Banner leaned back, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Strange mix. A businessman and a government ghost."
James shrugged, flicking ash from his cigar. "Life's strange. But it works."
The sea breeze carried their smoke away, dissolving into the morning light.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"It really surprises me," Bruce Banner said, brows lifting as he set down his cup. "Your life is… unusual."
James chuckled. "I've heard that before."
At that moment, a box truck rolled down the coastal road and turned onto the sand. Banner stiffened instantly, muscles coiling. James raised a hand in calm dismissal.
"Easy," he said. "They're mine. You look hungry. Consider this breakfast."
The truck stopped nearby, and several agents climbed out, working in silent efficiency. Within minutes, they'd set up a small collapsible kitchenette under a sunshade, the sea wind scattering the scent of oil and rice, and a big mahi-mahi fish through the morning air. James took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped in to cook himself.
He wasn't a chef—but assassin training had its uses. The knife precision he'd honed in the Fraternity made vegetable slicing almost an artistic style, and the reflex control from his augmented body turned every toss of the wok into a neat arc of motion. It wasn't for show, yet there was a rhythm to it that caught Banner's eye.
Cortana murmured in his ear: [Temperature control optimal. Soy-to-salt ratio within acceptable variance. You may yet qualify for human-level culinary competence. ]
James smirked. "I'll take that as a praise."
Half an hour later, the dishes were done—four entrées and one soup, complete with freshly steamed rice. The aromas rolled thickly through the breeze.
"Do you know how to use chopsticks?" James asked.
Banner nodded. "I used to eat Asian food often. But it's been a while." He sounded both curious and cautious. He still didn't quite understand what kind of operative cooked breakfast for him after tailing him across a continent.
James ignored the curiosity and started eating. The first bite hit hard—a taste of home he hadn't realized he'd missed. For a moment, he almost forgot he was on a mission.
Banner eventually gave in, his own movements clumsy but eager. Hunger won over suspicion. He ate in silence, only the clatter of chopsticks and the rhythm of waves between them.
In the background, some of the Agents are also enjoying the feast made by their Captain.
When they finished, James leaned back, let out a quiet sigh, and tapped the table.
"Now that everyone is done eating, let's go for the main event of this feast. The Mahi-mahi that I will personally cut into fine sashimi for everyone."
James rolled up his sleeves. "Alright," he said, setting the fish on the table. "Let's make something worth the end of a mission."
He drew a knife — slim, balanced, like an assassin's blade now repurposed for peace. The smooth sound of a knife slicing through flesh with eased echoed out.
[Cortana: Internal temperature optimal. Cut along the dorsal seam — three degrees adjustment for perfect sashimi yield.]
He followed without a word. Each cut in a rhythm, as fluid as breathing. The mahi-mahi opened neatly under his hands, fillets separated in smooth motion, flesh glistening with seawater sheen.
A few agents stopped mid-conversation, drawn by the silence and precision of the act. Even Banner leaned closer, curious, the brilliance behind every motion.
Within minutes, James arranged the slices across a ceramic plate — pink-white flesh lined like brushstrokes of light. A squeeze of citrus, a drizzle of soy sauce, and fresh pickled ginger slices so thin that it melts in your mouth that he made freshly earlier.
He set the platter down at the center table. "Sashimi," he said simply, "fresh from the coast. Don't argue, just taste."
The first bite drew quiet nods all around — the kind of quiet that only came from focused enjoyment.
With the feast finished, James patted his belly and stood up. "All right everyone, good job on your work, now clean up," he said to his men. The agents packed up quickly and drove the truck away, leaving the two men alone again on the beach.
James brewed another round of tea and sat across from Banner. "Mind if I call you Bruce?"
"It doesn't matter," Banner said, pouring himself another cup.
"Good." James smiled faintly. "Bruce, your movements have been under S.H.I.E.L.D. observation for a while now. We can find you anywhere, no matter how deep you hide. So whether you leave or stay—it makes no difference."
Banner froze mid-sip, then downed the tea anyway. He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed.
