Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, Ben 10, or any other material I use for this story. Professional, amateur, or otherwise. This is completely non-profit and for fun.
The second chapter is here as promised!
I'd like to say: thank you for reading the fic, and leaving reviews, favorites, and follows. Remember, this is my first story, so I'm still getting the hang of this thing.
Taiwoeretan1: You're my first review on this story, and on this profile. I really appreciate the support. It means a lot. The mature aliens are fantastic. Their designs were the peak for those aliens in my opinion. I enjoyed bringing them back. As for Ben knowing about S.H.I.E.L.D., well, you're going to have to read on.
Dekei: Ben is indeed 28, but he does not have Master Control yet. Although, I'm saying when, or how, Master Control will be a thing in the story. Don't worry, I'm going to ignore the feature like some Ben 10 fanfic writers out there.
Sakra95: Some governments know of the Plumbers. More of a rumor, honestly. Remember, I said this would be an AU even on Ben's side of the story. Everything isn't one hundred percent the same between AF and UAF. Stuff is different. In my story, the Plumbers are a bit more secretive this time around. More of that will be explained later in the story.
Chapter II: You shouldn't start with the head, the victim gets all fuzzy!
Director Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. cruised down the hallway of the only black site located in Wyoming.
While a fairly large state, the tenth-largest by area, there was not much of a need for S.H.I.E.L.D. presence in Wyoming. In Director Fury's experience, he could count on one hand how many times he had been called up to Wyoming. To hear that an alien spacecraft landed in the northern edge of Wyoming came as quite a surprise. He made a habit to get caught up in generalizations or probabilities. Although, the latter came with the territory. It was simply supply and demand. Since there were not too many… extraordinary occurrences in a state like Wyoming, there was no need for serious manpower to be stationed here.
But Director Fury was nothing if not a soundly prepared man. There were S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities in each of the fifty states in this beautiful country. Some more than others, admittedly. Before today, anyone that was unlucky enough to be stationed here in this particular facility found themselves drawing the short straw. Theoretically. Now, they found themselves recording something actually worth their time and training. First time for everything.
Maria Hill, Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. strode at his side, holding a tablet securely within her grasp. Maria Hill, his shadow. That's what they called her when they thought he wasn't looking. She went everywhere with him when she wasn't on her own assignments.
"What can you tell me about him?"
The Deputy Director tapped the screen several times. A picture of a young man with shaggy brown hair, and green eyes blew up. "Benjamin Kerby Tennyson, born on September 9, 1980, in Bellwood Virginia. Had a normal childhood, scored poorly on practically every test he'd taken throughout school all the way up until his senior where it got even worse. Barely graduated."
"I don't want to know his damn report cards, Hill. I want to know his life story, and what the hell he was doing in a coal mine in Wyoming with ten dead aliens," Fury said briskly.
"When he graduated high school, he completely dropped off the grid. Literally. Absolutely nothing was recorded of him. In '98 he vanished. No pictures, no paper trail."
"Everyone has a trail."
"Not this guy," she said as they turned a corner, nearing the prisoner's cell. "No car payments, loans, mortgages, apartment leases. Not even a damn cell phone payment. He's a ghost."
The two stopped, and Director Fury peered through the one-way glass into a cell. The grown man was still unconscious, face flat on the steel table. Brows narrowed, he said, "Run a deep dive. Tear up his life. If his identity was manufactured, there will be inconsistencies." Discrepancies, contradictions within the story. It may look perfect on paper, but if it was fabricated, there would be errors. No one was flawless. On the possibility that this theory was accurate, there would be one blunder, a discrepancy that misconstrued the identity. Uncover that, and you have yourself a fake person.
Hill nodded. She had arrived at the same probable conclusion. This man could have been using a fake identity and had his old one scrubbed from any databases. That included fingerprints, dental records, even DNA, which was not easy. In a day and age where everything was turning wireless, technology turning the world upside down, it was getting harder and harder to fake things like this. Before, when everything was on paper, it was far less complicated to create an entirely new identity. Nowadays, if you wanted to erase some from records, you had to go through entire databases manually. Combating state-of-the-art protection provided was not an easy feat.
