Emma Arrives
Summary (Revised): S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits telepath Emma Frost on a temporary clearance deal to help unlock Garou's memories. In exchange, S.H.I.E.L.D. agrees to look the other way on certain "incidents" involving her students. Emma arrives with open contempt for everyone but Garou. The moment she brushes his mind, she stumbles—overwhelmed by violent chaos so pure it momentarily blanks her connection. She pretends to be unfazed. She is lying.
The elevator doors slid open with a hydraulic sigh—and in walked a storm in heels.
"Tell me this isn't what I cancelled two board meetings for," Emma Frost said, voice sharp as glass, white coat trailing behind her like a judge's robes.
Tony stood immediately. "Miss Frost. Always a pleasure to have someone here whose default tone is 'bored threat.'"
Emma ignored him.
She scanned the room with clinical precision—Bruce near the kitchen, Steve by the table, Natasha leaning casually against the wall like she'd been sculpted there. Thor didn't even pretend to hide his stare.
And then her eyes landed on Garou.
Still seated.
Still silent.
Still watching.
"Is that it?" she asked, finally addressing Steve. "The one from the ice?"
"That's him," Steve said, standing. "No ID. No past. No speech. But he responds to combat stimuli like he was born in a warzone."
"I'm sure that's a coincidence," she muttered.
Natasha crossed her arms. "Remind me why you're here again?"
Emma didn't look at her. "Because S.H.I.E.L.D. wants inside his head, and none of you have the range."
Bruce spoke up, cautious. "You're not exactly S.H.I.E.L.D.'s biggest fan."
"I'm not here because I like anyone in this room," Emma said flatly. "They're giving me temporary clearance in exchange for not interfering the next time one of my students melts a senator's car."
Tony blinked. "That happened?"
Emma glanced sideways. "Allegedly."
She stepped closer to Garou, her heels clicking with precise malice. "I don't like being used, Captain. But I like untraceable monsters even less. Especially ones sitting quietly like they're waiting to be triggered."
Garou didn't react.
He just followed her movements with his eyes.
Not like prey watches a predator.
Like a predator watches… another one.
Emma stopped one pace away from him.
"No restraints?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Steve shrugged. "Didn't work. Besides… he hasn't shown intent."
Emma smirked. "Darling, I've been intent."
She slowly reached toward Garou's temple. "I'm entering now. Just a surface scan. Don't resist."
Her fingers touched skin.
And the room changed.
Emma's pupils flared white.
Her body locked.
And then—staggered back, hard—heels skidding on the polished floor.
Steve caught her.
"Emma?"
She swatted him off and steadied herself on the table.
"No. No, I'm fine," she said, blinking fast, her voice just a fraction too sharp.
Tony was already at her side. "What did you see? Anything useful?"
Emma's eyes flicked to Garou, who still hadn't moved. His gaze was unblinking.
She exhaled once. "He's... static. Noise. A survival instinct that outgrew the man it came from. And something else."
Bruce leaned forward. "What else?"
Emma's voice went cold.
"He doesn't think in words. He doesn't remember things. He reacts. Like something trained to fight before it could even speak."
Steve frowned. "So he's just… a weapon?"
Emma looked at them all.
"No," she said. "He's not a weapon."
She turned her gaze back to Garou.
"He's a question sharpened to a point."
.. --. ----. -.. -.. --_--------
The training floor of Avengers Tower was built to withstand a Hulk tantrum, but today, it was being tested by something quieter.
Garou stood at one end of the mat, barefoot as usual, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Across from him, Steve adjusted his stance, hands up in a defensive boxer's guard.
"No weapons," Steve said calmly. "Just footwork. Let's see what you remember."
Garou didn't reply.
He moved.
No warning. No prep. Just forward—one step, pivot, sidestep.
Steve blocked. Just barely.
Then again.
Garou circled, perfectly matching Steve's distance—mirroring his motion like a reflection that didn't wait for you to move first.
Bruce watched from the console. "His balance is… unnatural. Like he's low-gravity."
Natasha, seated nearby with arms folded, didn't blink. "It's not balance. It's calibration."
On the mat, Steve changed style—switching to a Krav Maga grip.
Garou adjusted instantly.
Then again, when Steve swept low. Garou lifted his leg before the sweep even committed. Not just adapting.
Predicting.
Steve stepped back, breathing slightly harder. "You're learning."
Garou tilted his head.
Then raised one foot and stomped—his heel stopping just an inch above the floor.
The mat shuddered from the sheer tension in his control.
Tony, watching from above, sipped his coffee. "Yeah, no red flags there."
Steve turned to Natasha. "You want to try?"
She stood without a word. Moved onto the mat, circling Garou with quiet grace.
They clashed once. Twice.
On the third clash, Garou slipped behind her mid-spin—an evasive pattern Natasha hadn't used yet, but Bruce had in a simulation the day before.
Bruce's eyes widened. "He's combining us."
Natasha disengaged, jaw tense. "He's not just copying," she muttered. "He's improvising."
Thor stepped onto the mat, clapping his hands. "Enough shadow games. Let us fight."
Garou turned to him.
Thor grinned. "Come, little wolf. Show me your claws."
Without waiting for a nod, Thor lunged—hammerless, but powerful. A thunderous shoulder charge.
Garou ducked.
Then pivoted.
Then disappeared.
Thor stumbled forward, momentum wasted. He turned—too slow.
Garou's finger touched his chest. Just one tap.
Thor blinked. Then grinned. Then fell backward, deliberately sprawling onto the mat like a felled giant.
"Glorious!" he roared, laughing from the floor. "I like this one!"
Garou stood over him, not smiling, not gloating—just calm. Watching.
Tony lowered his mug. "Alright. That's it. We're calling him Growl."
Steve looked over. "Why?"
"Because he hasn't said a word, and every time he moves, I hear a growl in my head."
Garou turned toward him.
Tony raised both hands. "Hey, you want to talk? Now's the time, buddy."
Garou stared. Then, slowly—deliberately—tilted his head.
And for a moment, his lips moved.
Just barely.
He whispered a word.
It was quiet. Rough. Like sand through stone.
But clear.
"Hero."