Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. field office, Natasha, Hawkeye Barton, and Coulson watched the already-sour face of Nick Fury grow even darker—though with him, who could really tell. Fury was notorious for a bad temper and a spine that wouldn't bend, not even for the higher-ups. He had never once gone to the door to greet anyone.
Just as everyone worried he'd explode, Fury barked,
"You heard him. What are you standing around for?!
Move. We're going out to welcome them."
Shock rippled through the room—followed by a quiet thrill.
Made sense: that man was godlike in power. And not the benevolent kind—more like a demon out of hell.
In the car outside, Garfield and Holland were uneasy.
"Maguire's attitude is…," one muttered.
They still didn't grasp what tier Maguire had reached—someone who could threaten a nation with a whim.
Fury, Natasha, Barton, and others soon appeared at the entrance.
Seeing them, Maguire nodded to Garfield and Holland.
"They're out. Let's go meet them."
The trio stepped from the Bentley.
Fury clocked the car and thought,
"He's not short on cash… and he doesn't seem to be using his powers to get it.
Or maybe he is, and that's exactly why he has it."
Truth was, Fury was rattled. There were precious few incentives that could move a being like Maguire to join S.H.I.E.L.D. And if he ever took an Osborn-like turn and decided to rule the world, stopping him would be… uncertain. Unless that woman came back—but after all these years, even her contact line might be no good. By the time she returned, America might already be gone.
Pushing down that unease, Fury led the team toward Maguire. Natasha's thoughts churned seeing him up close again.
They stopped face to face. Garfield and Holland still looked timid.
Fury kept his voice even. "Nick Fury."
Maguire drawled, "So you're Egghead? Gotta say, it fits.
Call me Maguire."
Natasha and the others fought down a laugh. "Egghead" was—unfortunately—perfect.
Fury's expression somehow got darker, but remembering the monster standing before him, he swallowed it.
"All right, Maguire."
Maguire nodded and, with Garfield and Holland, strode toward the office. Barton and Coulson kept sneaking looks at him out of raw curiosity—how did a kid who looked like a high-schooler wield that kind of power?
As for Natasha, her glances had… other reasons.
Agents in the corridors stared. Fury showing up at a field office was shocking enough. Seeing him walk in with three kids-looking types? Minds were blown. The sharper ones put two and two together and went pale.
Fury led them into a conference room. The moment they entered, he moved naturally toward the head chair.
Maguire gave a single, pointed cough.
Fury, quick on the uptake, paused. Anger flickered—then he turned and said evenly,
"You sit there."
Maguire smiled.
"Isn't that too much to ask? …But since you're so warm and welcoming, I'll accept."
He strolled straight to the head seat and lounged in it. Natasha, Garfield, and the rest stared, speechless.
Maguire set both hands on the table. His palm flipped; a cigar appeared between his fingers. He pulled the system's lighter, the motion smooth and practiced. The smoke curled up—same swagger, same intoxicating scent.
Natasha, Barton, and Coulson all looked at Fury. S.H.I.E.L.D. forbade smoking in the workplace.
Fury was already dying inside, but in front of Bully Maguire, he could only bow his head.
He forced himself to speak. "Let's—"
Maguire cut in, voice lazy:
"What's this? S.H.I.E.L.D. that poor? You don't even have an ashtray?"
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