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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What if Stark handed over his Iron Man armor tech? Wouldn't Earth be able to fight head-on then?" a commissioner asked, his hologram flickering faintly in the chamber's light.
James gave a low laugh, the sound cutting sharper than words. "Hand it over? For what? You mean mass production? You think that ends with Earth united? No — it ends with weapons stamped like currency, with corporations carving profit from new energy until it burns this planet from the inside. I don't doubt it will happen. Not for a second."
The female commissioner's voice rang crisp. "I cannot agree with that assessment, Agent Gibson. If Earth possessed a large number of Iron Man suits, then our planet could finally guarantee its own safety."
James leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "You're staring at one realm — Asgard — and pretending that's the limit of the universe. Do you think Asgard is the strongest threat out there? Do you think Stark's armor will stop an empire older than our species? And even if you did build thousands of suits, what then? Can you guarantee Earth won't turn those weapons inward? Can you promise humanity won't launch invasions of its own? Tell me — when has a politician's promise ever been worth more than paper?"
The European commissioner raised a finger. "That is not a fair accusation—"
James cut him off. "Fair? Look at the Banner incident. The military tried to reproduce Erskine's serum. Ross wanted soldiers, but what did they make? The Abomination. A creature that tore Harlem apart. Where was the accountability? Ross was stripped from the project, yes — but court-martialed? No. The destruction, the lives lost? All forgotten. Swept under a rug you signed off on."
His tone sharpened. "The girl my father adopted was a victim of that failure. Where was her chance to sue? Where was her justice? And while you buried that incident, some of you even suggested making Abomination part of the Avengers."
Murmurs rippled across the chamber. Fury's good eye tracked James steadily. He was letting him burn through the Council's hypocrisy.
James's voice grew colder. "Your obsession with control disgusts me. You're not gods. Even the gods who once walked this earth didn't try to control everything — because they understood that control breeds resistance. You want obedience, but what you'll get is rebellion. Every single time."
For a moment, silence weighed heavy.
Fury finally stepped forward, coat shifting as he planted himself at James's side. "World Council Members," he said evenly, "Agent Gibson may sound harsh, but he's telling you the truth. Some forces aren't ours to leash. You've seen Thor's combat assessment. You know what the Destroyer did. It took more than simply wielding weapons to stop it."
He paused deliberately. "Thor is friendly to Earth now. My intent is to continue that friendship. Bring him into the Avengers. Not to control him — but to cooperate. If you try to cage someone like that, you don't get obedience. You get war. And in a war, the outcome is already written."
Fury's gaze swept the councilors. "So no, I can't give you guarantees. What I can give you is realism. Compare our strength to theirs. Then ask your questions again. Maybe next time they'll make sense."
The four councilors withdrew to a private channel, their holograms flickering out briefly.
James leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. "So that's the game. They don't want the Avengers. They want pawns."
Fury didn't answer. He didn't need to.
When the councilors reconvened after noon, their decision was predictable.
"We conclude," the woman said flatly, "that there is no immediate need to establish the Avengers as a permanent body. However, S.H.I.E.L.D. will maintain monitoring of identified individuals and retain authority to assemble them when necessary. This is the most resource-efficient path forward."
James could almost taste the rot under the words. 'Resource-efficient meant surveillance. Assembly when needed meant control.'
But he didn't react. Neither did Fury. The two of them walked out side by side, the heavy doors shutting behind.
"That was your plan all along," James muttered. "Bring me in to say what you couldn't. Let me bloody their pride so you keep your mask clean."
Fury's mouth curved in the barest smirk. "It worked, didn't it? They heard it from you, not me."
James gave a sharp exhale, half amusement, half frustration. "And you think they'll listen?"
"They don't need to listen," Fury said. "They just need to know. You can't wake them up all at once, but you did rattle them. That's enough."
James glanced sideways at him, then away. "It's still politics. It's always politics."
"Welcome to my world," Fury replied, voice dry.
By the time they reached Fury's office, James had already shifted gears. "Alright, Director. You've had your play. Now I want to go home. Summer spent with my family, remember? You owe me that."
"Not yet," Fury said. "There's a new mission. A short one. In New York. You and Natasha as a team."
James stopped dead in the doorway. "…Natasha? You really want to pair me with her?"
Fury didn't flinch. "Yes."
James shook his head. "You know our history. You know exactly why she won't stand in the same room with me. If you tell a woman she isn't beautiful, you're suddenly public enemy number one. And Romanoff isn't just any woman. She's the Black Widow. The psychology of knowing that alone is dangerous."
"I've heard," Fury said evenly. "From Coulson, from the others. But she's a professional. On the job, she's serious. You'll live. Think of it as practice for working with real agents."
James frowned. "I'm not a standard agent, Director. My name's in every file, my face in every database. Sending me to infiltrate cocktail parties is a waste. You should want me in combat ops, not parading around with Natasha on my arm."
Fury finally looked at him directly. "You want combat? Then learn infiltration. This isn't optional."
The office door opened, and Natasha was already there. Dark red hair tied neatly back, posture straight, with eyes flicking to James only long enough to register him before shifting away. No greeting and no acknowledgement.
James smirked faintly, taking a seat on a sofa without hesitation. While she remained standing, awaiting orders. The silence between them was tangible, like a fuse ready to detonate.
Fury ignored it. "The mission's simple. One of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mandates is to keep alien weapons out of private hands. Certain arms dealers in New York are holding a cocktail party, flashing influence and contacts. They're looking to acquire alien tech. You'll be attending the party. Try to blend in with Natasha as your companion. Once inside, identify the sellers, the buyers, and their networks. The extraction plan is already in place."
James steepled his fingers, expression cool. "So this time I play the billionaire in a suit, while Natasha plays the date. And when the masks drop, we burn the network."
"Exactly," Fury said.
Natasha's silence lingered, serious and deliberate. James only smirked wider, leaning back into the sofa.