Even then, doing something like that was problematized. Never mind getting away with it, or even doing so without leaving a trace, or turning a few heads. That's exactly what this man did right here, for ten years. Both Maria Hill and Director Fury knew the only types of people that were capable of receiving this treatment were government spies, high-level criminals, assassins (government-sanctioned or otherwise), and technological geniuses.
After thumbing through everything she could find, Hill shook her head. "He's real and normal," she told her boss, whose glare reflected painfully in the reflection.
"You don't get to be normal when you arrive in a spaceship and get surrounded by a dozen dead alien freaks," said Fury. "He's been unaccounted for, for ten years. You don't get to vanish like that."
"He could have been kidnapped."
"That's a start," he began. It was a hypothesis. "He does have a substantial amount of scarring that would indicate abuse." Fury recalled the brief medical screening they evoked, a full screening of his body. Taller than his impressive at nearly two-hundred centimeters, weighing a whopping one-hundred-and-fourteen kilograms of pure muscle, and in seemingly perfect health. There wasn't a single erroneous marker in his bloodwork. It was startling just how healthy he was. Seeing as he had highly-advanced energy weapons on him, and wore some odd form of protective clothing, nothing made sense about this anomaly. Being kidnapped, for ten years, he would surely show signs of abuse beyond tissue scarring. Malnutrition for one.
"Or a mercenary of some sort," Hill proposed. "It would explain the scarring and the weapons."
"I hate theories. We have physical evidence. There are just a few things that aren't making any sense."
Hill nodded, agreeing with that assertion. "Are you going to interrogate him?" It was a rare occurrence to watch her boss at work. Oftentimes, she forgot that Nick Fury enlisted in the army straight out of high school and became an Army Ranger before he turned twenty-five. He was one of the army's finest interrogators before he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. At least, that was what was in his file. When in the world of spies, it was prudent to remember that everything was a decoy. A cover for one thing or another. Everything in Director Fury's file could very well be a fabricated narrative to appease the masses.
Leveling his coat, his eye twitched. Without replying verbally, he turned, coat ruffling in his wake. Hill watched as he entered the chamber. The doors locked instantly while the keypad beeped. The Deputy Director focused her gaze into the chamber. The prisoner was awake, and Fury circled the table once, then sat in his seat.
He neatly set down an arrangement of files.
An illusion of preparedness. S.H.I.E.L.D. rarely used paper files anymore. All this was, was a physical manifestation of seemingly insurmountable evidence that was stacked up against him. Intimidation was a powerful tool. Few did it better than Director Fury. It's how he commanded a multi-national spy agency without relying on others.
Director Fury stared at the man for several beats. The latter never even blinked upon his entrance. He continued to stare emptily in an obscure direction.
"What were you doing in Wyoming?" He didn't blink at the question. Not even so much as a twitch.
As to be expected. Their theory of him being some sort of assassin or mercenary was proving truer with every passing second.
"We found some interesting belongings on your person." He was going in real professionally, Hill noted. Harvard sentence structuring and all. "A couple of high-tech energy blasters. Now, why would a guy like you have something like that?" Hill watched the prisoner's reaction very carefully. Again, not even a blink. The Deputy Director watched her boss' gaze drift down to that problematic piece of technology resting on his left arm. A gauntlet of some kind. "You know, no matter how much our tech guys, guys smarter than you and me combined, couldn't get it off."
Director Fury paused. Hill could see the anticipation burdening his shoulders, if only barely.
"Want to tell where you got it from? What it is?" Another non-answer. "How about; who sent you? We know you're American, or at least, you were. I bet you're a sleeper agent."
"You bet?" Finally, Hill thought, he finally opened his mouth and spoke. "That means you don't know anything." Hill hummed interestedly. The Director wouldn't have been so idiotic as to give up information like that without a reason. After a moment of contemplation, she concluded that he dangled that in front of him to get a rise out of him. Give an inch to take a mile, in a sense.
Director Fury clapped. "You got me." He sounded sheepish.
