11. Casual Reunion

. . .

San Jose, California

Ian Quinn absently smoothed the silk napkin on his lap, admiring how the afternoon light struck the stem of his wine-glass – an angular cut, elegant, not too chintzy. A little out of date, but in Silicon Valley, where 'out of date' could be as recent as yesterday morning before the bells rang at Wall Street, it added a taste of grounding permanence. He tinked his fingernail against it, enjoying a moment of serenity in a life that had basically gone to hell ever since Cybertek took a dive off the stock market and out of all the good graces he'd ever negotiated.

The sound of a honking car outside on the street drew his attention, jarring his private state of mind and making him frown. He noticed a few extra people on the street but didn't think too much of it. These days, being the 'small fry' wasn't the worst thing that could happen in his life. The idea that he might be drawing attention was a joke. Without Raina controlling the PR scene for him, not even the Hand really cared who he was anymore.

Raina.

Hell.

A shadow passed over him as he squinted at activity in the office building across the street from the fine Italian restaurant Ian was in, the figure that shadow belonged to sliding easily into the table's paired chair while Ian wondered where his old friend or fiend was now. He sighed as he realized he'd been joined, and the sound gurgled into a soft death at the back of his throat as he turned and recognized the features of the guy now seated at his table. A man who once sleazed amiably up to him at a Mumbai tech conference in order to get into some of Roxxon's private offices, on then-Agent Phil Coulson's orders.

"Oh, Quinn," said the man that was no human in a pleasantly broad Midwestern accent, his face looking more soft and empathetic than Ian knew it really was. "How was that tech con in Paris? I couldn't make it, I'm afraid."

. . .

Loki's glittery green eyes left Ian Quinn's wide, staring gaze as the waitress approached, letting his features change smoothly from 'Lucas Bellwether's' more approachable human ones back into his sharper own. He kept his voice low and pleasant and distinctly American, knowing that the incongruousness of that little detail would keep the man unbalanced. "You have a choice. Scream or try to alert the waitress when she arrives, and I will tear you apart instantly and paint the walls with what remains. Or, you can share a glass of wine with me... and talk."

"It's too early for wine," whispered Ian, not willing to argue that the choice he was given wasn't much of one. It wasn't actually too early for wine, but his mouth had gone dry and it was the only thing he could think of to say. The waitress arrived at the table with a black folder in her hands, beaming in an easy welcome. If she'd said something to either of them, Ian missed it completely.

"Sangria, then!" said Loki, smiling charmingly for the waitress. "Excellent timing, Miss. We'll share a pitcher of that, if you please."

"Absolutely, sir. Would you like something to start?"

"I noted you have a fine pate on special for lunch. That sounds lovely. With the toast points?" He handed the black folder back to the waitress and turned that fine, brilliantly urbane smile back on Quinn, who felt acid flow along his throat like he was about to throw up. Quinn watched the waitress leave, wondering if there was still some other way out.

He caught Loki still smiling at him when he turned back. There was something sharp and unpleasant in that smile now, something brittle at the corners. The hint of fangs behind the thin lips. "You could run, but there are a dozen SHIELD agents surrounding this quiet eatery. They'll just break your legs and toss you back into a locked room with me."

"They must be desperate, huh?" Ian mumbled his first weak shot at fighting back from the startled numbness that froze him in place. He glanced out the window, wondering which pedestrian was actually watching him, which car held a watching agent. Or if it was a bluff. No, the alien wouldn't bother with that. Not with a tiny target like himself. He swallowed. "Letting you work with 'em again."

"Pragmatic, please. Let's not be insulting." A pitcher appeared on the table, first filling both their wine glasses. The waitress disappeared again like a whisper. His voice became obscenely cheerful. "Rather good service here."

"They do alright." Quinn cleared his throat, watching the alien delicately pick up the glass to sip at the sangria. The normalcy of that act made his vision whirl for a second. Jesus, he never wanted to be this close to this guy again in his life. "What do you want?"

"To talk."

"Okay. You said that." He managed a slow inhale. No, he was still internally wound up. He went for self-deprecating sarcasm, hoping that might buy him an even floor to stand on. "What, you want to talk about how to go from being a billionaire to floating credit cards just to get groceries?"

The green eyes flickered across him, bored. "Tell me of Roxxon's games. How they play."

That drew a startled little laugh out of Quinn. "Woo, there's the best of Earth's entertainment. I got nothing to give you on that. I'm out, Lucas. When your buddies kicked back at Hydra's teeth, Roxxon gave up on me. They had a stake in Cybertek, yeah. I used to golf with some of their guys. Yeah, in Dubai, even. But when we dried up, they folded what they had of my team into their own Brand division. They don't call."

Loki scoffed. "You're far sleazier than that. If they did call you and offered to clear your debts, you'd go a-running. For all intents, you're still in. Just... a little spat with the family. A temporary setback."

