

It occurred to him that this sort of little hare-brained adventure was exactly the sort of thing that, in the past, his brother would always have asked him to come along on. He’d sigh and roll his eyes and agree, and enjoy himself despite the fact that he had to clean up after every bad decision that Thor made. They’d quickly get into trouble, of course, but escape it just as easily. Together. Loki felt a slight twinge of regret… the door was closed on those memories. He’d never be able to experience that brotherly comradery again. Even if he were to reveal himself, Thor would never forgive him for everything he’d done, not that forgiveness was something he would ever be able to bring himself to ask for in any case.

After a slightly awkward pause, he tapped Gungnir on the tiles once again. “I mean, yes. That is my judgement. You will journey to Omnipotence City on this mission of obviously vital importance.”

“Thank you, father. I will not let you down.”

 

--

 

Leaning out of the bed, Natasha fished her phone out of the mess of clothes on the floor. Unlocking it, she tapped at the screen a few times, reading something, then dropped it next to her and sighed. I took the opportunity to snuggle into her, kissing the side of her neck as my fingers traced a slow path down her bare stomach.

She turned her head, smiling as her nose touched mine, before reached down and gently grabbed my hand to stop it from going any lower. “Sorry, duty calls.”

I made a small noise of disappointment. “Aw. They don’t really need us for anything today, do they?”

“They don’t need you for anything, no, but I’m on point for the talks with Russia. Maria’s organised a meeting with our UN attaché in about an hour and a half—I’m probably going be late for the pre-brief as it is.” Despite her words, Nat didn’t seem in any particular hurry to move.

I pouted. “You’re just going to run away and not even offer me breakfast? How rude.”

Leaning forward, she kissed me, lingering on my lips for a few moments before drawing back. “There’s a nice café on the corner. Use Tony’s card.”

“Fine, fine.” I stretched my arms out, disentangling us as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Do you want a portal when you’re ready? I can drop you straight in the Tower lounge.”

“Huh. Actually, that’d be great.” Nat crawled over and wrapped her arms around me from behind, the warmth of her breasts pressing into my back. “You’re pretty useful to have around, you know,’ she whispered into my ear. “Maybe I’ll keep you after all.”

I reached up, threading my arms over hers and leaning contentedly into the embrace. “I adore you, you know,” I murmured, almost immediately regretting saying the words out loud. Way to come on way too strong, Wanda.

“I’m beginning to get that, yeah.”

Heat rose in my cheeks and I heaved a sigh. “Ugh, I’m pathetic, aren’t I? Sorry.”

Nat snorted. “Don’t apologise. It’s cute.” Disentangling herself from me, she stood and padded over to the walk-in wardrobe, organising a set of clothes for the day. I watched quietly, enjoying the view as my eyes roved across every curve of her body. She glanced over, a faint smile touching her lips as she noticed me ogling her. “What about you? Did you want to tag along? I’d tell you it’s going to be interesting, but I’d be lying.”

I pulled a face. “No thanks. I am really not interested in the political side of all this.”

“You’re going to need to get involved at some point. It’s not like you’re in the country legally at the moment—we’ll need to sort that all out with US Customs and the Sokovian embassy. They’re not going to be happy.”

“Ugh. I have better things to do.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I’m going to head over to Hell’s Kitchen. I need to talk to a lawyer.” I’d seen a news report yesterday about the arrest of Frank Castle, which meant Elektra would be showing up soon, if she hadn’t already. It had been the better part of a decade since I’d seen the Daredevil series, so I was a bit rusty on the details.

Nat paused and shot me a curious look. “Nelson and Murdock, right?” She chuckled at my confused expression. “You looked them up at the same time as Jessica Jones. I never ended up checking them out. I did some research, though. They represented the dirty cop who flipped on Wilson Fisk. Did you want what I put together, or…?”

“I know more than you,” I declared airily.

“Uh huh, is that so?”

“Have you heard of Daredevil?”

“The vigilante? Of course.” Natasha bent down and collected her dirty clothes, re-dressing herself temporarily in the underwear and top she’d worn last night, as she considered it. “Wait, Franklin Nelson’s the Daredevil?”

“No!” I scoffed. “I love Foggy, but he wouldn’t even fit in the suit. Matt Murdock.”

“…He’s not blind?”

“He is. It’s complicated. He’s Enhanced.”

“Huh. There’s so many new Enhanced around, it’s getting tough to keep track,” Nat mused as she moved to the door and opened it. “I’m going for a quick shower. If you want one, there’s a spare towel under the sink.”

“I could join you?” I ventured mischievously, half-standing up from the bed.

She shot me a flat look. “If you join me, I’ll definitely be late.”

Pouting again as she left, I fell backwards onto the bed and lay there for a few minutes, listening as the faint noise of running water started up in the bathroom. After a little while, I pulled myself to me feet and set about collecting my own clothes from where they lay strewn about on the floor. I’d almost certainly take her up on the offer of a shower—I definitely needed one after last night—but got dressed for now just so I wasn’t walking around naked.

Nat returned to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her, and started to get dressed. “Is Yelena still here?” she asked, her tone casual.

“I’m not sure. I’ll check.” Stretching lazily, I stepped out of the bedroom and padded down the short hall toward the living room. I didn’t see Natasha’s sister on the couch or in the kitchen, but—

“Wanda Maximoff.”

