Chapter Text
2 June, 2010
The S.H.I.E.L.D. office had seemed spacious at the beginning of his career.
Now, Nick Fury felt suffocated.
Sculpted more by war than by time, Nick Fury sat at his desk, his hands resting firmly on it. They didn't tremble, they didn't hesitate.
He wasn't even relaxed, just waiting.
His hard features were accentuated by the scar that ran across his left eye like a permanent signature from the past, the eye itself covered by a simple black patch, unadorned so as not to be recognized. To compensate for the eye's shortcomings, the other was alert and always on the move, searching for invisible or hidden scenarios.
His shaved head barely reflected the cold light of the office.
He wore his dark, functional, military-like clothes without being in uniform: a long black leather coat, beneath which a glimpse of an equally dark shirt could be seen, made of practical, durable fabrics, designed for movement rather than for appearance. .
“Of all my descendants, I think you’re the most paranoid I’ve ever had.”
Fury turned, staring at the ancestor his entire family had always known about. Even his father, who had been as effusive as he was cautious, was skilled with weapons, despite never having handled them before.
“I want to talk,” Fury announced.
Ares snorted, shaking his head. “Boy, I told you. No one can control him. The Titans and Giants have failed at emotional and psychological manipulation; we gods can’t persuade him with flattery or threats. He’s just… an unknown variable.”
“You didn’t destroy him,” Fury clarified. “It makes him an asset.”
“It makes him beloved.” Ares corrected. “He takes what he’s given. He’s earned the grudging respect of all of us. We don’t sneer at loyalty, and he has a lot of loyalty.”
“I want to take him on,” Fury said. “Loyalty like that might come in handy.”
“You won’t.” Ares shook his head. “You can’t manipulate him into taking this job. And, I’m sorry, kid, but he’d make a terrible spy.”
Fury nodded. “That’s exactly what I need.” Then, with a half-smile. “And I don’t have to manipulate him, I just have to show him the truth.”
***
If there was one thing his ancestor’s brother could do, it was create devices in a fraction of the time. Plus, he was Fury’s ally in the endeavor.
Apparently, he was quite impressed by the boy.
“You must be Nicky.” The boy smiled, shaking Fury’s hand with a troublemaker’s grin. “Ares seemed so ready to praise the spy he has as a descendant.”
“Percy.” The blonde girl beside him called back sharply.
Fury knew she would come, and he knew what he had to do.
“It was suggested I speak to both of them, to give them both the same opportunity.”
The boy looked confused, but the girl’s eyes were shining. Fury had no doubt she was calculating how long it would take to take Fury’s position.
Fury had seen that look before, in Romanoff’s eyes when Hawkeye had brought her in. But, in Fury’s opinion, the Black Widow had the potential to pull off that look, while the girl lacked any skill.
“Fine.” The boy shrugged, motioning for the girl to come inside before him. “I saw a candy machine back there. I’ll go get something to eat. Enjoy.”
Fury nodded, appreciating the boy's patience, unknowingly undergoing the first test.
Fury watched the girl enter without saying anything. He didn't invite her to sit down.
She did anyway.
She scored a point, albeit a small one.
"Tell me about yourself," Fury said finally. "Ares told me about the Athena Parthenos. Impressive."
Annabeth didn't hesitate. "It wasn't my only success."
"I guess not." Fury inclined his head slightly. "So tell me: what is your greatest strength?"
A simple question. Too simple.
Annabeth smiled slightly. "I see patterns where others see chaos. Strategies where others improvise. I anticipate moves before they're made."
Fury nodded slowly. "And Percy Jackson?"
No immediate reaction. Good.
"Effective," she replied. “But reactive. Without guidance, he tends toward disaster.”
“Guidance.” Fury repeated the word, as if weighing it on his tongue. “Interesting choice.”
Annabeth crossed her arms. “It’s thorough.”
Fury took a few steps into the room. Slow, measured.
“Let me rephrase. You plan. He executes.”
“Simplifying, yes.”
“And without you?”
Annabeth hesitated. Just a heartbeat.
“He still would have done something. But it wouldn’t have been optimal.”
“Not optimal,” Fury repeated. “Not ‘impossible.’”
Annabeth stared at him. “I didn’t say that.”
“No,” Fury said. “You didn’t.”
Silence.
