Back in the office, Fury exhaled through his nose. He'd wanted Barton or even Stark, but neither fit the cover. James was the only choice. The problem was the fire and ice between him and Natasha. It wasn't a question of whether sparks would fly. It was whether the mission would survive them.
And somewhere in New York, an alien ring-shaped weapon waited in velvet. Small, unimpressive, but dangerous.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James drove his sports car straight onto the highway, the engine's roar bouncing off the road barriers as the city blurred behind him. He didn't drive recklessly, but the weaving through the traffic was more close shaven than most people dared. The drive itself was therapy to him — the revving of the engine, the thrum under the wheel, the rhythm of shifting lanes.
By the time the skyline thinned into its familiar grid of streets and towers, James eased the Audi off the expressway and into Manhattan's dense evening flow. Glass and steel rose on all sides, neon starting to glow against the descending sun. His route ended at the base of their high-rise, where a private lane led into the underground garage.
The security gate rolled open at his approach, sensors reading the car's tag. Concrete swallowed him underground, the R8's engine echoing as he descended. He parked in his reserved bay, the elevator doors only a few steps away.
The moment the garage shutters sealed behind him, the sound of small feet echoed from above. By the time he keyed the elevator and the doors opened into the penthouse, Mindy was already sprinting across polished floors, ponytail flying. She launched herself at him the second he stepped inside.
"James!" Her hug was fierce for her size, all the days of absence compressed into one squeeze.
Anny padded after her, tail high, meowing insistently until James bent down to scoop her up too. The kitten pressed soft paws against his chest, belly noticeably rounder than before. Hannah must have been feeding it like royalty.
The warmth of home wrapped around him instantly. The kitchen smelled of roasted chicken, garlic, and butter. Plates were already set. Hannah, as good a mother as she tries to be, placed cutlery into his hands before he even sat. Carlos poured him a glass of water, raising his own in a quiet gesture of welcome.
James slid into his chair, Mindy sat beside him as if afraid he'd vanish again. For a moment, the penthouse was filled only with the normal sounds of family: chairs scraping, plates clinking, food passed back and forth.
Anny had her own dish on the floor tonight — a grilled fish, skin crisped golden. The kitten dug in with unrestrained greed, scattering bits across the tile. Mindy giggled, reaching down to pat her. "She's spoiled now. Every time you come home, she eats better than me."
James smirked. "She's starting to look like a little barrel. Cute, though. Makes her extra huggable."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that needed no filler. Then Carlos broke it. "How long can you stay this time?" His tone was casual, but his eyes gave him away — the question was half hope, half worry.
James set down his fork. "I don't know for sure. But I can spend the summer with Mindy." He tilted his head toward her. "That's what matters. What do you want to do, kiddo?"
Mindy blinked her big eyes, chewing her bite of bread before answering. "I don't know… maybe at the flower shop? It's peaceful there. I joined the flower arranging club at school to learn more."
Her voice was small, almost guilty, as if asking permission for something frivolous.
James chuckled, brushing a hand over her hair. "It doesn't have to be a lesson. You can learn anytime. Summer's for fun. Just tell me where you want to go, and we'll go."
Hannah leaned across the table with a smile. "No rush. Let her decide in her own time."
Dinner stretched long. Carlos told a quiet story about a customer at the flower shop who had mistaken fertilizer for soil and nearly killed a batch of orchids. Mindy laughed until she nearly spilled her drink. Hannah pretended to scold but kept smiling. Even James let himself relax, the lines in his shoulders easing.
For the first time in weeks, the world outside didn't matter.
The next morning began with routine. Mindy's training hadn't been neglected — Carlos had kept her drills steady while James was away.
They met on the rooftop deck, the city stretching wide around them. James stood at the edge, arms folded, watching her movements. Her strikes landed sharper now, kicks aligned better with her balance. She counted under her breath as she cycled through sets, face shiny with sweat but eyes determined.
"Again," James said quietly.
She repeated the combo, foot snapping, fist following, and stance resetting cleanly.
