This was critically important intelligence.
Sometimes even a minor habit could become a lethal advantage.
For a top agent, the battlefield was everywhere, especially in bed.
When a target was deeply relaxed or fully absorbed, even the most vigilant person could easily let their true self slip through.
Inside the jet, silence fell.
Coulson listened intently, hoping Black Widow had extracted valuable intelligence from that “necessary contact.” Natasha fell silent.
It was not the precisely calculated pause she used in mission reports, but a rare blankness where you could almost feel her thoughts drifting.
On the communications screen, her always calm and composed expression seemed to flicker for an instant, too subtle and too quick to catch.
“During the assessment,” Natasha began, her voice still steady but with a faint, indescribable softness, as if describing a work of art worthy of admiration, “the target Hawk demonstrated extraordinary physical stamina, with excellent core strength, explosive power and coordination, and top-tier dynamic balance.” She paused, as if recalling the details.
“In terms of technique, he combined power and precision.
His tactical movements…
were aggressive without being reckless, showing a deep understanding of body mechanics and anatomy, and an expert grasp of the body’s weak points.
His sense of rhythm was nothing short of masterful.
He was skilled at using the environment and applying psychological pressure.” Coulson’s jaw dropped.
That description sounded…
like a combat briefing, but with a strange undertone of appreciation.
He stole a glance at Fury.
Fury’s expression darkened further, hard as cast iron.
“Agent Romanoff,” Fury said, his voice low like muffled thunder and edged with ice, “I asked whether you observed any intelligence that could help us analyze his psychological state, potential weaknesses, or background clues.
I am not asking you to write a fitness report on his performance in bed!” Fury nearly ground out the last few words through his teeth.
Only then did Natasha seem to snap out of it, pulling back from that unconscious state of “professional appreciation.” Her face instantly regained the absolute calm of an agent, as if that assessment had never happened.
“Reporting, Director,” she said, her voice cold and objective once more, “the target remained highly focused throughout the entire process, his defenses fully engaged, with no observed relaxation, unconscious habits, or exploitable physical or psychological weaknesses.
His willpower was exceptionally strong, and his awareness of his surroundings never wavered.” She added flatly, “Aside from that objective description of his physical capabilities and combat proficiency, no useful intelligence was obtained.” Inside the jet, silence fell once more.
Coulson cleared his throat tactfully, feeling as if the air had grown thick enough to suffocate him.
He didn’t dare look at Fury, or at Natasha beside him.
Fury fixed his single eye on Natasha, his gaze trying to pierce straight through her to see exactly what lay hidden beneath that calm exterior.
A feeling that could only be described as absurd welled up in his chest.
*Hawk…
was he really that damn impressive?
Impressive enough to have his top agent completely infatuated with him?* For the first time, he felt a flicker of doubt about Natasha.
He decided to send someone else to try.
Fortunately, two outstanding rookie agents had already been placed at Hawk’s alma mater, Columbia University.
Since the Bates Capital incident, however, multiple intelligence agencies had slipped operatives into Columbia to make contact with Hawk, and S.H.I.E.L.D.
still did not have a complete list of them.
Whatever the case, S.H.I.E.L.D.
had to move faster than the rest.
After a few seconds of thought, he slowly leaned back in his chair, his voice flat but heavy with pressure: “Understood.
Fill out the mission report in full detail.
Agent Romanoff, once the mission is over, you will write an extremely detailed after-action review.
Every point of contact, every conversation, every observed detail, whether or not you think it has value.
Also, your physical training load will be doubled.” He paused, a cold gleam flashing in his single eye, and added pointedly: “Especially Smith squats.
Add another hundred.” He leaned forward slightly, his single eye fixed on Natasha on the comm screen: “Now, as he put it, arrange a meeting.
The sooner the better.” Fury didn’t say “negotiation.” He said “meeting,” echoing Hawk’s own words in the elevator and signaling that S.H.I.E.L.D., or rather Fury himself, was willing to open a dialogue on relatively equal footing.
The connection cut off.
Coulson barely dared to breathe.
He stole a glance at Natasha.
Apart from the professional coldness that followed a mission, her beautiful face betrayed nothing.
But only Natasha herself knew that in the “extremely detailed” after-action review Fury demanded, all she could write about those two hours of “necessary contact” would probably still be that objective, almost admiring, yet utterly worthless “physical fitness assessment,” because that was the only “detail” she could clearly recall.
The rest of her sensory memory had already been overwritten by an overwhelming sense of control that made her heart pound, and by extraordinary skill, branded deep into her body’s memory rather than into a spy’s analytical log.
A moment later, Natasha took a deep breath and pulled up Hawk’s private contact info.
The number wasn’t public; Hawk had saved it in her phone himself after their “necessary contact.” Then she typed on the virtual keyboard, her wording precise: [Mr.
Hawk, regarding your proposed coffee invitation, my boss is very interested.
Are you free tonight?] Message sent.
Almost instantly, a reply popped up: [Natasha, efficient as ever.
It seems your boss needs this conversation more than I imagined.] [Tonight at 9 p.m., at “Muse’s Tears” across from Bates Tower.] [Rooftop terrace.
I’ve reserved the entire place.] [By the way, let me ask you again: “Smith squat,” was my performance…
still to your satisfaction?] A blatant flirtation, laced with the teasing tone of someone in complete control.
Natasha stared at the words on the screen, as if she could hear Hawk’s low voice and see that faint, almost imperceptible smile.
She decided to respond more directly, in a way that better matched Hawk’s expectations.
That in itself was a probe.