Chapter 25: S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Arrogance
"Have some tea." Ethan poured with practiced ease. "Ms. Natasha — you really had us fooled. If you're FBI, you had the resources to rescue Mr. Stark yourselves. Why hire civilians?"
Natasha wasn't stupid. She heard the edge beneath the pleasantries and didn't take the bait. She sipped her tea calmly. "Mr. Cross, please. You're hardly a civilian. You just stopped a nuclear strike and saved an entire city. You're an Elder of the High Table."
She set her cup down. "Also — I'm mainly here to honor our bet. Remember? The interrogation is Agent Coulson's department."
Ethan shook his head. "The bet's off. I'm not interested in being friends with the FBI."
He'd changed his mind. The system didn't have mandatory quotas, and Ethan refused to force friendships just for points. Not everyone was worth his time — and S.H.I.E.L.D. was at the top of that list.
He turned to Coulson, ignoring Natasha entirely. "People don't visit without a reason. Say what you came to say. Your kind doesn't usually bother with people like me."
Coulson got to it. "Mr. Cross — would you be interested in working with our organization?"
"No." Ethan didn't hesitate. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm a restaurant owner. That's all I want to be." He'd have to be out of his mind to join S.H.I.E.L.D. — abandon his restaurant, his building, and a freshly acquired High Table Elder seat to be some agency's errand boy? Pass.
Coulson took the rejection in stride. This hadn't been the real ask anyway. "I understand you have two mutant siblings living here. Would it be possible to speak with them?"
There it is.
"What do you want with them?" Ethan's tone cooled. "Under federal law, the age of majority is twenty-two for enhanced individuals. I'm their legal guardian — their brother by adoption. Anything you want to discuss goes through me."
"Mr. Cross." Coulson's voice shifted. Pleasantries over. "We both know your background. Anti-mutant sentiment is at an all-time high, and you're keeping them in Hell's Kitchen — one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the country. Your guardianship paperwork, given your... profile, wouldn't survive a federal review. Let's not pretend otherwise."
"If the government moves against mutants, do you honestly believe you can protect those children? Even your godfather can't shield you from that."
"They need safety. Stability. A healthy environment. Things you can't provide. We can. Let us train them properly."
Ethan's smile was ice. Train them. Right. Without Ethan in the picture, the original timeline would have seen the twins handed over to exactly this kind of organization — molded into weapons, put through hell, and discarded when they stopped being useful.
"Get out. Our family's business is none of your concern."
Coulson didn't move. His tone hardened.
"Let me reintroduce myself. We're not FBI. We're the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division — S.H.I.E.L.D. We operate under the World Security Council. Our mandate covers any threat to global security, including antisocial behavior, criminal organizations, and individuals deemed dangerous."
Ethan feigned ignorance. "And that means you get to dictate how I raise my family?"
"You may not realize how far our authority extends." Coulson's eyes were steady. "If we choose to, your guardianship can be revoked with a phone call. This restaurant can be shut down. This building can be seized. You can be taken into custody. We have the legal framework for all of it."
"Other people may be afraid of Hell's Kitchen. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not. If we wanted to, we could deploy a military force and level this entire neighborhood. Your godfather wouldn't be able to save himself, let alone you. That is the scope of our authority. We have the right to eliminate anyone we deem a threat to the world."
Coulson delivered this with the calm assurance of a man who believed every word.
In the movies, Coulson was the nice guy — the affable everyman. But to him, the people of Hell's Kitchen were criminals by default. The fact that he'd come to talk instead of simply arresting everyone was, in his mind, already an act of generosity.
"So," Ethan said quietly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. plans to fabricate charges, arrest me, and demolish my home. Is that what you're telling me?"
The atmosphere in the restaurant shifted like someone had thrown a switch.
Every eye in the room turned on Coulson and Natasha. The warmth was gone. What replaced it was cold, predatory attention — the look of people calculating angles of attack.
John Wick had already slipped out and returned with Marcus and Caine, all three positioning themselves around the room. Combat-ready.
Coulson sensed the change but pressed on, unfazed. "Mr. Cross — the fact that we're sitting here having a conversation proves we came in good faith. We're asking. You're their guardian, so make the call. Let them come with us."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we'll have to take action." Coulson's hand drifted to his waistband. Natasha's mirrored the movement.
Ethan didn't miss it.
"I'm curious," he said, standing slowly. "What exactly made you think you could come to Hell's Kitchen — to my block — and threaten me in my own restaurant?"
His voice carried no heat. That made it worse.
"Was it the agents you posted outside? The sniper across the street? Or maybe the man with the bow standing on the rooftop three buildings east?"
He'd known since the moment they'd entered his territory. So had John and the others. Every unfamiliar presence within his range had been mapped by Observation Haki before Coulson and Natasha had even walked through the door.
Coulson and Natasha both froze. The pressure rolling off Ethan was physical, tangible — like standing in front of something much larger than a man.
Their eyes met. A silent conversation. The same conclusion: Ethan Cross was significantly more dangerous than the briefing had suggested.
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