Quinn shook his head, still trying to think. "You don't mess with Roxxon. Especially not these days. Look, whatever you need, it's probably recent. If it's recent, I can't help you. Even if I could help you, why would I?"

"I would imagine having threatened you with a painful demise would be a hint to that answer. It's not as if they sent someone kindly natured to this table to woo you. I give only promises of pain." Loki saluted him with his wineglass, taking another sip. "Ah," he said, smiling up at the waitress as the appetizer arrived. She smiled back on instinct. "Thank you."

Quinn suppressed a shudder.

"You seem concerned by your old allies. What do you mean, you don't mess with them? They're a corporation." The man sniffed in disdain.

If he talked, maybe he could leave. If SHIELD was really outside, they'd play fair with him. Coulson liked being fair. He took the shot and opened his mouth. Anything to get away. "Wave of the future. Corporations keep getting their way worldwide, political boundaries get more and more meaningless. Corporations are the ones with the power and the money now, and Roxxon bought onto that casino table early."

"Yes, through Hydra." Loki leaned back against the chair, smoothing the fine dark green tie he wore underneath his suit jacket with a single hand.

"Long ago, yeah. Hydra's a relic of the old world wars. They still think geopolitically, they just think they're more than that. Give 'em another decade or two and it won't be anything your friends will do that ends them. They're dinosaurs. If they want to keep evolving and surviving they'll completely leave aside the cool uniforms and the stupid salute and fully admit that running the world doesn't need an evil mastermind. It just needs a good accounting team and the banks under your thumb. Yeah, they're close to understanding that. Some of Hydra's guys are playing the game alright. But at this rate? Too slow to change. They'll get taken into Roxxon, not the other way around."

"See, now, that's useful." The alien flicked a fingernail at him. "They think the world's boundaries are theirs to shear. To commodify."

"That they do. Good enough? Can I go?"

"All the world, then." A pale hand reached out to take a toast point and the slender knife that arrived with the pate. "Even Latveria?" Loki's gaze flickered up to Ian's face to watch the blood drain out of it again. "Well, there's a dramatic reaction. Watch yourself." He placed the prepared toast point on the tiny porcelain plate by Ian's hand, smiling lightly enough to recall fangs once more.

Ian shot a look around at the restaurant, careful and newly alert. He leaned across the table slightly, his startled expression showing that he was less thrown by the implied threat than by what Loki actually said. "Are you just pushing on me with dropping a name like that or is there something else going on?"

Loki arched an eyebrow by way of response.

"Like, why are you bringing up that place?" Quinn felt himself scanning the room again, paranoia creeping up the back of his neck to prickle at his hair. "Jesus, you don't think Roxxon is..." His voice trailed off as Loki kept studying him.

. . .

May glanced down at the tablet readouts, the ones that could monitor heart-rate and body temperature. Down the other end of the phone line was Skye watching the same thing from a field van, the young woman humming under her breath. "You see that?"

"Actual grossed-out fear." Skye cleared her throat on the other end of the line. "Vitals spiked. How's he look?"

"Greenish. Could be the binoculars I'm using."

Natasha stirred next to her, lifting an eyebrow. "No, he's definitely a light green. Friendly chit-chats with that guy seem to have a consistent observable effect."

The monitoring equipment recorded the silhouette of Ian Quinn as he shifted back in his seat. "Okay, look. Roxxon goes through new CEOs every few years ever since Donald Roxxon stepped down in the seventies. Some snazzy public face. Technically not a big deal, it's mostly board run anyway. I've seen 'em, they're creepy. Anyway, Don got exhausted with dealing with the gas crisis. Or was about to get slapped with a federal RICO, depends on who you ask. The original family was always hard-edged and cutthroat, yeah. Never nice. They got that way maybe during all the shortages during the big war, plus trying to compete with old Howard Stark. But they were business. The new guy, though, the one they leave at the front while the Board does all the big deals behind the scenes. Agger. Dario Agger. He's a pure sociopath."

The tablet gave a soft beep as the name started crosschecking through their systems. As basic data filled the screen, Quinn kept talking. "He came by Cybertek not long after his 'coronation.'" The sarcasm came through the radio static perfectly clear. "He liked some of our stuff, but he was not a subtle guy. Talked possible kill ratios, collateral damage margins, terror impact. Guy doesn't hide his preferences. Almost would have been happier heading up a PMC, but I don't think they're showy enough for him. I mean, corp culture tends to attract sociopaths, so he wasn't a surprise. They do books on it, y'know."

"Yes, I'm rather well aware."

"Anyone loan him any? He might find tips." muttered Natasha. May gave her a sideways glance.

"Agger scares me more than you do. You'll just kill me. You don't think I'm worth it to do more than just go straight for a death threat. Probably infuriates the crap out of you to waste time with me. Agger would go slow. He'd act like he's got all the time in the world just to strip me. So, level. Just this one thing, don't think I'm trying to play quid pro quo on you here. I'm not that frigging backwards."

Natasha lowered the binoculars. "I don't know this twerp. Is he?"