James saw it and continued. "I came here to replace the previous surveillance team. They've been on you for months. I've only been here for a week, watching your life—how carefully you lived, how you avoid everyone. It's… depressing, honestly."
Banner's mouth twitched. "Are you sympathizing with me?"
"No." James shook his head. "Pity, maybe. You're wasting a brilliant mind. I've met General Ross. The man's a fool. The U.S. military thinks it can leash such power that they don't understand. That's why they failed."
He leaned back. "You know Tony Stark, right?"
Banner's tone softened. "Yes. A remarkable genius."
"He's a friend. The military tried to cage him, too. But they couldn't, so they dragged him to a Senate hearing instead. We both attended. Taught those politicians a quick lesson in humility." James smirked at the memory. "The congressman running it nearly burst a vein."
Banner raised an eyebrow. "And what's your purpose in telling me all this?"
"My purpose?" James said calmly, "It's simple. I want you to come back to the United States—on your own terms. Tony and I can build you a lab. No government oversight, no leash. Just research. Your mind shouldn't rot in exile."
Banner studied him, suspicion warring with curiosity. "You want to study me… or the Hulk?"
"We don't want either," James replied. "Tony has his Iron Man suits, and I have my own—the Umbra Sentinel, the one that lured you out of the city last night. We're not interested in dissecting monsters or anyone for that matter. We build our own."
Banner almost smiled. "You're not wrong about Stark's ego."
James lit a cigar, the smoke trailing lazily toward the sea. "Exactly. He's too narcissistic to obsess over someone else's creation. You'd have freedom, Bruce. Study whatever you like. The only condition is that you start using that brilliant mind of yours, not rotting away to hide from everyone."
Banner hesitated. "A comprehensive lab sounds nice… but if I lose control again, the damage could be—"
James waved off the concern. "Then we build on the outskirts. Tony's designing an independent, pollution-free power grid. He can supply the entire site. We'll choose a place miles away from civilians. If you go green again, no one gets hurt."
He took another drag, exhaled slowly. "We've got money, manpower, and tech. If a lab blows up, we'll rebuild it. The only inconvenience you'll face is choosing where to go on vacation."
"Vacation?" Banner blinked.
"Tony's jet is always available. Pick a country, but he'll complain the whole way there."
For the first time that morning, Banner's mouth curved into a genuine grin. He tried to hide it behind his teacup.
But doubt still lingered in his eyes. 'Would Stark really agree to this?'
James saw it and reached into his bag. "Let's ask Tony himself."
He opened a slim laptop, the screen flashing as Cortana connected to Stark's secure channel. Within seconds, Tony appeared, drink in hand and mischief in his eyes.
"James! I thought you were supposed to be chasing a giant rage filled monster, not starting a cooking show."
"Tony," James said dryly, "meet Dr. Bruce Banner."
Stark raised a brow, eyes narrowing in recognition. "The one who turns into the big green problem? Impressive. Didn't expect to meet you over tea."
Banner looked awkward but nodded. "Hello, Mr. Stark."
"Dr. Banner," Tony said, setting his glass aside. "I'm a big fan of your early gamma-field work. A shame that the military turned your project into a freak show. I'm offering asylum—top floors of Stark Tower. Labs, equipment, and a wonderful view of Manhattan. All expenses paid."
James interjected before Stark could go further. "Not so fast. I found him first. We're planning to have a joint facility—off-grid, a private sector. Considering Bruce's… volatility, it'll need to be somewhere remote."
Tony's grin widened. "A secret science lab fortress in the wilderness? I like it. I could build an armor production wing there. Call it the Stark-Gibson Research Complex."
James smirked. "You just want naming rights."
"Damn right I do," Tony said. " And while we're at it, your Nexus Arms could have a dedicated production line and workshop for upgrades. Some experiments in New York are inconvenient to do with all the permits and safeties needed."
James nodded. "That's the idea—And Tony, Hydra tried to provoke Banner last night. Someone wanted him to lose control—and maybe drag me into the mess, too. I don't know who's behind it yet, but I intend to find out."