Solomon dialed the phone and spoke in the gentlest tone. After receiving confirmation on the other end, he hung up and turned his attention to the plate of stew in front of him. With Jeanne and Bayonetta away on a mission, Solomon hadn't put much effort into cooking for the past few days. Simple pan-seared steaks and sautéed onions had been his go-to meals—and even the Cheshire Cat's meals had downgraded to plain kibble.
The fat cat meowed in protest, clearly unimpressed by its monotonous diet.
The only reason Solomon could now enjoy this labor-intensive stew was that someone had helped him prepare it. The android had finally learned how to make dinner (though she hadn't quite figured out how to cook for the cat). Maya Hansen had brought her grandmother's recipe, and together, they'd cooked a large pot before Solomon returned to the apartment.
The moment the creamy aroma hit his nose, Solomon's stomach began to rumble.
"You should eat more," Maya Hansen said, sitting in Jeanne's usual spot at the table. She shoveled a spoonful of stew into her mouth. "I should eat more too. Leaving me behind like that was extremely irresponsible, boss. I'm sick of microwave meals. Even those wizards were eating better than me! Without the hot dogs they brought, I wouldn't have made it."
"I apologize, ma'am," Solomon said, wiping his mouth and gently pressing down on the cat's head to stop it from climbing onto the table. "It was an oversight on my part. I'll work on getting you an identity that allows you to walk freely in the daylight. In the meantime, I'm worried about your safety—AIM's remnants haven't been completely eliminated. Most of the Extremis research has been transferred, and S.H.I.E.L.D. found nothing. There's a bigger player behind the scenes. While I'm not afraid of them, they could still pose a threat if they catch you alone."
"I didn't know who AIM's real owner was at the time, but it definitely wasn't Killian—he didn't have the capability. Do you know who it is?"
"Yes, I do," Solomon replied, picking up the 15-pound Cheshire Cat and squeezing it playfully. "But I need them for now. They still have a role to play. Damn it, Cheshire! Why didn't you warn me you were shedding?"
"Meow!"
"The Battle of New York marked the end of the old world. Now it's the new world. Our work will get much busier because people have access to alien technology, advanced pharmaceuticals, and secrets they're not ready to know."
Grant Ward agreed with that statement. "Agent Coulson, Maria Hill said something similar," he remarked. "But that doesn't mean I agree with recruiting that hacker. Skye's still part of the Rising Tide group. She hacked our RSA encryption system…"
"Twice. Using just a laptop," Coulson interrupted. "Imagine what she could do with our resources."
"I have imagined it. That's why I'm against it. You brought me here for risk assessment, Coulson. She is a risk. She doesn't think like we do. Even Fitz and Simmons have undergone professional training…"
"That's exactly why I want her," Coulson said, winking at Ward. He felt the young operative was wound too tightly, not quite matching the lighthearted tone he wanted for the team. Okay, maybe Melinda May, with her ever-stern demeanor, also fit that category. Now there were two tightly wound people aboard the Bus.
"Ward's saying that there are already two people on the Bus who can't handle fieldwork, and now you're adding another," Melinda May said bluntly. As Coulson's longtime partner, she voiced her objections without hesitation. Although she had sworn off combat, it didn't mean she didn't care about the team's safety.
Coulson shut down all further objections with characteristic decisiveness, even setting aside a recently assigned mission briefing.
"That's an 084 mission," May said, pointing at the operations screen in the cramped briefing room. "You're just going to set an 084 aside like that, Coulson?"
Ward also shot him a questioning look.
"This mission can wait. In fact, before we tackle it, we have another, higher-priority mission to complete. Classified. Relax, Ward—it's not a nuclear bomb disposal. We're investigating the whereabouts of stolen funds worth hundreds of millions of dollars. This mission comes from the highest levels." Coulson pointed upward. "But no combat will be required this time. The target is an old acquaintance of ours. Remember that file I showed you once, May? About the gifted child? I thought you'd be interested in him."
May rolled her eyes dramatically.
"What are you talking about?" Ward asked.
"You'll find out," Coulson said with a smile. "Bring everyone to the briefing, including Skye. I'll explain the mission objectives. It's a friendly task—perfect for rookies."
Later, Fitz, Simmons, and Skye sat squished together on a couch, each holding a cup of hot tea. As Coulson had promised, the mission seemed unusually friendly—perhaps too friendly.
An android entered, silently placing a tray of freshly baked cookies on the table in front of the new agents. Rarely one for conversation, the android spoke briefly, but only to introduce her treats.
"Butter cookies. In the shape of little bears!" Simmons exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "They're adorable! Thank you so much!"
The rookies soon grew nervous as the mood turned heavy.
"Great cookies. Oh, and the tea! Are you British, uh… Miss Diana?" Simmons tried to make small talk, feeling awkward about asking a question of someone who had just offered her baked goods. She worried the cookies might leap out of her stomach and punch her in embarrassment.
"No. I don't belong to any country," the android replied coldly, cutting Simmons off. She shrank back into the couch with a whimper.
But Skye wasn't as shy. "The tea's lovely," she said with a smile, setting her cup down. "But I need to use the bathroom."
The android stepped forward and pressed her hand firmly on Skye's shoulder, pushing her back into the couch. "Master does not permit you to roam freely," she said. "You are to remain here."
"Well, this is certainly… friendly," Fitz muttered, using his teacup and saucer to shield his face. He glanced at the android out of the corner of his eye before leaning closer to his companions. "What do you think Coulson and Solomon are talking about? They've been in the study for ages."
Inside the study, Coulson sat with a cup of tea, flanked by Melinda May and Grant Ward, who also held cups but weren't drinking. Only Coulson seemed relaxed enough to enjoy the tea.
May, however, was on high alert. She didn't trust Solomon, despite having met him once before during an unforgettable mission involving the offspring of a demon. Observing the study, she mentally cataloged potential exit routes and improvised weapons, from the floor-to-ceiling windows to the pens on the desk.
Ward shared her sentiment, equally wary of their enigmatic host.
"We're old friends, aren't we?" Coulson said, raising an eyebrow. "I know your financial situation, Solomon. You had no reason to take those stolen funds. Why not tell us what you're using the money for? I trust you have a legitimate purpose."
"Did Nick Fury tell you to say that? It doesn't sound like him."
"No, it's just me," Coulson said calmly. "I've been studying you since the Salem incident. I know about Colleen Town. I know about Sun Island. I know what you did during the Battle of New York. I know I can trust you—you're the kind of person who saves lives. So I'm just here to understand where the money went. That's all."
"You're very persuasive, Agent Coulson," Solomon said with a faint smile, which immediately put Coulson on edge. "But not this time. Despite our shared adventures, Nick Fury gave you this address for a reason—and it wasn't to interrupt my lunch. Who else knows I'm here?"
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