Lucius was conducting business as usual.
The office had settled into a profitable rhythm. New buyers came in curious and left poorer. Old buyers came in smug and left with enough extra stock to support fantasies they did not have the decency to keep private. The new potion was doing exactly what Lucius had expected. Everyone wanted to feel like a hero from time to time, especially the sort of rich idiot who had never once risked anything worth admiring.
Now they could buy the fantasy in a vial.
A temporary burst of strength, speed, stamina, healing, and the right to imagine themselves as something grander than the soft, overfed creatures they usually were.
As the sun climbed towards noon, the flow of clients thinned. His butler let in the next pair without announcement beyond the opening of the door.
Natasha Romanoff entered first. Clint Barton followed a step behind, shoulders a little tighter than they needed to be, eyes already taking in the room with the expression of a man who knew he should not be there and had failed to stop his partner anyway.
Their hands were empty.
That was the first lie.
They sat opposite the desk, in the same chairs Xavier's little circus had used before. Lucius glanced at the spot where Scott Summers had spent a short educational moment learning how gravity and humiliation could work together.
His eyes returned to Natasha.
She had dressed to look unthreatening, which on her translated to elegant, neat, controlled, and more dangerous than half the men who thought guns made them frightening. Clint had gone for forgettable. He wore it well. People often mistook forgettable for harmless, which was how men like him kept completing assignments.
Lucius smiled at them.
A fond little thought crossed his mind. He did wonder whether Natasha would enjoy being choked as well?
He leaned back.
"I would have thought you two had a busy morning." His smile widened a touch. "Considering what happened to your organisation, I am surprised you still found time for this little escapade."
Natasha crossed one leg over the other and turned to face him more directly.
"We are not here on behalf of SHIELD, Mr Noctis." Her voice stayed even, cool, and built for negotiation. "Consider us independent mediators."
That made his smile spread far enough to start bothering both of them.
Lucius folded his hands on the desk.
"So, dear mediators, what is it you want from me?"
Natasha did not rush. That was one of the things that made her better than most of Fury's people. She knew speed and urgency were not the same thing.
"We want to stop this spiral before it gets worse." She held his eyes. "What happened between you and SHIELD crossed several lines. What happened this morning crossed a lot more. We would like you to stop your attacks on SHIELD, its subsidiaries, and its personnel. In return, we want to see whether any diplomatic channel can be opened for a controlled and formal arrangement involving your products."
Lucius blinked once.
That was almost refreshingly direct.
No dressing it up as mutual understanding. No fake moral sermon. No attempt to pretend SHIELD had done nothing. Natasha had come asking for a ceasefire and for business on top of it.
Bold. Stupid, but bold.
He let his gaze drag from her to Clint and back again.
"Miss Romanova." He used the old name on purpose and watched the tiny shift it caused around her eyes. "Why not?"
Lucius continued in the same pleasant tone.
"Let SHIELD issue a formal public apology. Let your bald, one-eyed director come to me in person and show me how deeply regretful he is. While he is at it, he can arrange a mansion, a small collection of sports cars, and an official federal guarantee that the terrorist organisation calling itself SHIELD will never again disturb my person, my home, or my property."
He tilted his head.
"That would be a soft start."
Clint stared at him as if checking whether this was still a conversation or had become a form of performance art.
Natasha remained focused.
"And the business arrangement?"
Lucius gave a quiet scoff.
"As for diplomatic channels or selling to SHIELD again, prepare yourselves for superpowered organised crime instead. I have a feeling the new potion will become very popular in certain circles."
Clint's jaw tightened.
Natasha did not move, but the room changed around her all the same.
Lucius saw it and enjoyed it.
"I will never cooperate with SHIELD." He looked at Natasha and made the next line personal on purpose. "You can take that back to that son of a bitch you call director and explain it to him slowly, with sticky notes if necessary. This morning was the answer to your organisation poking around in my office. The answer to this little visit, and your charming request for a ceasefire, will come when I decide I am in the mood."
The line landed.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then Natasha drew.
A pistol appeared in her hand, and she fired three times.
The first round hit Lucius in the head.
The impact snapped his head back and punched red across the wall behind him. The second and third struck his chest in quick succession and drove him out of the seat. The chair tipped. Lucius went down hard behind the desk.
Clint was already up.
"Damn it, Nat." The whisper came out loud anyway. He moved to the door at once, checked the hall, then turned back and caught her by the arm. "What the hell have you done?"
Natasha kept the pistol trained on the floor. Her face had not changed much, which was what made it more serious.
"He is mad, can't you see it?"
"He was talking."
"He was threatening further attacks, Clint." Her voice stayed low, fast, controlled. "He admitted enough."
Clint's grip tightened on her sleeve.
"Didn't you read his file?" Irritation cracked through now. "The bastard heals."
For the first time, something like fear flashed across Natasha's face.
"How exactly was I supposed to read the full file?" She did not raise her voice, but the contempt sharpened. "Our systems are ash, and half our internal records have spent the week turning into rumours and static."
Clint cursed under his breath and looked back at the desk.
There was too much blood for comfort and not enough for certainty.
"Move," he said. "If he's down, we leave now. If he's not, we should already be gone."
Natasha pulled her arm free and took one measured step back, keeping the weapon up.
That was when Lucius stood.
Slowly.
Blood ran from the side of his head, down his temple, along his cheek, and onto the collar of his shirt. Two dark holes marked the front of the suit jacket. The cloth around them was ruined. Beneath it, flesh was already knitting itself back together with obscene speed.
