Manhattan's winter air bites at my face as we walk down the crowded sidewalk, snowflakes dancing in the glow of streetlights. Ellie's arm is wrapped possessively around my shoulders, her body radiating warmth against the January chill. My golden mask is folded safely in my pocket.
"I can't wait to get you home," I babble, excitement making me talk a mile a minute. "Do you have any idea how long I've been thinking about this? HOURS, ELLIE!"
Ellie chuckles, pulling me closer against her side as we navigate around a group of tourists. The symbiote shifts beneath her leather jacket, responding to her amusement without actually showing itself.
"Oh yeah? Tell me more," she says, her blue eyes glinting with mischief in the city lights.
"Well," I continue, lowering my voice so the businessman passing us doesn't overhear my depraved plans, "I was thinking you could use the symbiote to pin me down, like, really pin me down, and then maybe when I'm about to finish, you could choke me out a little?"
Ellie's laugh vibrates through her chest. "Oh so the usual?"
"Come on!" I insist. "And then maybe afterward we could try that thing where the symbiote…"
"Yeah, yeah," she interrupts, pressing a kiss to my temple. "As soon as we're inside, I promise. Just try not to give yourself a heart attack before we get there."
We round the corner onto her street, the familiar building coming into view. I'm already mentally undressing her, imagining the symbiote flowing across her skin, when I spot a figure standing near the entrance.
The woman is tall and imposing, her bald head gleaming under the streetlight. A black leather eye patch covers her left eye, while her right studies us with cold calculation. Her long leather coat billows slightly in the winter breeze, giving her the appearance of some kind of grim reaper.
"You two sure took your damn time getting here, didn't you?" she calls out, her voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
My eyes catch the familiar eagle insignia on her jacket, the SHIELD logo unmistakable even in the dim streetlight. I let out an involuntary sigh, my fantasies about Ellie and the symbiote evaporating instantly.
"Hello, Sergeant Fury," I call out, trying to keep my voice casual despite the tension suddenly knotting my shoulders.
The woman's stern expression shifts into something resembling amusement, her single eye narrowing as her lips curl into what might generously be called a smile.
"It's Director Fury, actually," she corrects me, her voice carrying that blend of authority and condescension that seems unique to people in charge of secret organizations.
"Oh, whoops," I mutter, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "My bad."
Ellie's arm tightens around my shoulder. "You know her?" she asks, her voice low and guarded.
"No," I reply, keeping my eyes on Fury as she approaches us with measured steps. "Just heard of her. Everyone who follows superhero stuff knows about SHIELD."
Director Fury stops a few feet away, her eye sweeping over us with clinical precision. She seems to catalog every detail, Ellie's protective stance, my nervous fidgeting.
"I'd like to have a conversation with you two," Director Fury states, her tone making it clear this isn't a request.
I let out a loud groan, dropping my head back dramatically. All my pent-up anticipation transforms into frustration that bubbles up and spills out.
"Come on, Fury, can't you just leave us alone?" I whine, gesturing wildly between Ellie and me. "We literally just want to go upstairs and fuck."
Fury's expression doesn't change except for one slightly raised eyebrow. She regards me with the same look a teacher might give a student who just asked to go to the bathroom for the third time in an hour.
"Trust me, Steele," she says dryly, "interrupting whatever depraved activities you two had planned is not how I wanted to spend my evening either."
Fury adjusts her leather coat and gestures toward the apartment building entrance. "Let's take this inside. Your place would be ideal."
"Fuck no," I blurt out, crossing my arms. "Show us a warrant or something first. You can't just barge into people's homes because you wear a fancy eye patch."
To my surprise, Fury actually laughs, a deep, genuine sound that echoes down the empty street. Without another word, she turns and strolls into the building like she owns the place, heading straight for the elevator.
"Come on, you two," she calls over her shoulder as the doors slide open.
Ellie and I exchange a look of pure frustration. The symbiote ripples, agitated but controlled.
"Fuck," Ellie mutters, guiding me toward the elevator with her arm still around my shoulders.
We reluctantly step inside, positioning ourselves against the back wall while Fury stands front and center, hands clasped behind her back like some military general. The doors close with a soft ding, and the elevator begins its painfully slow ascent.
The silence feels like a fourth passenger, heavy and unwelcome. I watch the floor numbers light up one by one, each second stretching into eternity.
Unable to take the tension anymore, I decide to take a shot in the dark, "Do you know where Molecule Woman is?"
Fury's head swivels toward me, her single eye widening slightly. "Jesus, you really just cut through the fat, don't you?"
Before I can respond, the elevator doors open with another cheerful ding that feels completely at odds with the tension between us. Fury steps out first, somehow knowing exactly which direction to head despite never having been here before.
We follow her to Ellie's apartment door. I'm half-expecting Fury to produce a key, but instead, she steps aside, waiting for Ellie to unlock it.
The door swings open, and I'm hit with a wave of familiarity that makes my chest ache. The apartment looks good, better than good, actually. The walls have been repaired, the brick exposed and cleaned, erasing all evidence of Boomerang's explosive entrance last month. After weeks in Masters' underground bunker, this place feels like home.
"Nice place," Fury comments, stepping inside and immediately taking stock of the room.
Ellie pulls me down beside her as she sinks onto the couch, kicking her feet up on the coffee table with casual confidence.
"Thanks," she says, acknowledging Fury's compliment with cool detachment. Her arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me closer. "Alright, come on. My boyfriend's horny, so get to talking or leave."
Fury taps her watch, and suddenly the air between us fills with glowing blue holograms. Four figures materialize in the space above the coffee table, all women, all familiar, all deadly.