“From what I understand,” Fury continued, “Percy recovered Zeus's Thunderbolt. Hades's Helmet. He's led missions in… suboptimal conditions.”
Annabeth didn't flinch. Fury would have been very disappointed if she did. He was counting on her answer. “With information from me.”
Fury nodded slowly. “So you’re saying his success depends on you.”
“I’m saying his survival does.”
This time, Fury didn’t answer right away.
He looked at her.
As if waiting for something.
Annabeth held her gaze. Confident. Calculated.
“Curious,” Fury said finally. “Because from what I see… he’s still alive.”
A thread of tension ran through the air.
Annabeth narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think you’re looking for information.”
“Never,” Fury replied. “I’m looking for consistency.”
He paused.
“Tell me, Annabeth Chase: what was the last strategic decision you made… that wasn’t based on a pre-existing template?”
The silence lengthened.
Annabeth spoke, but more slowly. “Strategy is, by definition, built on precedent.”
“Correct,” Fury nodded. “What about innovation?”
No response.
“See,” Fury continued, “there’s a difference between understanding a pattern… and depending on it.”
Annabeth clenched her jaw. “I don’t depend on anything.”
Fury tilted his head slightly. “And Percy does?”
Mistake.
Small. Invisible.
But enough.
“Percy…” she began, then stopped.
Fury didn’t interrupt. He didn’t need to.
“Percy makes decisions,” he finished for her. “You justify them.”
Annabeth leapt to her feet. “That’s not…”
“…accurate?” Fury interrupted, finally. “Then prove it.”
The silence was heavy.
Fury finally broke it, speaking in a neutral tone. “I hope you can.”
Annabeth stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Fury didn’t smile.
“It means,” he said, “that this conversation was recorded.”
A beat.
“And broadcast.”
The color drained from Annabeth’s face. “To whom?”
“It depends,” Fury replied. “Who do you think is interested in determining whether you really are who you say you are?”
Silence.
Then, in the distance, thunder.
***
Percy was looking at Annabeth sadly. Not because of her fate, no.
The lies she'd told, her choices, had led to her lose everything she'd earned, like her title as an Architect, being rejected from Camp Jupiter, and being denied a place in Athena's cabin after the goddess realized Annabeth kept claiming she'd disowned her.
Hylla and Artemis had also rejected any possibility of her as an Amazon or a Hunter.
They all valued loyalty, and Annabeth hadn't shown it.
And the gods didn't hesitate when loyalty was in doubt.
"You have to help me," Annabeth was saying, gesturing. "If you told them everything was fine, they'd just give up everything, and..."
"Why?" Percy asked.
Just his mere protest made Annabeth pause, and she looked at him in confusion. "Why what?"
"Why should I help you?" Percy clarified the question, curious to see if there was any truth to the girl he'd fallen into Tartarus for.
"Seaweed Brain,..." Annabeth sighed, but Percy interrupted her.
"I told you not to call me that," Percy said, speaking firmly.
He certainly had the eyes of the Olympians upon him, but Percy wouldn't have been surprised if the demigods and various beings were also keeping an eye on the scene, curious and gossipy as only Greeks could be.
"You like it, you know that too," Annabeth replied condescendingly.
"No, I don't, Bird Brain." Percy replied. Then, after a pause, he added, "But maybe you don't understand."
Annabeth blushed. "I'm the daughter of Athena most..."
"I don't think you can use that title anymore," Percy informed her. “She really disowned you.”
Annabeth swallowed, gritting her teeth. Then, she probably realized that insulting the person she wanted a favor from wasn't the smartest thing to do.
“Percy, I understand you might be scared, but you're not a coward…”
“Since when?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think you were pretty sure I was a coward. Since when did you change your mind, exactly?”
“You know I didn't mean it that way!” Annabeth snorted, as if Percy was being difficult. “You were just reluctant to be with me!”
“Surprisingly, I was more worried about whether I'd survive or not than about the girl in love with the enemy.” Percy replied dryly, enjoying Annabeth's flinch, the trembling of her hands, a little too much.
He found her emotional suffering a little too funny. But, after all, Annabeth had stabbed him in the back.
