Fury didn't take his eyes off the surveillance wall when he asked, "Brand?"
Coulson followed the camera feed: Li Ming, feet up at the Director's computer, scrolling through Peggy Carter's medical file like it was his personal diary. Coulson replayed the bench scene in his head—beer, hot dog, casual wave at the lens—and nodded. "Got it."
Fury's mouth tightened into a flat line. "In his culture, alcohol's not just a drink—it's a key. Hosting, patching fences. Even when you get caught, even when you owe the man an apology." The word seemed to taste foreign. "He likes beer. Go buy the same brand."
Coulson clocked the tell. Fury didn't do apologies. Fury did leverage. If he was bending now, it was toward another angle. On the feed, Li clicked and dragged the mouse, careless as a cat. Coulson dropped his voice. "You're trying to lift Austin's DNA?"
Fury didn't deny it. "Tranq on the stand-in should've pulled skin cells, at least. Austin's slipperier than I expected—didn't leave so much as a flake."
Coulson's expression soured. His eyes dropped to the mouse under Li's fingers. "At least you've got prints. I didn't even get eyes on his 'invisible' help, let alone DNA."
He headed for the door, already planning the errand. If there was no trace on the bottle, he'd be filing a creative memo with a prayer.
—
Li finished Peggy's file, then idled through a few rounds of Solitaire just to see if S.H.I.E.L.D.'s antivirus could take a joke. He considered installing a couple of single-player time-wasters for sport.
The door opened. A gleam of polished dome, then the man himself.
Real Fury.
Li brushed two fingers across his eyes, mage-sight flaring. Not a decoy. He grinned. "Look who's back. A second ago your face was getting quality time with the carpet. Now it's back to factory black. Thick skin—you don't even scuff."
In Fury's breast pocket, his phone buzzed—short-long, short-long. Morse translated by muscle memory: ENERGY SPIKE. He lobbed a can to Li and crossed to the couch. "You knew that wasn't me and didn't pull your punch? I'll forward the medical bill."
Li shrugged, cracking the tab. Step one of billing is finding an address. Behind the tilt of the can, he spun out three detection charms so faint they could pass for dust. "The guy whining about insomnia? Long-lost twin. Different fathers. Different mothers."
Fury's eyelid twitched. Could've just said clone. "And the face-down nap?" he asked dryly. "Don't sell it like charity. You were grinding the mask off."
Li raised the can in a lazy toast. "Believe whatever keeps the lights on. I'm not admitting anything."
"Confession unnecessary." Fury's chin tipped toward the monitor. "How much do you know about Agent Carter?"
"I know she's running out of time," Li said. Before Fury could bristle, he traced a small cross in the air. "From your people's notes, if S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't been meticulous, she'd have—" He let the gesture end the thought.
Fury's mouth set bleak. "Even with full care, she nearly died this week. We pulled her back. She's in constant pain." He drew in a breath that sounded like policy collapsing into plea. "I want to buy some of your Fountain of Life. Not to buy her years—just to make what she has left comfortable."
He held Li's gaze. "Peggy Carter is close with Stark—Tony's elder, in every sense. If you can do more than ease the pain, Stark will compensate you, and I'll broker it. Shares of Stark Industries, if that's what you want."
There it was. Li's smile thinned. Say yes to the water, and five minutes later Fury would have his hand at his throat asking about his 'real purpose' with Tony Stark. He rubbed his brow. "What is Tony, your son? Get that paranoia checked, Director. Untreated, it's terminal."
Fury took his own drink, swallowing the retort. "You know why S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps eyes on Stark."
Li counted on his fingers. "Howard Stark, cornerstone of your predecessor. Tony's disruptive toys. Also the bit where he announced to the planet he's Iron Man. Your mission—" He waved off the lecture. "You think you've mapped the world. You haven't even found the tip of the iceberg."
So you know things I don't. Fury's stare sharpened. That meant they talked longer. "Back at his place, you said he wouldn't live long," he said. "I did my homework. Palladium poisoning. He's only upright because of your potions."
"Temporarily," Fury pressed. "Which leaves Stark beholden to you, and Stark Industries exposed. So I traded him improvements to the Arc Reactor for your number—and installed Romanoff to make sure no 'mystic problem' removes a world-class asset."
Li lifted a brow. "Improvements? That 'gift' is a message in a bottle from his dad. You slapped a S.H.I.E.L.D. sticker on it and called it R&D." He didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. "And you can stop circling: if I wanted Tony's stock, do you think it's hard? You know about Obadiah. If I get bored, I can bring Howard back for a little chat about corporate governance."
For the first time, a chill skimmed down Fury's spine. He tried a different tack, voice low and iron-cold. "If the dead can come back, we have to rethink a lot of things—souls, metaphysics. If there's a Hell, how do we deal with that?"
Li cocked an eyebrow. "Checking God's residency permit now? Looking for an extradition treaty for the Almighty?" He grinned, brittle. "I haven't toured Heaven. Haven't met angels at immigration. What I've seen—there are things that come out of Hell. Sanctum people deal with demons; that's their line."
Fury let it hang. Fountain water, Stark's weakness, the Sanctum's reach—pieces shifting. "Time to rearrange the board," he said simply.