"Ms. Hill, the Bureau has agreed to your request."
"That's wonderful. A pleasure doing business."
"Likewise."
The call ended. Locke lowered the phone and looked across the desk at Walter Herman, who was seated calmly with a paper cup of coffee in his hand.
Of the three conditions Maria Hill had proposed the night before, Locke had only been able to approve the first on his own authority. The second and third had required clearance from Washington. There were limits, even for someone with his surname.
At dawn, he had intercepted his supervisor in the underground parking garage, summarized the situation, and pushed the matter upward immediately. Walter had contacted senior leadership in Washington without delay. The response had come back faster than expected.
They had agreed.
Just as Locke predicted.
Arresting mutants was a function. Expanding power was the real objective. Politicians didn't care about the optics of individual operations nearly as much as they cared about jurisdiction, leverage, and long-term positioning.
From that angle, the deal was efficient.
Locke set the phone aside and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "SHIELD's senior commander isn't simple."
Walter took a slow sip of coffee and glanced at him over the rim. "Is there anyone simple who survives in Washington?"
Locke shook his head. That was fair. If the sharpest minds in one country clustered in its capital, then in the Federation they concentrated in Washington—or on Wall Street.
Still, he had initially underestimated Maria Hill.
In the Marvel films, she had always appeared capable but secondary, standing behind Nick Fury, efficient and loyal. Not someone who dominated the board. When Locke had first run into her in the restroom the day before, he had even idly wondered whether there might be room to build a friendly rapport.
After she laid out her conditions, that thought evaporated.
In one sentence: do not underestimate that woman.
SHIELD was SHIELD. Maria Hill was Maria Hill.
Within a single conversation, she had identified how to turn institutional risk into personal advantage. SHIELD would carry the blame. She would secure leverage and long-term benefits.
Anyone who thought Maria Hill was naïve had no idea what they were looking at.
Locke tilted his head slightly. "I've never heard rumors about the director and deputy director being at odds."
Walter gave a short, knowing chuckle but didn't answer immediately.
Locke narrowed his eyes. "You know something."
"A little," Walter admitted, setting his coffee down. "When you first floated the idea of cooperation with SHIELD a month ago, I made some inquiries in Washington. You know we coordinate with the military."
Locke nodded. "Colonel William Stryker."
An Army colonel and one of the Sentinel Secret Service's key military liaisons. Like Brown, Stryker's hatred of mutants was personal. His wife had died in an incident involving mutants, and he had dedicated himself to eradication.
Locke also knew something the public didn't dwell on: Stryker's own son was a mutant. A powerful illusionist. The irony was thick.
Walter continued, "At the time, Mr. Trask wanted formal cooperation with SHIELD."
Locke blinked. "Bolivar Trask?"
The founder of the Sentinel Special Service. The man who had developed the mutant-suppressing serum. Officially, he had been assassinated by mutants just one month after the agency's establishment. Whether that was the whole truth was another matter. Locke had no personal comment—he hadn't killed him.
"What happened?" Locke asked.
"I don't know the full details," Walter said. "But Peggy Carter, who was technically retired yet still serving as a consultant to SHIELD, supported cooperation. The director at the time opposed it."
Locke's thoughts aligned quickly. "Alexander Pierce?"
Walter nodded. "Yes. After that disagreement, Peggy Carter fully stepped away. It's said Maria Hill was the last agent Carter personally recruited before leaving for good."
Maria Hill. Peggy Carter.
Nick Fury. Alexander Pierce.
The structure snapped into focus in Locke's mind.
Walter watched his expression shift and smiled faintly. "You see it?"
"Yeah," Locke said quietly.
On screen, Maria Hill had always seemed like Fury's shadow. Loyal. Efficient. Unquestioning. But film wasn't politics.
In real institutions, especially federal law enforcement bodies, the director and deputy director were rarely aligned in full harmony. Structural opposition was almost a feature, not a bug. It prevented power from consolidating too neatly. It created balance—and leverage.
So what did that mean here?
Maria Hill was aligned with Peggy Carter's old faction. Nick Fury traced back through Alexander Pierce.
Blade was Fury's man.
That explained why Hill was perfectly willing for SHIELD to shoulder this particular controversy. If the fallout dampened Fury's position while strengthening her own network's leverage, it was a clean play.
Locke's thoughts accelerated. Then something else occurred to him. "But we still carved out a piece of SHIELD's authority in this deal."
Walter leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced over his chest, smiling like a patient teacher. "Whose hands did that piece come out of?"
Locke exhaled slowly. "I get it."
Nick Fury was currently director. If the Sentinel Secret Service expanded its authority through this incident, the bureaucratic adjustment would be recorded under his tenure. Any scrutiny, praise, or criticism would attach to him.
Maria Hill, as deputy director, would not be the primary beneficiary or the primary target.
She would absorb gains while insulating herself from losses.
"Tsk," Locke muttered, shaking his head. "Career-focused women are terrifying."
Walter chuckled. "Is that an emotional conclusion?"
Locke looked up. "What?"
Walter smirked. "Speaking of career-focused—Esme isn't exactly idle either. You've been married six months. How many of those months have you actually spent under the same roof?"
Locke paused.
Then he shot to his feet. "What time is it?"
Walter checked his watch. "Ten o'clock."
Locke's expression changed instantly.
He turned and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Walter called after him.
"To pick up my wife!"
"You're not working?"
"Fuck!"
...
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