Benjamin Tennyson, if that was even his name still, ultimately held the Director's gaze. Without blinking. Either this guy had balls of steel, or he was a complete and utter moron that didn't know what he was dealing with. Considering his size, brutes like him tended not to expand their mind and commonly lacked in the intelligence department as they had no real need to be smart. Usually, their impressive physical stature was enough to solve any problem through growing up and all throughout adulthood.
"What did you arrest me for?"
"Well, for starters, you have a band of illegal weaponry on you."
He shook his head. "Wrong. It's legal under federal law to own a laser of any power."
"Including ones that turn fluffy little aliens into charcoal briquettes?" Director Fury countered swiftly and firmly.
"You tell me. You're the one bringing the charges. And unless I'm mistaking my surroundings, we're not in a courtroom. I don't have any reason to defend myself."
"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation." Hill disagreed with that choice of words. It could provoke him. Yes, you wanted to throw the suspect off his game, yank him out of his comfort zone. But to provoke him like this would only bring anger and distrust. She thought with his slow approach, in the beginning, he was attempting to build rapport.
Ben unexpectedly remained quiet, not taking the bait.
Fury slid over a Styrofoam cup filled with water. "Here. You thirsty?" A sudden shift in tone. Fury repositioned himself in his seat. He was more open, and relaxed, rather than his firm one from before. It appeared like the Director realized his mistake as well. That's what separated the decent interrogators from the great ones. The decent ones will follow everything by the book and take what they can get. The Director, however, was dynamic and wasn't afraid to admit he made a mistake, rather than committing to a lackluster strategy. It tended to have the effect of making him seem more human, rather than a man trying to take his freedom away.
"Thank you." The man took small, measured steps, Hill observed. He also sounded genuinely appreciative. Cocking her head, she rested her chin upon her palm, brown iris glistening with curiosity.
"To be completely frank with you," began the Director.
"It'd be nice." Hill hummed. She detected a sarcastic twinge to his tone.
"The dead aliens? I couldn't care less. They're aliens. That's no skin off my teeth. I'm just here to tick some boxes, see where you got your hardware, and see who you're involved with." Again, Director Fury shrugged openly. "My boss is busting my balls here. Can you help me out?"
Hill watched Ben finish the drink, and amiably slid the empty cup out of his reach. "You don't have a boss." Now that caught her by surprise. "Usually in interrogations, it's customary to have a partner present. Interviews are different. This isn't an interview. Your initial body posture was stout, domineering. You would have been ordered to interrogate me with your partner, if you had one, and if you had a boss."
Director Fury hadn't adjusted his relaxed posture. Not once. Hill saw Ben raise an eyebrow.
"No surprise. No immediate impulsive denial. You didn't even get flattered, or a boost in ego. Your eyes would have dilated." Ben paused. "Sorry. Eye." Hill viewed Ben lean forward. "Is it too late to ask for a phone call?"
Hill took a step back as the Director exited the interrogation room. When the chambers locked, he heatedly rounded on the viewing glass. She didn't have to be an expert in behavioral analysis to see that her boss was pissed.
"He's good," she said impassively. The Director was quiet for a moment. "Do you want me to go in?"
"No," he responded immediately. "It'll give him the illusion he won." Hill bobbed her head silently. That was true. The whole process of interrogation was either building trust with the subject or coercing him through intimidation or other, more elegant means. So far, he was not showing any signs of obvious ego. Although, everyone had an ego. It just depended on if he was easily manipulated. If it wasn't, there was reason to pursue that avenue. Building rapport was out of the window now that he saw through the initial manipulation. Getting him to trust them now would be next to impossible. Especially, if this subject possessed above average intelligence and emotional control like he was proving so far.
"Let him stew for a while. See what he thinks in a couple of days without a hot meal." Director Fury turned, while Hill readily pursued.
"You're going to starve him? That's a sudden escalation, don't you think?"
Bashing his finger against the keypad. The elevator dinged, doors retracting. They both entered, doors shutting. The Director tapped another button. It glowed, and they began moving.
"Not steep enough."
A moment of silence as Hill worked on her tablet. "Sir, I found something. He's a real person. He didn't vanish for no reason. He had a trigger. His mother died of leukemia when he was eighteen."