"Yep." May smirked down at the wide street-view window of the restaurant. "But maybe just barely smart enough to not push it right now."

. . .

Loki permitted a thin smile at the easy opening and let it go.

Quinn's face twitched while he watched the other man's expression. "So is that a ploy, or are you friggin' serious? They're pushing on Latveria?"

"You're absolutely right, Quinn. I would simply kill you." Loki's smile stretched into the hanging grin of a feral jackal, enjoying the way the human recoiled away from it. He let his face relax, his voice off-handed. "Oh, this other thing? Yes, that's true, too." He watched Quinn give in and pick up his glass of sangria, downing it in a near-chug. The hand shook.

"Oh, god." He set the glass down again. With a glance around the room himself, Loki lifted the pitcher of sangria to refill it. An expression almost like gratitude flitted across Quinn's face and he picked up the glass again. "I don't know what you've got. Please don't tell me." He finished that glass, too, then lifted a finger. "I'm gonna tell you an anecdote real quick, which any given day I think is either terrifying or total crap, and then I'm gonna sell out and give you what little I can. This story, that's why I'll tell you. You, the literal friggin' devil come to Earth to kick our ass for our sins."

Loki let that slide, finding some private amusement in the insult. Instead he lifted a hand with languid slowness, indicating to him to get on with it.

"Four years ago, some guy shows up in western Europe and starts making direct phone calls to some of the biggest microchip manufacturers on the planet. He tells each of them he's got this envelope. If they buy it at the price he sets – the number in the story varies depends on who I hear it from, all of them are huge – they're gonna not only recoup the investment, but position themselves for a place on top of the scrapheap for a real long time. Everyone laughs, roll snare drums."

Loki settled back in his chair, watching the human think his way through his story and noting to himself that it seemed the weasel was not actively lying today. More's the pity, he thought. It gave him no further excuses to overtly terrify the human. He allowed a brief memory of watching a sleekly black alien monster destroy a single odious human and found comfort in it. "And yet."

"And yet, okay, someone does buy it. I won't name the company, but I know even you'd recognize it. Easy to figure it out from this, because a few months later they come busting out with this huge press release about a new processor. Blazing fast, wildest thing on the planet. It's still not mass produced for the open market today, but it's changed the game. The people that are using it are on an unfair advantage. Wall Street transaction speeds are off the chain now. It's rough out there for anyone that can't race and everyone's trying to buy in a piece of the action just to catch up. So, the guy at the head of the project for this big name company, they cover it up publicly, but the tech people like me get the word." Quinn rubbed a hand across his forehead. "He hugged his wife goodbye one morning and left a note she didn't find till later. Instead of going to work, he drove to a church. Spent an hour with a priest."

He dropped his elbows on the table, staring at Loki. "The nuns or whatever find him in a pew next day with a rosary, a mouth full of froth, and the bottle of pills he'd been chewing. The note he left only has two lines in it: "I sold my soul to something worse than an unknown Hell. I sold my soul to Doom."

Loki arched a single black eyebrow, choosing to not say anything about the florid tale. Whether some facile urban legend or no, it was getting him what he came for.

"Look, it doesn't matter if you believe the story. People do. If Latveria is getting pushed, it's all Agger's baby. Nobody else has the balls. So he'll play it close. You want to look in his orbit. Don't screw around with the small fry; he's got enough ego to be handsy. He's also not stupid enough to lock it all in his own office. But his personal workshops? Yeah, maybe some of it." Quinn looked away, thinking. "Probably not all of it."

"Where's his lair?"

"L.A. He likes the Hollywood scene, showy asshole." The face swiveled back to meet Loki's, instinctively shuddering. "The tech toys he likes best are probably in a industrial complex just barely downtown off Alameda." And now the human managed a slight, slimy grin. "That's gonna be a Brand building. They run all of the tech side lately."

"Give me more than that." Loki's voice turned sardonic. "Be a patriot, Quinn."

Quinn responded with a disgusted noise. "God. Your guys stole what you could of our stuff ages ago. You got our key cards, you got our IDs. IT of any major organization is only as efficient as they gotta be unless you hound the crap out of them. You can use what you took to get into Brand pretty easy if you can communicate with their network and latch in. It's still all our tech. They just repurposed it, barely changed the locks. So to speak."

"You're certain your key cards would work? If they were found to be... troublesome..." He let his words trail off, his feral expression finishing the threat for him.

A little of the cocky arrogance came back to Quinn, the relaxation born of a single topic where he knew his own worth. "I rigged a bunch of them myself. I do stuff like that sometimes just to remind me of what I can make. Yeah, I'm not Stark. But I can build my own toys just fine, and when I do, there's always backdoors. They'll get your people in if you look for that." Quinn pulled the pitcher towards him. "Now, let's both hope you never talk to me again."

"Oh, I'll drink to that." One more nasty smile, just for show. It made him happy to watch Quinn shudder slightly at the sight of it.