I just about jumped out of my skin at the unexpected voice, wisps of chaos magic summoned to my hands. Sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room was a bald, dark-skinned man with a goatee and black, pirate-like eyepatch. I recognised him immediately: Nick Fury, former Director of SHIELD and one of the most talented—and paranoid—spies in the world. He was wearing a simple grey button up under a charcoal jacket. If it wasn’t for the eyepatch, he’d be about as bland and nondescript as it was possible for him to be.

“Jesus Christ, Fury,” I breathed, heart pounding in my chest. “You know, one of these days you’re going to startle the wrong person doing that and get blasted through a wall.”

“Am I? See that in one of your visions, did you?”

I dismissed the energy dripping from my hands. “Well, no. I think you always get away with it, annoyingly enough.”

He chuckled. “Good to know.”

Looking around, I noted that there was no sign of the younger Widow. “Yelena left already?”

“Said something about being scarred for life.”

Natasha chose that moment to walk out of the bedroom, dressed in simple but professional black skirt and blouse with a slim jacket over the top. She barely shot our uninvited visitor a second glance. “Hey, Nick.”

“Natasha,” he acknowledged her.

Touching my arm, she shot me a brief, encouraging smile. “I’ve got to go, okay? Try not to kill him, bloodstains would be hell to get out of this carpet.”

“Love you too, Nat,” Fury said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Is everyone busy today?” I asked. “I do have something I want to talk through with you and a few others, if there’s time.”

“Going to drop another bomb on us?” Nat chuckled a little, stopped when she saw my expression. She sighed. “Really? At least let us finish the cleanup from the last one first.”

“It’s smaller scale than that,” I pulled a face, scratching absently at the back of my neck. “It just… I’ve already put this one off for longer than I really should have. It might be a bit messy.”

She paused and looked at me for a few moments. “Alright… is it something we want the whole team in on?”

“Absolutely not. You, Bucky and Steve. Maybe Bruce as well? It’s… it’s about Tony.” Natasha tilted her head curiously and I held up my hands defensively. “Look, I know, I’m not keen to talk about him behind his back, but you’ll understand why we need to talk about it without him when I lay it all out. Trust me? Please.”

Nat sighed and nodded. “We’ll make time this afternoon, after we’re done with the UN. I’ll text you.”

“Thank you.” I slipped my sling ring onto my fingers, gesturing, and red threads of energy came together into a portal with the Avengers Tower lounge on the other side. Nat stepped through, giving me one last lingering look before I dismissed the gateway, leaving Nick and I alone.

“The portals are a neat trick. Maybe I should get me one of those rings.”

I blinked, thinking about a magic-wielding Nick Fury. “That’d certainly be a curveball. Be my guest—Kamar-taj can be a pain in the ass to deal with, but if you end up having a talent for it and they’re willing to teach? It might take a while to learn, but Nick Fury with magic would be a hell of a thing.” I turned to look at him properly. “I assume, then, that Maria passed along my message?”

Fury lifted himself out of the armchair and walked slowly toward me, stopping when he was just within arm’s reach. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve seen the future.”

I snorted but obliged him, meeting his gaze evenly. “I’ve seen the future, Nick, and it’s pretty fucked.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’m assuming Maria filled you in on everything I briefed the Avengers on.”

“She did. Infinity Stones, Mad Titans and Celestials. It all sounds a bit above my pay grade, to be honest.”

“It is. Which is why we need Carol.”

Fury looked at me for a long moment. “Say I did believe you; say you really had seen the future. What are you holding back?”

“Lots of stuff,” I said with a shrug. “You were the director of SHIELD. More than anyone, I expect you understand the value in compartmentalising information.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the director of anybody anymore. I’m just an old man.”

“I suppose there’s something I can tell you. Do you know what’s going on with Hank Pym?”

“Pym?” he asked, suddenly very attentive.

“Darren Cross, the Pym Tech CEO, is bad news. He’s either close to replicating Pym particles or already has, I’m not sure. He’s planning on selling a weaponised version of the Ant-Man suit—you know about the Ant-Man, right?—he calls it the Yellowjacket. Actually, you keep your ear to the ground… am I telling you anything you don’t already know?”

“The unveiling is tomorrow night,” Fury acknowledged. “I was keeping an eye on it.”

“Huh.” I paused for a moment, filing that information away. Always good to know when exactly things were happening. “There’s a HYDRA guy looking to buy the tech. Ex‑SHIELD, he worked with Hank, Peggy and Howard back in the day. I can’t remember his name.”

“I think I might know the man you’re talking about.”

“Hank’s handling it, though, and he won’t appreciate it if you stick your nose in. It should all work out on its own. I don’t think anything else I’ve done should have any real impact on that. Pym tech is extremely dangerous… I don’t really want to go near it.” Pym particles were wild—the things you could do with them were complete nonsense.

Fury snorted. “So you’re just palming it off on me?”

“Hey, you asked what I was holding back,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe just keep on keeping an eye on things. Hank’s grooming a successor, a guy called Scott Lang. He’s… well, I guess he’s a bit like me. Best of intentions, bit of a fuck up, but comes good in the end.”

“…I’ll look into it.”

“And Carol?”

“I’ll think about it.” Fury walked slowly over toward the door. Opening it, he looked back at me. “The Witch and the Widow, huh?”

“Got a problem with it?”

He shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. “Not at all.”