"You didn't make my plans, the plans that actually worked weren't even yours, but were taken from Odysseus, or Perseus, or Achilles. You stole their glory, you hid our friends from our history!" Percy raised his voice. "I'm not going to help you solve this because you don't deserve it. You don't deserve any reputation other than the one you have now in the Greek world, you don't deserve my loyalty." Percy looked at her curtly. "Live or die by your own talents, Annabeth Chase."
Then, Percy walked away from the girl, leaving her to face the consequences of her mistakes.
He had a descendant of Ares to meet.
***
The room where Fury was waiting for him was minimalist, made only of glass and metal.
Fury, however, was watching him. He didn't speak, he didn't move.
Percy smiled inwardly, also remaining silent.
Staying still was terrible for his ADHD, but Percy would make an effort.
Fury might be a spy, but he was still made by Ares’ ichor.
And if there was one thing all the descendants of Ares agreed on, it was the impossibility of waiting.
"My condolences," Fury said finally. "I heard your relationship ended because of me."
Percy didn't react immediately.
"The truth would have come out anyway," he said then. "She wasn't who I thought she was, and I'm glad I found out now."
Fury nodded slightly. "Not everyone thinks that way."
"I’m not everyone, and I’m not interested in everyone," Percy replied.
A corner of Fury's mouth twitched. Not enough to be a smile. "No. I noticed."
Silence.
"Ares told me about you," Fury said.
Percy tilted his head. "Then you know what I am."
"I know what you do," Fury clarified.
Percy stared at him. "It's not the same."
"For me, it is," Fury said. "Because what you are is a matter for the gods. What you do... is a matter for me."
This time Percy didn't answer immediately.
"Why me?" he finally asked.
Fury took a step forward.
“Because the world has changed.”
Percy snorted softly. “I’ve heard that before.”
Percy assumed Fury was referring to the events of Thor and the Asgardians.
The gods only knew if Percy hadn’t received enough complaints from his father about the Asgardian gods’ encroachment on Greek territory. Apparently, different pantheons had treaties to avoid all-out war.
“Not from someone who has to manage it,” Fury replied. “And you’re no longer an exception. You’re a precedent.”
“You don’t need precedents,” Percy said. “You need weapons.”
Fury looked at him firmly. “No. Weapons break.”
Fury took a step forward, toward Percy.
Percy didn't move, despite the tension in his body, torn between fight and flight.
Moving at that moment meant losing.
"I need people who survive things that kill others. And who don't ask the gods for permission to do so," Fury added.
A slight change in Percy's gaze. Almost imperceptible.
Fury noticed it.
"And above all," he continued, "I need people who don't need someone to think for them."
The silence grew longer, tense.
Percy raised an eyebrow. The implication, the insinuation, the reference to Annabeth rang in Percy's ears.
Unfortunately for Fury, however, Percy was used to being provoked to get reactions from him.
What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth,
just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?’
Percy narrowed his eyes. Even though he was used to being provoked, he still didn't appreciate the provocation itself.
"If that's a way to talk about Annabeth..."
"It's a way to talk about you," Fury interrupted. "You listened," he continued. "You learned. Then you decided."
Another step forward.
"And when you realized someone wasn't who you thought..."
He left the sentence hanging.
Percy finished it himself. "I left."
“Exactly.”
Fury stopped where he was, no longer moving.
“Tell me something, Percy Jackson,” he said. “How many times have you survived… because someone told you what to do?”
Percy didn’t answer.
“And how many times have you survived… despite what they told you?”
This time the answer came, softer. “More than once.”
Fury nodded. “That’s what I need.”
Percy stared at him. “And what am I supposed to be to you?”
Fury didn’t hesitate. “Useful.” Then, surprisingly, he added, “And free to leave when I stop being useful to you.”
Percy studied him. “That doesn’t sound like S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“It’s not,” Fury said. “It’s an agreement. You work with me as long as it makes sense. For both of us.”
An elegant pact, not slavery, not blind loyalty, but an agreement.
A mutual exchange.
Percy tilted his head. “What if this stops having it?”
Fury took a half step back. “Then you leave.”
No threat.
No hidden conditions.
Just space.
Percy remained silent.
ADHD scratched under his skin, demanding he move, break the stillness. He didn’t.
Fury watched him.
He waited.
Not a word too many.
Finally, Percy exhaled softly.
It wasn’t a yes.
But it wasn’t a no, either.
And for Fury, that was enough.
“Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Perseus Jackson.”