In Washington D.C, Rook Blonko entered the White House, stepping into the Oval Office. The intergalactic symbol of peace simmered on his shoulder, a constant reminder of the duty he had to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.
"Mr. President, we need to talk."
Ben felt his stomach rumbling. He would have rested a hand on his belly to quell the displeasure had his hands not been restrained to the table he was prohibited from leaving. The bulk energy cuffs covered forearms completely and were attached to another. His shoulders were constantly bent at an odd angle. It was not as bad to cause pain, at least, not in the first twenty-four hours. But over time, he felt his joints begin to wear thin.
Several days had gone by.
Or had they?
Boredom, fatigue, and malnutrition weighed heavily on his conscience.
How long had it been?
How many hours had he been locked to this damn desk? How many days? Or had it been weeks?
Ben balled his fists, forcing a breath into his lungs. No, he breathed out. He had to remain calm. That's what they wanted. He couldn't allow them to destabilize him.
Another deep breath. Ben channeled that competitive nature he had when he was a child. He thought he abandoned that arrogant kid but now he had to remember what it felt like to be painfully confident no matter the situation. Since becoming a Plumber, Ben learned to feel confidence in logic—through his competence and trust in his training. It was ingrained into him.
Rely on your training.
Don't allow them into your head.
Lay an anchor. Chain yourself to it. Weather yourself through the storm. Become unshakable, unbreakable, and completely dependent on yourself… myself.
The door opened, and Ben thought his eyes were lying to him as that same interrogator strode in. He claimed his seat, gaze finding his own.
"You look weary. Haven't been getting much sleep?"
"I'm pretty sure the seventy-two hours you're allowed to keep has passed," he eventually replied. "And I still haven't received my phone call or my lawyer." Pausing, Ben had to swallow saliva down his parched gullet. "What are my charges?" The interrogator said nothing. "What are you? You're not police."
"I wondered how long it would take for you to catch on," he said, a wry smile playing at his lips.
"What do you want?" the words came out sluggishly. Ben cursed himself for showing weakness. "How long have I been here?"
The interrogator flipped his hand, checking his watch. "About a week," he said casually.
A week…?
No, Ben renounced that possibility before it could worm its way into his mind. He couldn't allow despair to set in. "What do you want?" he repeated. "You kidnap me, starve me… for what? If it's ransom you want, you're barking up the wrong tree."
"We know. Your father is broke. He spent most of his money, sold his house to pay for your mother's leukemia treatments." Ben's eyes chilled as the chains secured around his ankles rattled. "It's not ransom we're after. The truth, Tennyson. Who do you work for? What are you doing in Wyoming?"
We know.
What are you doing in Wyoming?
He's not working alone, and he was still in Wyoming.
Leaning forward, little by little, chains shifting lightly, "you have no idea what you're dealing with."
"Because you're some kinda badass?" the dark-skinned interrogator sarcastically asked.
Ben sat back down, eyes falling to the metallic desk. Hands clenched forcefully, he swallowed again to lube his throat. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with. Otherwise, I'm not talking anymore."
His interrogator raised an eyebrow, amused. "Trust me, you'll be begging to tell me everything you know."
The door opened, and a familiar face appeared. "I think not," said Rook Blonko.
"And who the fuck are you?" he rose from his chair, confrontational.
Ben couldn't believe his eyes. It continued to get better as President Ellis stepped behind him. Instantly, his interrogator's eyes widened in alarm.
"President—"
The leader of the free country held up his hand. "I'm not even going to begin how many laws were broken in this room. Frankly, it's middling. What's important is that you release that man immediately."
"He was surrounded by a dozen dead aliens! He disappeared for—"
"I don't care how long he was gone for, or what he was caught with. You take those restraints off him, or so help me, Director Fury, your funding won't just be cut, it will be crippled." Fury swallowed audibly.
Ben eyed this exchange, feeling like he watching his parents argue about something he did.
"He's a threat."
"Director Fury, I assure you, Ben Tennyson is the last person you should consider a threat," said Rook.
"I didn't ask you, pretty boy," said the director, his gaze still fixated on the president. Unlike many politicians, he stood his ground, and for his principles. First time for everything, I suppose.
