{Chapter: 26 - Shadows & Stardust And Hot Blonde In Bar?}
Phil hadn't expected Aiden's explanation to be that. The idea that someone could see glimpses of the future was unsettling—but it also explained a lot. The calm confidence Aiden carried, the warnings that had saved their mission, and the uncanny timing... it all began to make a strange sort of sense.
Even so, Phil found himself only partially convinced.
People change, he thought to himself as he stood at the window of the aircraft, watching the clouds swirl below. Camilla hadn't been the same woman he once knew. Perhaps time and ambition had sculpted her into something else. Something colder. More dangerous.
Still, he couldn't ignore the implications of Aiden's gift. A power like that didn't just change the game—it was the game. Fury needed to hear about it immediately.
Phil contacted HQ and rerouted their landing to a classified SHIELD facility to deliver the 0-8-4 safely. The object, humming with faint alien energy, had already begun exhibiting unpredictable behaviors. He wasn't taking chances—not with something that could destabilize gravity in a 50-meter radius if mishandled.
Camilla, on the other hand, was another problem altogether. After weighing his options, Phil finally decided to hand her over to her home country. Let them handle the consequences of her betrayal, while SHIELD negotiated a few political advantages on the side. No sense in keeping dangerous ghosts onboard when they could become useful pawns elsewhere.
With both the 0-8-4 secured and Camilla out of their hands, the pressure lifted. The team finally allowed themselves to exhale. Conversations resumed, laughter cautiously returned, and the heavy tension faded into the hum of the engines.
—
Later that evening
Aiden gently pushed open Daisy's cabin door and found her hunched over her laptop, eyes darting across lines of data. The glow from the screen gave her skin a soft silver hue, making her look almost otherworldly in the dim lighting.
"Baby," Aiden murmured with a playful smile, "you wanna go for a stroll outside? Maybe grab something to eat?"
Daisy looked up, her face apologetic. "Sorry, Aiden. I really can't. I'm following a lead on the Centipede virus. There's some chatter I need to cross-reference, and if I'm right, it could tie back to the cyber-heist from Barcelona last week."
Aiden nodded, brushing a few strands of hair from her face before kissing her cheek. "Alright, Agent Skye. I'll let you be the hero today. If you need me, I'll be one call away."
She smiled softly and returned to her laptop.
—
Queens, New York
The streets were alive. Neon lights blinked along the sidewalks. Cars honked lazily in the distance. Music from open bars spilled onto the street, mixing with the scent of grilled meat and hot dogs.
Aiden zipped his hoodie up against the night breeze, eyes scanning his phone for something low-key. Eventually, he found a bar with stellar reviews—"cozy vibe, great music, strong drinks"—and decided it was as good a place as any.
Inside, the atmosphere was warm and mellow. The lighting was low, casting amber hues across the polished mahogany surfaces. The music wasn't too loud—a jazzy pop playlist with enough rhythm to nod your head to without yelling over. Patrons were scattered around, talking in hushed tones or sipping drinks while people-watching.
Aiden walked in, immediately catching a few curious glances. With his lean frame, messy hair, and confident swagger, he stood out just enough. A couple of women giggled and whispered, but he didn't even glance their way.
He had already spotted her.
She sat at the far end of the bar like a scene from a noir film. Blonde hair flowed in waves over her shoulders, catching the light every time she moved. Her face had that doll-like perfection—symmetric, soft lips, eyes framed by long lashes—and her figure was ridiculous, sculpted like sin itself. The red dress she wore didn't hide it either. She looked like trouble in heels.
At least a 9.7, Aiden mused. And not just by looks—her presence was commanding, the kind that radiated main-character energy. Which made him suspicious.
Too pretty to be a background character...
His thoughts trailed, quickly cycling through a mental gallery of Marvel's blonde bombshells. Susan Storm, Emma Frost, Alison Blaire, Crystalia Amaquelin, Tandy Bowen, Amora, Karla Sofen, Lorelei, Bobbi Morse, Sharon Carter... The list went on.
He groaned inwardly. Why does Marvel have so many dangerous blondes with hourglass figures?
Shaking his head to clear the wandering thoughts, Aiden straightened his jacket, approached the bar, and smoothly took the empty seat beside her.
She didn't look at him.
Yet.
Leaning in just enough, Aiden caught the bartender's eye, pointed to her glass, and said, "Two more of those—whatever she's drinking. And put all of hers on my tab."
The blonde's expression didn't change at first. Then, slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were a cool blue, sharp despite the faint flush on her cheeks from the alcohol. She studied him, then rolled her eyes slightly.
"I can pay for my own drinks," she said, her voice sultry with just a hint of defiance. "And I'm not interested."
Aiden smiled, unbothered. "That's fair. But I didn't ask if you were. I just thought it'd be a crime to let a woman like you drink alone."
She arched a perfectly manicured brow. "A crime, huh? Are you always this dramatic?"
"Only when the occasion calls for it," he said, leaning an elbow on the bar. "And let's be honest, you've already made the night memorable just by existing in that dress."
She gave a small, involuntary laugh, then covered it with a sip of her drink. "That was corny as hell."
"Yeah, but it got you to smile." Aiden raised his own glass once it arrived. "So either I'm really good… or you're really bored."
She tilted her head, finally giving him a proper look. "You've got guts. I'll give you that. But I am not interested"
"Interest can be developed over time, you know," Aiden said smoothly, his lips curled into an easygoing smile. He leaned his elbow on the bar counter and turned slightly to face her, showing no signs of being discouraged. "Hello, beautiful. The name's Aiden Graves—but you can call me Aiden. Just Aiden."
The blonde didn't even spare him a full glance as she sipped from her glass, her voice flat and clearly disinterested. "I'm not interested in knowing who you are or what your name is."
Ouch. That was blunt—even for New York.
Aiden blinked once, a little surprised, but chuckled nonetheless. "Well," he said, lifting his drink, "looks like someone's having a rough day."
She didn't answer.
"Can't blame you," he continued, undeterred, his voice smooth as velvet. "The world's been crazy lately. Government conspiracies, alien tech on the loose, the Avengers breaking up like high school cliques… makes it hard to even enjoy a drink."
Still no reaction.
"You know," he added, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "this might actually be a first. I've talked to spies, assassins, and even an Asgardian once—but you're the first woman who wouldn't even pretend to humor me with a conversation."
The bartender arrived and set down two fresh drinks. Without missing a beat, Aiden pushed one of them toward her. "Here," he said. "If you won't talk, at least accept a drink. No strings attached. Consider it my tribute to your mystery."