James gave a short nod. "Better. You've been working hard."
Mindy grinned, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Of course. Can't have you thinking I slack off just because you're gone."
Carlos smirked from the rooftop entrance, coffee in hand. "She's disciplined. Reminds me of someone else I know."
James didn't answer. He didn't need to. Pride showed in the way he clapped her shoulder when she finished the set.
Breakfast was simpler than dinner — toast, eggs, and coffee, with hot cocoa for Mindy.
Mindy ate too much jam, Hannah fussed with the kettle, and Carlos flipped through a newspaper he probably wasn't reading. James let the domestic noise wash over him. It was grounding him to the moment.
When Carlos and Hannah left for the flower shop, the penthouse quieted. The hum of the city outside mingled with the rapid clicks of Mindy's gaming rig. She laughed through her headset, talking to her classmates.
James left her to it and made his own call. Kyle Robert picked up on the second ring.
"Kyle, do you know a man named Giles Marbury?"
"Oh, I know him," Kyle said immediately, a grin audible in his voice. "Real estate hotshot. Lives in New York, but his money spreads everywhere. Loves to show off. Charity receptions every other month. Can't stand being out of the spotlight."
James leaned against the counter. "So you've crossed paths?"
"Plenty of times. Back when I was still based in New York. He's ostentatious to the bone."
James's lips curved faintly. "Then let me guess. I already have an invitation."
Kyle laughed. "Of course you do. He wouldn't dare miss you. He sent it weeks ago. I just didn't bother you with it since you never care for this stuff."
"I care now. Send it over. I need it in hand."
"On it. You'll have it tomorrow morning."
James hung up, satisfied. Of course he'd have an invitation. Between League Games' market surge and Samira's expansion, his name was stamped into every high-tier circle. Skeptics called it a bubble. But James knew better. Hundreds of millions of users were no bubble. They were a leverage.
Men like Marbury didn't send invitations to honor anyone. They sent them to keep doors open. Everyone pulled strings; the only difference was how polite they made it look.
James thought briefly of the charity funds that dotted the landscape — legal tax shelters dressed up as benevolence. He'd seen the trick a dozen times. Pour everything into a "foundation," avoid inheritance tax, and let the heirs live like royalty under the guise of service. Legal? yes. Noble? Hardly. He would never bother. Easier to pay taxes and sleep without debt, or just let the lawyers and accountants handle the matter of reducing taxes for him.
The next morning, the invitation arrived in a white envelope thick with embossed letters. James turned it over in his hands, noting the gold trim, and the carefully weighted paper. It was the kind of stationery designed to whisper prestige.
He smirked. "Pretty paper. But still just a ticket to steal from him."
He left it on the table and turned back to Mindy. She was in the middle of a match, headset slipping slightly as she hammered keys.
James sat down next to her, logging in. Within minutes, he was trailing badly. Mindy glanced at him mid-match, a grin tugging her lips. "Don't choke, James. You're supposed to be the smart one."
He forced his heartbeat faster, adrenaline helping his hands keep pace. His focus sharpened. Still, she outmaneuvered him with ease.
"Cortana," James muttered under his breath. "Why am I still terrible at this?"
[Your body is optimized for combat, not gaming. Fine motor execution and skill remains inefficient. If you wish, I can override manual control during matches.]
James scowled. "And what am I supposed to do? Just sit here while you puppet me?"
[Efficiency outweighs pride. Mindy will not notice.]
James chuckled under his breath. "Yeah. She'll notice."
[Then, the only solution for you is, GIT GUD]
He doubled down, refusing to give in. By the end of the evening, Mindy had stacked more victories than he could count. Her grin was radiant. "See? I told you. You're getting better. Slowly."
James leaned back, winded, but let her think she was right. Hannah mistook his late-night appetite for a compliment to her cooking, piling his plate high with seconds. James let her believe that too.
For now, it was enough. Family, food, small victories in a video game. Tomorrow, the mask of civility would return with Marbury's gala. But tonight, this was all he needed.