"I'm sorry, Director, they demanded to see you," Hill apologized.
"We'll get to that later," he promised, sounding way too calm for the storm that was brewing behind that one eye. "Mr. President, he's a ghost—"
"For the last time," President Ellis raised his voice. "Either step aside, and remove this man's restraints, or you'll find yourself in a matching pair." Fury refused to move. "Now, Director. That's an order."
Lips curling into a foul sneer, he waved a hand. Hill slowly approached Ben and inserted a funky key into the broad side of the constraints. When I felt the air rush in and assault his red, oxygen-deprived skin, he let out a startled breath. Rubbing them ponderously, Rook moved to me when that cropped-haired woman retreated.
"It's good to see you again."
He and Ben shook hands, before giving each other a quick pat on the back after a brief hug. "You too," he said.
"I'm sorry for the stress that these sum of days have brought onto you," President Ellis said, behaving exactly like I expected a politician to act. Cordial, well-mannered, and well-spoken. "I hope that no irreparable damage has been done."
Ben knew he wasn't speaking of physical damage. No, he knew exactly what he was speaking of. Ben did not hold himself to be a spiteful person. They hadn't abused him, not particularly if you counted not eating, drinking, or sleeping for however-many days he'd been sitting in that damned chair as abuse. Normal people might've, but Ben let it slide off his back.
"No," was all he said.
A sigh of relief, "Good. You're free to go, son."
Another nod, Rook, and Ben left.
His one remaining free eye narrowing into a furious glare, he said, "I hope you know what you just did."
"I stopped us from losing the only protection we have from what lurks beyond the stars."
"Oh, is that what you did? Cause it's lookin' like you're doing the opposite of that, Mr. President." The obviousness of his snideness did not escape the president. He was a career politician, he was used to understanding double meanings.
His lips thinned. "Give us the room. Please."
Fury wouldn't have done it if his tone hadn't sounded so dire. Another wave of his hand and all the agents in the hallway vanished. Even his deputy director. "What is so important that you can't trust vetted agents with?"
"Did you see that symbol on that alien's shoulder?" Fury hardly reacted upon hearing that blue one was an alien. A surprise it was not. "That's the galactic insignia of peace. Or more specifically, the very symbol the Plumbers bear."
"Plumbers? The fuck is that?"
"Please, enough with the profanity."
"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. President," he said patronizingly. "I just had someone go over my head, through my agency, drop in unannounced in a top-secret black site, and steal my prisoner. I'm a little angry."
"I understand that you're angry, rightfully so, from where you're sitting. Allow me to show you what I'm looking at from where I'm sitting." The president pulled a touch screen phone, one that had a built-in holographic projector. He fiddled with it, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Damn thing… why couldn't they have stuck to the flip phones? I just starting to get used to them—there. Look at this."
Old grainy video appeared on the phone and then was transferred above in a holographic setting. Fury inspected it, not quite understanding what he was looking at. Just as he was about to utter a question regarding it, the video began making sense. The face of Ronald Regan surprised him, but not as much as the video of him shaking his hand with a miniature grey-skinned… alien?
The video continued, and the grey alien handed him a disc with that green-diamond symbol. The galactic symbol of peace. In a few seconds, the video fizzed out momentarily. It continued, recording the two as they signed a document, then shook hands yet again. When Ronald Regan smiled at the camera, the video ceased, and Fury massaged his temples.
"Jarring, I know. Every president since him has been briefed. I'm going out on a limb showing you this. I care about the work you and your people do, Fury. It's necessary, and it's why you've received more funding from my foundation than S.H.I.E.L.D. has in twenty years. After the Chitauri invasion, the threat of alien invasion suddenly became more real, which is why I doubled your funding and gave you green lights to assignments no one else would have." The president took in a breath. "What is it that you once told me? When we first met, a few days after I was sworn in? 'We get dirty, and the world stays clean. At the end of the day, someone has to make the enemy afraid of the dark.' I believed in that when you told me it, and I believe in it now. Which is why this conversation stays between us."
"You still haven't told me what video was," said Fury, decisive as always.
