Evening had settled over New York, the sky painted in shades of orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Lucien had been busy since morning, handling various tasks and errands that came with unexpectedly becoming the CEO of a tech company.
But the most important purchase of the day hadn't been business-related at all.
He'd gone out intending to buy a car. Something for getting around the city. Daniel had suggested a Tesla. He himself was considering buying a sports car.
But then he'd seen it.
A black sports bike sitting in the showroom, sleek and aggressive. The moment his eyes had landed on it, something in him had simply decided. No deliberation, no weighing pros and cons, just an immediate certainty.
The heart wants what it wants.
He'd bought it on the spot and parked it in the building's underground garage. That was where he was heading now, taking the stairs down from the main floor.
His phone had rung about five minutes ago. Natasha's voice, though the number that appeared on his screen wasn't one he recognized. That detail alone had told him something was wrong before she'd even started speaking.
"Lucien? It's me." Her voice had carried an edge he'd rarely heard from her - not quite panic, but definitely concern.
"Different number?" he'd asked.
"Yeah. Long story. Listen, I need your help. Can you meet me?" She'd given him an address on the Lower East Side, in an area that was mostly industrial buildings and warehouses.
"I'll be there in twenty," he'd replied without hesitation.
It had been quite some time since they'd last met properly.
Their schedules had diverged as his involvement with dungeons and now the company had increased while she'd been pulled into whatever SHIELD was dealing with lately. But despite the time gap, he didn't question her reaching out.
Natasha was one of the few people whom he'd met early on in his new life who probably understood him better than anyone else.
Anna liked him.
More than that- she loved him. They were currently dating, navigating the complicated territory of a relationship.
She saw his light, caught glimpses of his darkness, knew about it, and accepted it.
But she didn't truly understand it. She hadn't experienced that kind of darkness herself. She hadn't lived through it, breathed it, been shaped by it from childhood.
Natasha had.
She'd experienced darkness that went deeper than anything Lucien had faced.
Taken away as a child, trained as a weapon, put through situations no child should ever have to endure.
The Red Room had systematically destroyed her innocence and rebuilt her into something that could smile while eliminating targets, that could seduce and assassinate without hesitation, that could do whatever was necessary without flinching.
And yet, despite all that, despite being forged in that crucible of horror and manipulation, she'd emerged on the other side and chosen to help people.
To save lives instead of just taking them. To use the skills that had been beaten and trained into her for something better than what she'd been designed for.
If the Avengers represented the light - the shining heroes who stood in the spotlight and inspired hope - then Natasha was the darkness of the team. The one who operated in shadows, who did what needed to be done without glory or recognition, who carried the weight of necessary evils so others wouldn't have to.
She put on a smile, played the role of the hero, and went through the motions of saving people while making sure others didn't have to go through the same darkness she had. She protected people not just from external threats but from the kind of moral compromises that would have destroyed someone with less strength.
Lucien respected that about her more than almost anything else. That strength of will, that choice to be better than what she'd been made to be, showed a character that most people didn't have.
It would have been so much easier to just continue as she'd been trained, to embrace the darkness and let it consume her.
But she hadn't. She'd fought against it every single day.
All the training sessions he'd had with her over the past months, every spar and every discussion, had helped him understand her better.
She was a SHIELD agent, technically his handler at one point, but she'd never made any serious attempts at manipulating him the way handlers were supposed to do.
No honey traps, no psychological manipulation, no playing games with his loyalties or trying to mold him into the perfect weapon for SHIELD's purposes. She could have done all of that - she had the skills and the training - but she'd chosen not to.
Instead, she'd just guided him sometimes. Offered perspective when he needed it, provided context for the complicated moral landscape he was navigating. She made sure he didn't go down the path of becoming a mindless killer who saw violence as the only solution to every problem.
She'd walked that line her entire life. She knew what it felt like to have blood on your hands, to make the hard choices, to carry the weight of deaths that might have been necessary but still left scars. And she'd survived it with her humanity intact.
That was why, when she called asking for help, Lucien didn't hesitate. Because she'd been there for him when he was figuring out who he wanted to be in this world, and he would be there for her now.
Lucien reached the parking level and walked over to where his new bike sat.
All black, from the frame to the wheels to the leather seat. Even the chrome accents had been powder-coated in matte black. The dealer had looked at him oddly when he'd requested specific modifications to make it even darker, but money talked.
The clothes he was wearing matched perfectly: black jeans, a black jacket, and black boots.
The shadow monarch dressed in shadows. It was almost poetic.
He grabbed the helmet from where it hung on the handlebars. Also black, with tinted glass that was dark enough to be almost opaque from the outside.
Legal? Probably not.
Did he care? Not particularly.
The bike roared to life when he pressed the ignition, the engine's purr sending vibrations through the frame.
He reached the address Natasha had given him in just under ten minutes, finding an underground parking structure attached to what appeared to be an old warehouse. The entrance was open, the gate mechanism broken or deliberately left that way.
Lucien slowed as he descended the ramp, his senses immediately scanning the area. The parking structure was mostly empty - just a few cars scattered here and there, probably belonging to workers in the nearby buildings. Poor lighting created deep shadows between the concrete pillars, perfect for hiding.
He sensed Natasha immediately. She was behind a car about thirty feet ahead, her presence distinctly recognizable to his perception. But something was off about her position. She was staying low, movements minimal, and her heartbeat was elevated in a way that suggested stress or pain.
Vigilant. She was being vigilant, watching for threats.
Lucien stopped his bike and pulled off his helmet, setting it on the seat. The sound of the engine echoed in the enclosed space, probably announcing his arrival to anyone within several blocks.
"Natasha, it's me," he called out, his voice carrying clearly across the parking structure.
For a moment, there was silence. Then a small laugh came from behind the car - definitely Natasha's voice, but with a slightly strained quality to it.
"Phew." He could hear the relief even through the pain. "You got a new ride, huh? I thought it was one of them for a second."
One of them? Lucien wondered who "them" referred to, but decided not to ask immediately. First, he needed to assess the situation.
Natasha emerged from behind the car, moving carefully, and Lucien's expression changed instantly as he saw her properly.
She was holding her upper abdomen with both hands, applying pressure in the way someone does when trying to slow bleeding. Her black tactical suit was torn in several places, and through the tears, he could see deep gashes that were still seeping red.
Her hands were covered in it. Her clothes were soaked with it. The concrete floor beneath where she'd been hiding showed a small pool of it.
Blood.
...
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