He commanded Athena to remove all his traces of interaction, before leaving to blend with the crowd.
The storm was coming. And he'd need every edge he can get to meet it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James had already siphoned through Athena's archives, but the info on the Tesseract remained absent. Fury had locked it under the highest tier of classifications that not even Athena could access. There was no reaching it until Loki's arrival forced it into the open. That meant, for the first time in weeks, James considered taking summer leave and returning to New York to spend it with Mindy.
The thought didn't last though. Coulson intercepted him.
"Pack your bag," Coulson said. "We're heading to Washington. Fury wants you at the hearing."
"The hearing?" James raised a brow. "What for?"
Coulson's mouth pressed thin. "To evaluate whether the Avengers Initiative is… necessary."
By the time the Quinjet cut above the Potomac River's shimmer, James had his answer. Fury sat opposite him, impassive.
"Director," James asked, "why drag me into a room full of bureaucrats? Don't you have people for this?"
Fury's stare was that of granite. "Because you're one of the Avengers."
James tilted his head. "So are Romanoff and Barton. So why not them?"
"Natasha can't survive the questions they'd throw. Barton's a soldier, not a speaker. You're different. You've got one foot in S.H.I.E.L.D., one in the Avengers, hands on your League games and no leash tying you down. That makes you the only one who can tell them what they need to hear."
James leaned back, unimpressed. "Always politics. Never the fight."
Fury didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The next morning, the main conference chamber of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters was all seriousness and silence.
Four chairs stood at the front, each mounted with a glass panel. Pierce waited nearby, hands folded, his expression the model of calm authority. Fury strode beside James without hesitation, his presence filling the cavernous space.
As Pierce activated the comms, light bled upward from each chair. Four holograms shimmered into being, translucent yet imposing. Their faces were distinct — an older European man, an Asian commissioner with sharp features, a younger statesman in a business suit, and the sole woman, her eyes sharp with years of skepticism.
They looked down on the chamber as if from a throne. The detail of their suits, the faint distortion of the hologram glass — all designed to remind anyone seated here of their distance and their authority.
James noticed something missing. No chairs were left for them. They were expected to stand under judgment like children to their parents.
Squinting his eyes, he deemed that unacceptable and walked to the side, dragged a chair across the floor, and sat down. The scraping noise echoed in the room. No one commented, but he caught a slight frown on the European commissioner's face. 'Good.'
Pierce's voice filled the silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, today's agenda is to determine whether the Avengers Initiative should continue. Director Fury and Agent James Gibson are present to answer the Council's questions."
The woman spoke first. Her voice was crisp and authoritative. "Director Fury, why did you propose the Avengers Initiative? What was your rationale?"
Fury's chin lifted. "Because we need them. The New Mexico incident proved aliens are real. You saw the Destroyer. That construct leveled half a town with ease. Thor's arrival confirmed our planet isn't isolated and alone. When the next invasion comes — and of course there will be a next — Earth needs more than conventional arms."
His tone sharpened. "The Avengers aren't for daily missions. They exist for the day Earth faces something bigger than Earth itself."
The younger man leaned forward. "And how do you ensure these Avengers are safe for Earth? What if they become the threat?"
James cut in before Fury answered, his voice carrying across the chamber. "Safe? You mean controllable, right? That's your obsession. Anything you can't leash, you call it a danger. You want to apply that logic to Captain America? To Stark? To a god with a small g?"
The commissioner's jaw tightened. "Agent Gibson, watch your tone—"
James leaned back, crossing his legs. "What tone? This is a hearing. I spoke freely at Stark's hearings. Why should this be different? Unless you plan to fire me on the spot? Do it. My lawyers would send a letter before your lunch break."
The holograms flickered faintly with irritation. Fury's mouth curved almost imperceptibly — a sense of satisfaction, carefully hidden from others.
Pierce cleared his throat. "Let's remain professional. Agent Gibson, in your position — is the Avengers' existence necessary?"
James's voice cooled down. "Yes. Aliens exist. And they could be stronger, faster, and more advanced. Just Thor alone proves that. Luckily, Asgard isn't hostile to us. But if they ever decide to be, do you plan to fight them with paper votes? With committees? You need the Avengers. Guns and bombs will do nothing against them."
The Asian commissioner spoke next, his tone sharper. "How can you guarantee the Avengers won't turn against Earth? Stark alone is reckless. He treats combat like a performance."
James's smirk was cold. "Guarantees are for accountants, not war. If they decide to turn hostile, your guarantees mean nothing. You think a resolution on record will stop Thor's hammer? Or Stark's armor? You've built your careers on believing control is safety. But it isn't. The only real safety is through strength."
The man stiffened but said nothing.
The European councilor leaned in. "And what about you, Agent Gibson? You were trained as an assassin. How do we know your loyalties don't shift with convenience?"
The chamber chilled. James's eyes fixed on the hologram, flat and unblinking. "I was an assassin. Past tense. Hydra underestimated me because they thought that's all I'd ever be. My loyalty is simple: to the people I protect, and to this planet. Unlike politicians, I don't trade in compromise and speeches. I trade in results."
The woman interjected again. "That sounds like arrogance. Why should the world trust a man who answers only to himself?"
James tilted his head. "Because when I say I'll put a bullet in Hydra, I do it. Because when I say I'll stand in front of an alien army, I won't back down. Trust isn't built on words. It's built on actions. And I've delivered more in one year than half your operatives have in a lifetime."
Silence. Even the holograms seemed to shimmer in hesitation.
Pierce stepped in to cool the room. "Let's focus back on the topic. The question is necessity, not personality. Agent Gibson, please continue."
James nodded once. "The Avengers aren't just deterrence. They're signals. To every other world watching, they say Earth is not powerless. That even if we're behind in technology, we can still fight. And to every would-be invader, they say: if you test us, you will bleed."
The words hung heavy.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then the European councilor said, voice lower now, "So you believe Earth must rely on extraordinary individuals. Not armies, and not governments."
James didn't blink. "Extraordinary individuals have always changed history. Armies only follow. Governments clean up afterward. Pretend otherwise if it helps you sleep, but you know I'm right."
The councilors withdrew one by one, holograms fading into empty glass. The chamber fell silent again, leaving only Pierce, Fury, and James in the room.
The hearing wasn't over in spirit, but the lines were clear. Control versus strength. Bureaucracy versus reality.
And James had made sure they understood where he stood.