"That was the Plumbers making contact. That was their leader, at the time. An old alien by the name of Metajan. He gave us a proposal. Sign an agreement to allow the Plumbers to operate on Earth and be protected from what we were not prepared to deal with."
"A deal with aliens." Fury rubbed his forehead.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Thor an alien? Didn't you go over my head to include him in that initiative of yours?"
Point taken. "And Ben Tennyson is a Plumber." No question. A matter of fact.
"You catch on quick." President Ellis stored his phone in his suit pocket. "You always have, Fury. I like to think we're on the same page. I have to put America's interests first, something I am more than happy to do. But there are affairs that I cannot meddle with."
"That's where S.H.I.E.L.D. comes in."
"And the Plumbers," he confirmed. The mention of those aliens made Fury's scarred eyebrow twitch.
"Do you know what Tennyson was doing here? Were you even notified?"
"Of course, I was," Ellis was offended that he needed to ask. "That's the deal. Every time an operation is done in America, the sitting president has to be notified."
Nick Fury had nothing else to say. Nothing he could say would ever properly convey his displeasure. So many things could go wrong with allowing these Plumbers to operate on Earth. Much less in the states. The Avengers was one thing. A small group of extraordinary people gathered to protect her interests. This was a galactic-sized 'peace-keeping' organization that Fury knew nothing about.
How many members did they have? Who led them? Who do they answer to? What are their goals—their real goals? No amount of diplomacy, beholden, rehearsed statements would ever make him feel better about this. There was too much that could go wrong. Not only did it put them at risk to the Plumbers, but it also made them a target for other alien species, or rouges like Loki.
"The Plumbers, they're supposed to help Earth, so where the hell were they when Loki tore a hole open in space?"
"Oh, they were there."
"I think you and I were watching a different show, Ellis." The last time Fury checked, there was only one army there, and it was raining from the sky.
"Oh," he chuckled, "you couldn't be further from the truth."
Fury remembered why he hated politics. It took every bit of strength not to bite off his tongue in frustration. "I saw no army coming to help."
"Not an army, but a man."
"I don't like being messed with, Ellis," he said warningly.
"I ought to know, Fury. After all, the man that prevented mass loss of life was just in this room." Ellis' respect for his old friend leveled even higher when Fury barely reacted to his statement. Besides a fleeting moment of stunned silence, he seemed relatively unchanged.
"If there was someone else in the Battle of New York, I think I would have noticed. I make a habit of that sort of thing."
"As good as S.H.I.E.L.D. and that marry band of Avengers are, do you really think you could have stopped an alien invasion without losses numbering in the millions?" President Ellis chuckled fondly, taking enjoyment in this particular irony. "No, he was there." Before Fury could open his mouth, President Ellis yawned. "I think it's getting a bit late, don't you think? It's time for me to get back to D.C. I have a busy day tomorrow."
Just as the most powerful man in the world walked away, Fury called out for him. "President Ellis." The balding man whirled around, putting on a top hat. "I'm keeping my eye on him."
President Ellis chuckled and entered the elevator where three Secret Service awaited him. Before those doors could close, the man tipped his hat, a twinkle in his eye.
Finger coming up to his ear, "Hill, get me Romanoff."
Stuff is happening! Yes, glorious stuff!
For real, this concludes chapter two. I had some serious fun writing this, not going to lie. Watching Nick Fury be Nick Fury in the MCU is a blast. He's just a character and a half. Not to mention, he's by played Samuel "Motherfucker" Jackon. Seriously, that man can make even the most boring character come alive on the big screen.
You all can review and favorite if yall want. I'm not gonna force you. Your opinions mean a lot to me, though. For the ones that do a review, and leave compliments, questions, or constructive criticism are all welcome. But for the ones that just wanna read the story, that's totally alright to me. I'm not chasing reviews or whatever to bolster my stats. I'm just doing this for fun, and as a hobby to write the best story I can while having fun doing it.
For the ones that are interested in having a choice about the pairing, check out the poll I have on my profile. I can certainly use your feedback on the subject, cause I am stuck on the subject. Reviews and suggestions about the pairing are welcome there too. Anyhow, thank you for all you all for reading, and have a fantastic day.
