[REWRITING] SHOOT TO THRILL ✷ May Parker

03. london calling

03. london calling
(🕸🧷🎒🤟🏼🕷)
gavin's apartment
int. night

GAVIN FORCED THE KEY IN the lock, the door swinging open with a low creak. He tossed his keys on the counter, finding his way all too easily in the dark.

     He hadn't really known a home before, so he wasn't sure what to do with his. The kitchenette was a mess, misshapen pans and plates next to spare throwing knives and a semi-automatic. He felt his way to the fridge, bathed in yellow light as he rustled around for a beer.

     "Grab two," said a voice.

     The bottle shattered as it hit the ground. Gavin was quick, drawing his gun and aiming it just beyond the fridge door. The stranger stepped forward, their face half concealed in shadow.

     Gavin grimaced, holstering the gun. "Call ahead next time, would you?"

     Nick Fury spread his hands apologetically, reaching over and flicking on the lights. "I don't see the point. You were never good with keeping appointments."

     Gavin sighed audibly. Fury didn't make house calls unless he couldn't talk over a secure line—or wanted to keep him on his toes. Whatever the news, his night was about to get a whole lot more interesting. The man had a particular knack for that.

     "Yeah. I'm the worst—what can I say?" Gavin muttered, easing himself onto the couch. "What's going on? Is this about the Stark tech shipment?"

     Fury nodded slowly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "Mostly. And of course, there's May Parker." He sat on the edge of the armchair; good eye searching Gavin's face for something, anything.

     "What about her?" Gavin kept his tone level, but he felt his body stiffen.

     "Your mission—" Fury began "—is too keep watch over the boy. To monitor his movements and his contacts—and report back. Peter Parker is now one of the world's best defenders, whether he realizes it or not. May Parker is merely a means to that end. I'd hate for you to tell me you've got your priorities in a twist."

"I don't." Gavin's expression hardened, folding his arms across his chest. "Despite whatever Hill might be whispering in your ear, I've got my head on straight. I know what's at stake here. I don't play like that—attachments. I don't appreciate being babysitted like this."

Fury gave a dismissive shrug. "Don't think I don't believe you. I just don't like to leave any stones unturned."

"Well, like you said—just a means to an end. But she has nothing to do with the Stark tech shipment. I thought you wanted my...expertise."

"We're a bit past that," Fury reached into his jacket, pulling out a small manila folder. He tossed it on the coffee table. "The tech you recovered was just stolen from a SHIELD facility upstate, presumably by the same group that was transporting it."

     "Tell me you can track it."

     "No, but, we think we might've identified a potential buyer. Not a name, just a profile. There's a private dock in Venice that gets a lot of black market foot traffic. A lot of what's gone through there fits the bill of what was in those crates. If we lose the tech in Italy, we lose it for good."

     "Do you know when the deal's gonna go down?" Gavin was skeptical, flipping through the file.

"Also, no. But, it'll have to be soon. We doubt they'll want to sit on anything like that for too long—within the month."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Gavin demanded.

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Because there's a piece missing. I suspect you're the only person who can help us understand what we're up against." He leaned forward a bit. "The snake tattoo, the branding on the men at the shipyard—Hill said you recognized it. Is there anything we ought to know?"

     Gavin chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah—stay the hell away from 'em." He leaned back, resting his head against the couch cushion. "They call themselves Kobra. They're mercenaries, assassins, smugglers—whatever they have to be to survive: literal snakes. Some ex-military—mostly former intelligence officers. They prefer jobs from high paying clients. Whoever wants that tech is even more desperate and dangerous then they are."

     "Why hasn't SHIELD heard of them?" Fury was curious.

"No one has. And, they're obsessed with keeping it that way." Gavin put the file back on the table. "Where do I fit in here?"

     "I want you on this—boots on the ground in Italy when the shipment comes in. Hill and I will be available if needed; monitoring the situation." Fury was firm, dipping his hand into his jacket pocket and producing a flash drive, sliding it across the table to him. "This is everything you need. Fill in the gaps where you see them."

     Gavin turned the drive over in his hand, mind working a mile a minute. "What am I supposed to—" He exhaled sharply, choosing his next words very carefully. "What about the Parker assignment? May knows what her boyfriend looks like. Unless you've got a clone of me in storage someplace, I don't see that working out too well."

     Fury nodded towards the drive in his hands. "You'll be keeping an eye on Parker in Italy. Think of it as bringing work with you."

     Gavin shot him a dubious look. "What am I—taking the kid on vacation or something?"

     Fury grinned wolfishly. "His entire class—plus two teachers. I hope you're good with kids, Agent Carver."