Bone had reformed under the skin. Torn muscle closed. The hole in his head shrank while they watched.
Natasha understood at once that she had not merely failed.
She was fucked.
Lucius straightened fully, reached up, touched the wet side of his face, then looked at the blood on his fingertips with mild offence.
When he spoke, his voice came out calm enough to make it worse.
"To ask for a meeting and then try to assassinate me is a little rude." He glanced at Clint. "And as if that were not enough, you call me a bastard behind my back."
Natasha tried to fire again.
The pistol did not move.
Her finger still pulled. The trigger still pressed. Nothing else obeyed.
She looked down.
Her arm was frozen in place.
So was the rest of her.
Clint had managed half a turn towards the door before his body locked up with brutal suddenness. The muscles in his neck stood out. His jaw clenched so hard it almost clicked.
Lucius came round the side of the desk, blood still drying on his skin, healing still finishing its quiet work under the torn shirt.
That made both of them hate him a little more.
"Tell me, Black Widow," he said, stopping a few feet in front of Natasha, "how much do you think the Red Room would pay to get you back?"
Natasha's eyes sharpened. No panic yet. Just rapid calculation.
"I wouldn't know."
"Pity." Lucius looked her over in a way that made Clint visibly strain against the telekinetic hold. "You strike me as expensive."
"Noctis." Clint kept his tone flat by force. "You've made your point."
Lucius turned his head towards him.
"No, Barton. She made mine."
The pistol rose from Natasha's frozen hand with insulting ease and floated towards Lucius. He examined it.
It was a modified piece, cleaned properly, with good weight and a better silencer.
The magazine ejected, and both pieces floated slowly, then let both magazine and weapon drop onto the desk behind him.
Natasha tracked every movement with her eyes.
"You should have brought poison," Lucius said. "Or fire, a missile. A tiny little pistol in a meeting room feels unimaginative."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"I doubt that. If I ever release you, you will be different."
Clint tested the telekinetic hold again and got nothing from it except a tightening pressure across his chest and shoulders.
Lucius heard the strain in his breathing and looked almost pleased.
"As for you, Hawkeye, I am still disappointed."
Clint stared at him.
"This was not planned."
Lucius let out a short laugh.
"There it is, the professional caution. How admirable."
He returned his attention to Natasha.
"What was the plan exactly? Shoot me, confirm I stop moving, then walk out and tell yourselves it was preventive diplomacy?"
Natasha said nothing.
The silence answered enough.
Lucius smiled again, but this time there was less amusement in it.
"That was a terrible plan."
He moved closer until he stood almost toe to toe with her. Natasha could not shift back. Could not raise a knee. Could not reach for the knife at her ankle, the second one at her waist, or the wire she had hidden better than most people ever would.
Lucius noticed all of them anyway.
"Your real mistake," he said quietly, "was deciding I should not be allowed to live and then failing to make sure of it. That sort of hesitation gets people sold or buried. Sometimes both."
Clint let out a breath through his nose at that, half disbelieving, half furious.
Lucius glanced at him. Both their minds were like an open book to him.
"Do not worry. If I decide to sell her, I will send your portion to that farmhouse, in person."
Cilnt didn't know how to answer that.
Natasha finally spoke again.
"You're proving my point."
Lucius barked a laugh.
"No, Romanova. I am proving yours was stupid. I am harmless unless provoked."
He turned away from her and walked back to the desk, where he picked up a handkerchief and wiped the remaining blood from his temple. The mirror built into a cabinet panel reflected him with a ruined collar and two neat holes in a very expensive suit.
He frowned at the damage.
"This was tailored."
Clint stared at the back of his head.
"You're angry about the suit?"
Lucius looked at him in the reflection.
"I am angry about several things. The suit is currently leading."
Natasha rolled her eyes.
Lucius faced them again.
"Now we get to the useful part." He folded the bloodstained handkerchief and set it down. "I have not yet decided whether I prefer ransom, leverage, spectacle, or simply returning you both to Fury in pieces with a note explaining that diplomacy has failed."
Clint's face stayed controlled, but Lucius saw the calculation there. He was thinking to move his family immediately.
"Be smarter this time, do not let Fury know where you move them."
Natasha was doing the same, only with less hope. Red room will do everything this bastard asks to get her back. And she knew it.
Lucius appreciated competence even when he planned to make it miserable.
He leaned one hip against the desk.
"Let us try this again from the start." His tone softened into something almost conversational. "You came into my office. You lied about your purpose. You asked for peace on behalf of an organisation that kidnapped me, drugged me, stole from me, and annoyed me very deeply. Then one of you tried to murder me because she disliked the answer."
He looked from one to the other.
"Now tell me why I should not make the rest of your day extremely educational."
Clint answered first.
"Killing us will burn the bridge, Noctis."
Lucius considered that.
"That is not true."
Natasha took the opening immediately.
"If we disappear after coming here, Fury will know exactly where the line leads."
Lucius smiled.
"Natalia, dear, he already knows exactly where the line leads. SHIELD is powerless against me. Have you not figured that out yet?"
That made both of them pause.
"So no," Lucius continued, "those are not persuasive reasons. They are simply facts. You will need better ones."
The room went still again.
Outside the office, business in the suite carried on under the polite illusion that nothing unusual was happening at all. Somewhere deeper in the hall, glass touched glass, a butler moved with trained quiet, and the St. Regis continued selling luxury to people who would have fainted beautifully if they had known what was happening in one rented meeting room.
Inside, Lucius looked at Natasha, then at Clint, and began deciding what sort of lesson would be most entertaining.