Chapter 5: A Proposition
Talon looked down at the makeshift green canvas kilt wrapped around his waist, then back at the impeccably dressed woman before him. A wry smile touched his lips.
"For a beautiful woman, how could I refuse?" he said, his voice now a normal, resonant baritone. "But my invitation for a drink might cause a scene in my current... attire. Perhaps you could buy me a suit first?"
Natasha Romanoff didn't even blink. "Consider it a welcome gift," she said with a smooth, professional smile.
She didn't take him to a mall, but to a discreet, upscale boutique whose staff asked no questions. Money, it seemed, was no object for S.H.I.E.L.D. Talon didn't hold back, selecting a perfectly tailored dark suit, a crisp white shirt he left open at the collar, a leather belt, and polished Oxfords. In the fitting room, he saw the reflection of a man he barely recognized—Talon Reeve, reborn.
When he stepped out, even Natasha's impeccable composure cracked for a fraction of a second. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The suit couldn't conceal the raw power of his frame; the broad shoulders, the thick neck, the sheer density of his musculature promised explosive strength. With the open collar and his confident, almost predatory stance, he exuded a wild, untamed magnetism that was utterly compelling.
"My God," she breathed, the exclamation quiet but genuine.
A murmur ran through the small shop. The female staff stared, their professional masks slipping to reveal open admiration.
Natasha recovered instantly, sliding her arm through his with a possessive air. "Shall we?" she said, leading him out and away from the admiring glances.
He knew it was an act, a part of her mission to assess and recruit. He'd seen the movies; he knew the Black Widow was a master of emotional manipulation. It was fine to play along, but he would not forget the reality beneath the charm.
She led him to an exclusive, low-lit bar, securing a private booth where the thrumming bass of the music was a distant pulse. She ordered an expensive whiskey, poured two glasses, and handed one to him.
"To new acquaintances," she said, her eyes glinting in the dim light.
"To power," Talon countered, clinking his glass against hers and downing the amber liquid in one smooth, burning gulp. He needed her off-balance.
Natasha took a more measured sip, her smile never wavering. "A good drink deserves a good story. Perhaps you could tell me yours, Mr. Reeve?"
"It's simple," Talon said, leaning back. "My name is Talon Reeve. I seek power. I came to America to find it. The end."
"That's... remarkably concise," she replied, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "And this power you seek? What form does it take?"
"I can integrate the genetic potential of others," he stated bluntly. There was no point in hiding his core ability. "It requires their consent and physical contact. It does them no harm."
"A unique gift," she noted, filing the information away. "We observed your encounter in Harlem. You possessed the Abomination's form, yet you stand before me now as a man. How?"
"The Hulk's genetic template provided the key to control," he explained, seeing no benefit in lying about this. "Emotion is the trigger. I have mastered it."
Her gaze sharpened. "That leads to my next question, Talon. The world has two paths for people like you. You can be a hero, revered and protected. Or you can be a villain, hunted and despised. Which path will you walk?"
"The hero's, of course," Talon answered without hesitation. Only a fool would declare otherwise.
"Have you heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?" she asked, moving in for the pitch.
"Not only have I heard of it," he said, deciding to assert a little dominance, "I know your director is a stubborn, brilliant man named Nick Fury. And I know you, Natasha Romanoff, are the legendary Black Widow. I know more than you might think."
The slight widening of her eyes was deeply satisfying. He had successfully planted a seed of uncertainty. How does he know that? "How?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Talon simply took another sip of his whiskey. "That, I'll keep to myself." Mystery was a shield. Let S.H.I.E.L.D. wonder about the extent of his knowledge.
"Very well," Natasha said, recalibrating. "Then I'll be direct. Director Fury has authorized me to invite you to join S.H.I.E.L.D."
"I'll consider it," Talon said. "Under three conditions."
"I'm listening."
"First, a new, clean American identity. Second, I operate as an external consultant. I maintain my freedom and choose my missions. And third," he leaned forward, his eyes intent, "you arrange a meeting for me with Tony Stark. I wish to discuss a collaboration."
Natasha processed this. "The first is simple. The second means you would forgo the resources of a full-time agent. The third... why Tony Stark?"
"In matters of technology and vision," Talon said, his ambition clear in his voice. He needed Stark's genius, not just his genes, but his understanding of powered systems and global defense. It was the first step toward building something of his own, a legacy of power that answered to no one.
"Very well," Natasha said after a moment. She stood and offered her hand, the picture of professional grace. "On behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., welcome aboard, Talon Reeve."
He shook her hand, his grip firm. "The pleasure is mine."
As they sat back down, Natasha's curiosity returned. "This collaboration with Stark... what kind of technology are you interested in?"
Talon gave her a slow, knowing smile. "Want to know?"
She nodded, leaning in slightly.
"Darling," he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "that will cost you a kiss."
Natasha laughed, a light, musical sound that was likely as practiced as her combat skills. She gave him a playful shove. "You're terrible."
Talon just smiled. She wasn't willing, and he wouldn't push. Not yet. He didn't have the leverage to play that game. But he would. Soon, he would have all the leverage in the world.