If someone were to ask who Nick Fury feared the most in this world, there would only be one answer, Luke Yale.
Of course, he would never admit that aloud. After all, he was Nick Motherfucking Fury. Fear wasn't in his vocabulary.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
And yet, despite that fear, Fury couldn't stop relying on Luke.
As the director of the most frontline organization protecting Earth, he understood that Luke's power was indispensable. Every time he needed his help, the price was steep, but it was always worth it.
That was also why Fury never dared to cross him.
If he had to choose between offending the entire United States government or offending Luke, he'd pick the government without hesitation.
So the idea of him being the one to call Luke and ask him to come sign an agreement that was essentially putting a leash on his neck? Impossible.
Fury knew Luke well, he loved one thing above all else, and that is his freedom. Try to bind him, and you might as well sign your own death warrant.
…
Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. conference room.
Congressman Brooke sat across from Fury, his phone still in hand. He glanced from the director to the unfamiliar number on the screen, then pulled out his own mobile without hesitation.
It was just a phone call. Why was Fury acting so nervous?
As a seasoned politician, Brooke saw through the excuse instantly. Fury's earlier claim that Luke had "blocked his number"? Complete nonsense. The director simply didn't want to make the call himself.
Brooke's lips curled into a smug sneer. Since you don't dare, I'll do it myself.
Behind him stood the full weight of the United States government. Even the most powerful superheroes had to bow their heads before that authority.
And Luke Yale? To Brooke he was nothing more than a man relying on borrowed strength.
With that thought, he pressed the call button.
…
Elsewhere.
Luke's phone had been tossed away long ago, left in a drawer where only Wanda occasionally checked it to review their investments.
Instead, he now relied on Bumblebee. Any incoming call went to the Autobot first, then was forwarded straight to Luke's ever-present earpiece.
At the moment, Luke was stretched out in their massive pool that doubled as a hot spring, eyes closed, cucumber slices resting coolly on his eyelids. Wanda and Sharon were soaking beside him, while Doggo was splashing happily in the shallow end like an oversized child.
From where he was parked beside the pool, Bumblebee's voice rumbled:
"Boss, there's a call coming in."
Luke didn't bother opening his eyes. He shifted slightly in the water and asked lazily, "Who is it?"
"Unknown number. Hold on, give me three seconds."
By the time Bumblebee finished the sentence, he had already scanned the net, pulled the GPS, and hacked into the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance feed.
"Got it. Caller is Congressman Barry Brooke. He's inside S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters right now, in a meeting with Director Fury. The Avengers are present as well."
Luke blinked beneath the cucumbers. "A congressman? What the hell is he calling me for?"
Then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes narrowed. "Wait, the Avengers are there? Parker and T'Challa too?"
Bumblebee's headlights flickered in confirmation. "Affirmative, both are present. Scott Lang as well."
At that, Luke suddenly sat upright, cucumber slices sliding off his face and plopping into the water. His eyes lit with excitement.
Three Avengers he hadn't met yet. Each one a protagonist in their own right. That meant… two plot points apiece.
Six points, all in one trip.
"Perfect," he murmured, already calculating. He could have met them before, sure, but chasing each one down separately was troublesome. Now, they were all gathered in one neat package.
"Alright," Luke said decisively, flicking water from his hands. "Pick up the call."
But Bumblebee hesitated. His engine gave a faint stutter.
"Boss… the line cut off a few seconds ago."
Luke froze, then let out a short laugh. "Figures. Fine, then we'll just go directly."
He rose from the hot spring in one smooth motion, droplets sliding down his shoulders. Without a care, he snatched a towel, wiped himself half-dry, and tugged on a pair of beach shorts from a nearby recliner. Flip-flops slapped against the tiles as he strolled to Bumblebee.
Doggo, dripping wet, scrambled out of the pool and leapt into the passenger seat before Luke even shut the door.
The Camaro's engine roared alive, six crimson flames bursting from its exhaust like the breath of a dragon. Ever since Bumblebee had fused with the Reality Stone, his flames and energy bursts had shifted to a blazing blood-red hue.
…
Back in the conference room.
Brooke's face darkened as he stared at his phone. The unanswered call sat mocking him on the screen.
His jaw clenched. Then, with a furious growl, he slammed his palm against the table.
"Damn it!"
The outburst made several Avengers glance his way.
"Director Fury!" Brooke snapped, veins bulging in his neck. "Send an agent to catch Luke Yale immediately!"
The command rang through the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.
Fury, however, only gave a thin smile and leaned back in his chair. His one eye gleamed with amusement.
"Congressman Brooke," he drawled, "are you serious? You know what Luke is. You think one of my agents could catch him?"
The absurdity of the suggestion spoke for itself.
Brooke's face turned crimson with rage. Being openly defied in front of this many people, it was humiliation. A betrayal of the highest order.
"Good. Very good!" He jabbed a finger at Fury. "When I report this to Congress, you can consider your job gone!"
Spitting the words, he whipped out his phone again and dialed another number.
The line clicked. A calm, genial voice answered, "Congressman Brooke, it's been a long time. What can I do for you?"
At least this man didn't sound like Fury.
"General Fuller," Brooke hissed, "I'm in New York. I want troops dispatched immediately to arrest someone for me."
"…Who?"
The man on the other end was General Mike Fuller, newly appointed commander of the New York Military District after General Ross's fall. Unlike Ross, he was still finding his footing, and political favors mattered to him.
"A man named Luke Yale," Brooke snapped. "He lives in a grocery store on 58th Avenue, Manhattan!"
Fuller frowned. "An ordinary civilian?"
Brooke nearly choked on his own fury. "Not ordinary! Bring soldiers, lots of them. Tanks, heavy weapons, aircraft if you have to! Do you understand me?!"
There was a pause. Then Fuller exhaled heavily. "Understood. I'll dispatch forces now."
As much as he disliked the idea, he couldn't afford to offend someone like Brooke, not with his own position still vulnerable.
Brooke ended the call with a satisfied smirk. But before the silence could settle, the doors to the conference room banged open.
A young man in nothing but beach shorts and flip-flops wandered in, rubbing his eyes as though he had just woken from a nap.
Each step echoed with that lazy, unmistakable slap-slap of rubber soles.
…