Nick Fury took Michael's coffee as if breaking into a man's home included beverage rights.
He lifted the cup, inhaled, and studied the dark surface with theatrical care. "Ethiopian? Single-origin?"
"Grocery-store packet. Bottom shelf."
Fury set it down. His expression did not move, but the retreat was eloquent.
Michael sat across from him on the leather sofa. The Nakfoji form had left his muscles aching, a fact he had no intention of advertising.
Fury had arrived without triggering any warning Michael knew about. He might have come alone. Michael gave that possibility the respect it deserved: none.
"What do you know about Richard Parker?" Fury asked.
The surname landed before the first name did. Michael knew Peter. Richard took longer.
He kept his face neutral while memory assembled the connection. Peter's father. A researcher. A death that had never been as simple as the public version.
"Not enough to justify you drinking my coffee."
Fury watched him for a beat. "Richard Parker conducted classified research for the agency. He and his wife, Mary, died in a plane crash. His files disappeared with them."
"And you came to me because?"
"The missing work concerned genetic decay."
Michael understood the shape of the accusation. He also understood how useful an accusation could be when the accuser did not care whether it was true.
"Then why are you here instead of bothering Tony?" Michael asked. "And while we're discussing missing research, have you returned Howard Stark's materials to his son?"
The room changed by a fraction. Fury did not look surprised, exactly. He looked as if a line on a private map had moved.
"What do you know about Howard's materials?"
"Enough to know they aren't yours."
"You answer questions with other questions."
"You enter houses with accusations. We all have hobbies."
Michael remembered that Tony's inheritance mattered, but he did not know what Fury held or when Tony was meant to receive it.
Fury leaned back. "Would you like to explain the blue organism seen above this property last night?"
So they had seen him.
Michael had expected surveillance eventually. Expecting it did not make the timing less irritating.
"It was an experiment," he said.
"An experiment based on whose formula?"
"Mine."
"You expect me to believe you developed a viable genetic transformation immediately after making contact with Richard Parker's son?"
"I expect you to prove the words you just used. I did not know Richard Parker, and I do not possess his research."
Fury's one visible eye gave away nothing. "You met Peter yesterday."
"He came to my gate with a photograph. May Parker is my cousin. Peter calls me his uncle. If your investigation reached classified genetic research but missed a family connection, I'd ask for a refund."
Michael could name the family relationship. The incident that had divided them remained beyond the body's recovered memory.
"A family connection doesn't explain the creature," Fury said.
"No. I grew the creature. If you're bringing Richard Parker into this, tell me why."
"Unregistered biological experimentation is not a small problem."
"Neither is accusing someone of stealing dead researchers' work because a camera saw the wrong color in the sky."
"A new organism with unknown capabilities is a security concern."
"Concern isn't jurisdiction. If the experiment causes harm, come back with evidence. Until then, suspicion is not a warrant and fear is not ownership."
Michael rose and crossed to the window. Morning light hid the sandbox membrane from ordinary sight. The thawing enclosure looked like damp lawn from this angle.
"Cells and spores, contained on private property," he said. "If you have evidence of an actual statute I've broken, send it to my attorney. If you decide to manufacture one, Stark Industries employs enough lawyers to turn your week into a cautionary tale."
"You think Tony Stark makes you untouchable?"
"No. I think paperwork makes you bored."
Fury's mouth almost changed shape.
Michael opened the curtains farther. "There. Now I can see you when you threaten me."
"The planet is under threat," Fury said. "I am assembling people capable of responding."
"Your superhero team."
Silence followed.
Michael had known the Avengers were coming. Days earlier, he had met a red-haired woman while drinking with Tony; the encounter had not felt accidental.
His knowledge of the story filled in the rest, but stories changed. People lied. Nick Fury built contingencies for his contingencies.
"Call it the Avengers Initiative," Michael said. "If it belongs to governments, committees, or anyone who thinks a superhuman team is a convenient weapon, I'm not interested. If it remains independent of politics, I might consider helping when there is a real threat."
Fury's gaze sharpened. "How do you know that name?"
"Observation. Analysis. Your surveillance is less subtle than you think."
That was not the whole truth. It was close enough to stand without additional support.
"I confirmed you've had no contact with Xavier's school," Fury said. "Otherwise I might assume telepathy."
"You broke into my house to tell me I'm not on one of your lists? I'm touched."
"I'm telling you I need your help."
"And I told you I might offer it under conditions. Don't mistake that for enlistment."
Fury reached into his coat.
Michael let the Nakfoji form hover at the edge of his thoughts. The transformation might get him through a wall. Whether he had enough stamina to escape whatever waited outside remained a different question.
Fury produced a small recorder and pressed a button.
Michael's own voice played back through the room.
If it remains independent of politics, I might consider helping when there is a real threat.
Fury stopped the recording. "You just agreed to assist when needed."
"That sentence contained conditions."
"My copy is very clear."
"Your copy is going to meet my lawyers."
"It could also meet a prosecutor interested in how you knew a classified initiative existed."
There it was. Richard Parker, the formula, the experiment—each had been a door Fury could try. Michael's own mouth had opened the one the director wanted.
He considered turning blue and putting Fury through the floor.
It would be satisfying for perhaps three seconds.
"When there is an actual threat," Michael said, "you call. I decide what help means."
Fury pocketed the recorder. "That's a beginning."
"It's the limit."
"We'll see."
He walked out without explaining how he had entered. A moment later, engines thundered beyond the grounds. The Quinjet rose, tilted, and disappeared.
Michael remained at the window.
Fury had never needed the genetic formula to be his. He had needed pressure, a reaction, and a sentence that could be carried away without its context.
Michael looked toward the thawing sandbox.
"I remember you, Fury."
The promise sounded less impressive in an empty room, but it helped.