Hammerhead's distinctive skull gleams under the holographic light, her perpetual scowl frozen in high definition. Next to her floats the hunched form of the Vulture, wings extended in mid-flight. Then Norma Osborn's face appears, her eyes wild with the madness I know all too well. And finally, the Wizard, her ridiculous helmet intact in this recording, unlike the reality of her shattered skull raining down on Manhattan just hours ago.
"You two sure have been busy," Fury says, studying our reactions as the holograms cast eerie blue light across our faces.
"I forgot we killed the Vulture," I whisper to Ellie.
Fury chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. "Well, SHIELD sure hasn't forgotten."
Ellie's posture remains relaxed, but I feel the tension running through her body where it presses against mine. "So what? We killed a few villains," she says with a shrug. "These are all really bad people."
"I'm pretty sure all of these people have higher body counts than us," I add.
Fury waves her hand, and the holograms shift, expanding to show criminal records, death tolls, and property damage estimates for each villain. The numbers are staggering.
"You're not wrong," she admits, surprising me. "Each of these individuals has caused destruction on a scale that most people can't comprehend." She pauses, fixing me with that penetrating one-eyed stare. "That's not why I'm here."
"Then why are you here?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Fury's gaze cuts through me like a scalpel, her eye narrowing as she leans forward. "I need to know which side you're fighting for."
"We're heroes," I say without hesitation.
Fury scoffs, the sound sharp and dismissive in the quiet apartment. "Maybe you are," she says, nodding toward me before her eye shifts to Ellie. "But I'm not so sure about Miss Black Alien over there."
"That's racist," Ellie snaps, her body tensing against mine.
"Ellie," I say, turning to her with an incredulous look, "you're white. You can't call a Black woman racist."
Ellie gives me a look that makes me feel like I've just said the dumbest thing imaginable, then turns back to Fury. "I simply do whatever Shane wants to do," she states flatly.
Fury's expression doesn't change as she gestures toward the holographic villains floating above the coffee table. "Out of these four dead villains, two of them were killed because they tried to hurt Shane." Her finger moves to Hammerhead's image, the blue light casting eerie shadows across her face. "And this one you ripped in half seemingly because you were angry."
"That's before we were dating," Ellie says with a casual shrug that doesn't match the intensity in her eyes.
"We also notice you don't eat people anymore," Fury continues.
"She needed the brains," I blurt out, "but she sustains off my cum now."
The words hang in the air for a moment, and I watch Fury's eye widen just a fraction before her professional mask slips back into place.
"Oh yeah," Ellie says, sounding genuinely surprised. "I guess that is why I stopped eating brains, huh?"
"You never thought about it?" I ask, turning to her in disbelief.
She shrugs again, the symbiote shifting subtly. "We just didn't feel hungry anymore."
"Mhm," Fury intones, her expression unreadable as she studies us.
The apartment falls silent except for the soft hum of the hologram projector. Fury's eye flicks between us, cataloging our reactions, our body language, probably even our breathing patterns.
"So," she finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "you've gone from brain-eating monster to lovesick puppy who follows her boyfriend into battle." She leans back, crossing her arms. "Forgive me if I find that transformation suspicious."
Ellie lets out a deep, frustrated groan, dropping her head back against the couch. "I fucking know, alright? I'm pathetic. I agree."
"What?" Fury's eyebrow shoots up, clearly caught off guard by the sudden admission.
"You don't get it," Ellie says, sitting forward suddenly. She gestures toward me with such intensity that I almost flinch. "This guy right here? He's impenetrable. Brutal. I tried so hard to get him to leave me alone, but he was just so damn persistent."
"And his dick game, Fury?" She shakes her head with something like reverence. "It's fucking ridiculous. Absolutely mind-blowing."
My face burns hot enough to melt steel beams. "Ellie…"
"So yeah, I'm a lovesick puppy," she plows on, ignoring my embarrassment completely. "But if that's the case, then he's a lovesick rabid lion."
She turns to me, and the raw emotion in her eyes makes my breath catch. The symbiote pulses beneath her skin, reflecting feelings so powerful they seem to radiate from her in waves. "I never really stood a chance," she says softly.
The apartment falls into stunned silence as Fury stares at us again.
"That was..." Fury pauses, searching for the right words, "unexpectedly candid."
I clear my throat, trying to recover from the whiplash of Ellie's confession. Fury's eye is still fixed on us, her expression cycling between disbelief and something that might be amusement.
"So," I say, shifting slightly under her intense gaze, "are we good then?"
Fury's eye narrows, studying me for a long moment before she answers. "For now." She straightens her coat. "But if you two keep leaving a trail of bodies behind you, it might not end well."
The warning hangs in the air, clear despite her measured tone. I watch as she moves toward the door, her steps deliberate and controlled.
"Wait," I call after her, a question nagging at me. "Hypothetically speaking, what if we encounter a villain who's causing mass casualties or threatens potential mass casualties?"
Fury pauses at the door, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "I'm not giving you permission to kill," she says, her voice carrying a note of dark humor. "But sometimes... there's no other way."
She reaches for the doorknob, then turns back one last time. "As long as you keep Big Black over there out of trouble," she nods toward Ellie, "and aimed at the right villains, we should be just fine."
"Okay, cool," I reply, trying to sound casual despite the weight of what she's saying.
The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving us alone in the sudden silence of the apartment.
"Finally," I exhale, slumping back against the couch.
Before I can say another word, Ellie's up and moving. In one fluid motion, she scoops me off the couch like I weigh nothing, tucking me under her arm like a suitcase.
"Yes!" I yelp.
"No more talking," she says, her voice husky with intent as she kicks the bedroom door closed behind us.