Coulson took a moment to consider the question, mentally reviewing both agents' files and comparing their respective strengths. Physical appearance, operational capabilities, personality profiles, every variable that might affect mission success.
"Mockingbird bears a striking resemblance to a Continental Hotel operative who was killed by Smith Doyle and Fox during the High Table conflict," he finally said, his tone carefully neutral. "If we deploy Barbara, there's significant risk of recognition. That could compromise the entire operation before it begins."
He wasn't making the decision for Fury, merely presenting the tactical reality. The director valued subordinates who provided complete information rather than simple agreement.
Fury processed this for exactly three seconds. "Then we send Natasha. Have her apply for a position with Fox's financial team. Use that as her entry point to build rapport and gradually work closer to Smith Doyle himself."
"Also, maintain direct contact with Smith. Continue recruitment efforts. We want him viewing SHIELD as an ally, not a threat."
He paused, considering the broader strategy. "Regarding the Assassin's Brotherhood facilities, establish dialogue. See if we can leverage their neutral ground concept for intelligence gathering or emergency operations."
Coulson nodded crisply. "I'll arrange a meeting with Smith Doyle immediately. See where his priorities lie."
He departed, already mentally organizing talking points and tactical approaches. Fury watched him go, then turned his chair to face the window overlooking the Triskelion's grounds.
His mind drifted to Carol Danvers, Captain Marvel. He'd hoped to build the Avengers Initiative around her as the central pillar, a powerhouse capable of facing planetary-level threats. But she'd departed Earth to handle cosmic concerns, leaving that plan in indefinite suspension.
Could Smith Doyle fill that role? The energy projection capabilities suggested power on par with what Carol could deploy. And unlike Carol, Smith was Earth-based with established roots and loyalties.
Worth exploring, at minimum.
Smith stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around him as he toweled his hair. Fox lay sprawled across the bed, still asleep despite the morning light streaming through the windows. He walked over and delivered a playful swat to her rear.
Fox made a muffled sound of protest, her voice thick with exhaustion. "Let me sleep. Don't even think about it. You've already destroyed me once today."
She didn't even open her eyes, just burrowed deeper into the pillows.
Smith grinned, momentarily distracted by an odd tangential thought: How had Chi-Chi managed to conceive Goten? When Gohan was born, Goku's power level had been relatively modest. But by Goten's conception, Goku's base power exceeded four million. The biological mechanics seemed impossible, yet somehow...
He shook his head, dismissing the random musing. "Rest up. I'm heading to the training grounds."
"Mmm," Fox mumbled, already drifting back toward deeper sleep.
Smith had barely cleared the bedroom door when Wesley intercepted him in the corridor, his expression indicating business rather than casual conversation.
"Chief, Agent Coulson is here again. Requesting an audience."
Smith wasn't surprised. Last night's battle had generated energy signatures visible to anyone with proper monitoring equipment, and New York was SHIELD's backyard. Of course they'd noticed. The only question was what angle they'd take.
"Take him to the conference room. I'll meet him there shortly."
Wesley nodded and departed while Smith detoured to grab proper clothing. No reason to receive a federal agent while wearing workout gear.
Five minutes later, Smith entered the conference room to find Coulson waiting with his characteristic patient smile. The agent rose politely as Smith approached.
"I'm curious what brings a Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division agent to my door today," Smith said, settling into a chair across from Coulson. "What's the official purpose of this visit?"
Coulson's smile widened fractionally. "Actually, Mr. Smith, we took your suggestion. The organization has officially shortened its designation to SHIELD."
Smith's eyebrows rose. "SHIELD. That's definitely more memorable."
"So what does SHIELD want with the Fraternity today?"
Coulson maintained his professional demeanor, settling into negotiation mode. "First, congratulations on eliminating the Hand. That organization represented a significant criminal enterprise, human trafficking, drug distribution, political corruption. Removing them has made the world measurably safer."
Smith leaned back, his expression neutral but his tone carrying subtle edge. "Well, someone had to handle it. Can't blame a newly renamed organization for not taking action against such a large threat. After all, you've been watching them operate for how long? Decades?"
