{Chapter: 33 - A Heated Misunderstanding And Helicarrier}
Nick Fury stepped forward, boots crunching over broken glass, his voice low but commanding, as if the entire room bent to hear him speak. "Aiden. Mind telling me why one of the Fantastic Four is lying unconscious in a pile of ash with a face puffed up like a balloon?"
Aiden, standing calmly in the center of the chaos, turned his gaze toward Fury. His expression was unreadable—calm, collected, yet with a hint of contempt flickering in his eyes. He took a slow sip of the wine in his hand before answering. "I could ask the same. Mind telling me why one of your 'heroes' broke into my hotel room and tried to barbecue me without so much as a 'hello' or 'excuse me'?"
Black Widow, leaning near the window with her arms crossed, raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "This wasn't an ambush?"
"Ambush? If I wanted them dead, they'd be in body bags, not snoring on my carpet like drunken frat boys after a bad night out," Aiden replied sharply. His tone was laced with sarcasm, but underneath was a barely contained edge.
Captain America stepped forward, his tone more measured. "Then explain. What happened to Susan Storm?"
Aiden exhaled slowly, setting his wine glass on the shattered coffee table with a soft clink. "She was drunk. Slurring her words, unstable. And more importantly, her mind wasn't her own. She thought I was some sort of lackey for the Puppet Master. Her thoughts were fragmented, scattered like broken glass. She attacked without a word of warning, launching a wave of force that would've reduced the block to rubble. I did what I had to do to keep her from hurting herself and everyone else. I knocked her out cold."
The room fell into a tense silence. Even the soft hum of the SHIELD aircraft outside seemed to hush in anticipation.
Fury narrowed his one eye, his voice now like steel scraping against stone. "We've had reports. Spider-Man called it in."
Aiden turned to look Fury directly in the eye. "Because I didn't know what I was dealing with yet. But I do now. Something is wrong with them—your so-called heroes. They're aggressive, volatile. They throw punches before asking questions. First Susan, then Spider-Man, then this hotheaded fireball. If I wasn't strong enough to defend myself, I'd be dead right now. Is that what your hero initiative stands for?"
Black Widow and Captain America exchanged quiet, uneasy glances. There was a truth to his words, one they couldn't ignore.
Captain America took a measured step forward. "If you're telling the truth, then this needs a full investigation. We don't take this kind of behavior lightly. But you have to understand, we have protocols..."
Aiden let out a soft, humorless laugh. "So do I."
Fury broke the stalemate with a gesture to the agents outside. "Get medical support. Contact Reed Richards and keep the press out of this. Not a word leaks until we get the full picture."
He turned back to Aiden. "You're coming with us. Debrief. Explain everything. Then we'll decide if this alliance still holds."
Aiden nodded, his stance unwavering. "Fine. But I want a bed and an uninterrupted night's sleep. I didn't sign up to babysit the emotionally unstable."
As SHIELD agents began swarming the scene—tending to Johnny Storm, securing the area, running scans and diagnostics—Aiden stood alone in the middle of the room. Unfazed. Unbroken. Unrepentant.
And in that moment, everyone present understood one thing: this incident was only the beginning.
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Back aboard the Helicarrier, Natasha Romanoff stood in the med bay beside Nick Fury, reviewing the latest scans on a holographic interface.
"He isn't seriously injured. Just unconscious," she began. "But his facial swelling will take one to two weeks to fully heal. That's the good news. The bad news? Our medical scans show his body now only carries a fraction of the heat and cosmic radiation it did before. Compared to his previous recorded power levels... he's basically powerless."
She paused, adjusting the screen.
"As for Susan... she's stable. Passed out and snoring. Just drunk. No injuries."
Nick Fury was quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. He finally responded, voice low. "Drunk?"
Steve Rogers, standing nearby, looked equally stunned. "I thought she didn't drink."
"Apparently, she made an exception."
Fury turned sharply to Aiden, who now sat in a containment observation room behind reinforced glass. "Start talking. From the beginning."
Aiden shrugged. "I think your team owes me an explanation too. But sure, I'll start. After that 0-8-4 mission, I decided to relax. Grab a drink. Walk off the adrenaline. That's when I saw Susan at the bar. I offered to buy her a drink—she refused. Fine. Then, I noticed someone suspicious tailing her into an alley."
Aiden's gaze sharpened.
"I went to check it out. She was in trouble. Or so I thought. Turns out, she mistook me for the Puppet Master or one of his goons. Tried to crush me with a telekinetic assault before I could say a word. I backed off, told her I wasn't who she thought I was. She didn't listen."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"I had two options. Run and hope she didn't level the city... or subdue her. I chose the second. Brought her here to the hotel, let her sleep it off. Was planning to talk once she sobered up. But then... the Bug showed up."
He pointed toward Spider-Man, who was standing off to the side with a guilty expression.
"No questions. No talking. Just leapt through his own logic and attacked. I disabled him, told him my name. He ran off. I assumed to report to you. Instead, he calls in the Human Torch, who bursts in and immediately tries to cremate me."
Aiden's expression darkened.
"I dodged. Warned him. Tried to de-escalate. He wouldn't listen. So I defended myself. I also have footage from the hotel security system. Johnny attacked first. It's all recorded."
There was another pause in the room. The atmosphere had shifted. Uncertainty hung thick in the air.
"Can you return Johnny Storm's powers?"
Nick Fury's voice was calm but carried a steel edge, the kind that implied there were consequences buried in the silence between each word. He stalled with his on the table, posture straight, the SHIELD insignia gleaming subtly under the dim light of the Helicarrier. His one good eye was fixed squarely on the man in front of him—Aiden, the anomaly, the wild card.
Aiden didn't respond immediately. His expression was unreadable, his body relaxed but not careless. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. If Nick Fury had expected a dramatic apology, a declaration of intent, or even an excuse—he would be disappointed.
The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.
Nick didn't press the question again. He knew how to read people, and Aiden's refusal to answer spoke louder than any confession. Still, he continued, voice lowering slightly, like a weight being placed on the room itself. "Johnny didn't have the best temperament, sure. But he was a hero. And heroes… they matter. Not just for what they can do, but for what they represent."