The barb landed exactly as intended, but Coulson didn't flinch. "Organizations like the Hand fell outside SHIELD's operational mandate. We focus primarily on extraordinary threats and advanced technology. But we're grateful someone addressed the problem."
So SHIELD doesn't know about the dragon bone or the Five Fingers' resurrection capabilities, Smith thought, filing that information away. If they'd understood the immortality angle, they'd have moved against the Hand themselves long ago. That kind of technology was exactly what intelligence agencies killed for.
"Grateful enough to offer something tangible?" Smith asked, his smile sharp. "Or did you come just to offer verbal thanks?"
Coulson's expression remained pleasant. "Of course we're prepared to demonstrate our appreciation. SHIELD is committed to supporting the Assassin's Brotherhood transformation you're undertaking."
"We understand you've launched wax bath medical services. The treatment profile appears quite effective for trauma care. SHIELD would like to purchase slots in bulk, one hundred reservations initially as emergency medical reserve. If the results meet expectations, we'll expand the order substantially."
Smith spread his hands. "Agent Coulson, the wax bath system requires gold coins as entry tokens. It's not a simple cash transaction."
"Can we arrange some flexibility on that requirement?"
"No." Smith's voice carried absolute finality. "The rules exist for specific reasons. They apply universally, regardless of who's purchasing. If SHIELD wants access, you acquire gold coins through the same channels as everyone else."
He wasn't being obstinate for its own sake. Even if he refused SHIELD directly, they'd simply have agents acquire coins through the intelligence market and enter as regular customers. Better to establish clear boundaries from the start.
Coulson nodded as though he'd expected that answer. "Of course. Rules exist to maintain system integrity. We respect that."
He leaned forward slightly, shifting to his actual proposal. "However, I understand the Assassin's Brotherhood also operates an intelligence marketplace. Criminal information can be sold in exchange for gold coins."
"SHIELD maintains extensive global intelligence networks. We gather data on numerous criminal enterprises that technically fall outside our enforcement jurisdiction. Rather than letting that intelligence gather dust in archives, we could sell it to the Assassin's Brotherhood."
"I believe our information quality would generate substantial gold coin compensation."
Smith considered the offer, turning it over from multiple angles. This was exactly the kind of arrangement he'd designed the system to facilitate. SHIELD would dump intelligence about criminals they couldn't or wouldn't handle, the Fraternity would assign elimination missions to registered assassins, and everyone benefited except the criminals.
Plus, it gave those thousands of idle killers productive direction rather than taking random contracts.
"That falls squarely within the Assassin's Brotherhood's service offerings," Smith agreed. "We welcome SHIELD intelligence contributions."
He extended his hand. "Successful partnership."
Coulson shook firmly, sealing the arrangement. Both men smiled, though each was clearly calculating the longer-term implications of this relationship.
Across town in Malibu, Tony Stark had finally completed construction of his new arc reactor. The device was smaller, more efficient, and far more elegant than the crude version he'd built in a cave with improvised materials.
He lay reclined in his workshop's medical chair, heart rate monitors attached to track his vitals during the upcoming procedure. The old reactor would need to be removed and replaced, delicate work made more complicated by the shrapnel fragments still lodged near his heart.
Upstairs in the living room, Pepper watched a financial news program, the host delivering increasingly pessimistic projections about Stark Industries' stock price following Tony's weapons manufacturing announcement. The ticker at the bottom of the screen showed the stock in freefall.
Her phone buzzed, Tony's number.
She descended to the workshop, curiosity and concern warring on her face. Tony rarely called when she was already in the house; he usually just used JARVIS to summon her.
"Hey, come here," Tony said as she entered, gesturing with one hand. "Let me see you."
Pepper approached cautiously, extending her hands in an unconscious gesture of offering help.
Tony caught her hands, examining them with theatrical appreciation. "Such delicate hands. Capable hands. I need you to do me a small favor."
Pepper's eyes tracked downward to Tony's chest, where the arc reactor's glow was visible through his partially unbuttoned shirt. Her expression shifted to alarm as she realized what he was asking.
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