Chapter 797

Evenson had made another mistake.

Fortunately, it wasn’t the sort that exposed his secret identity or gave someone reason to suspect his true nature. No, this time, his mistake concerned something considerably more personal.

His lifestyle.

The investigation was all but over. The only thing remaining was to determine how long Fitz and Simmons would need to glue the Berserker Staff back together.

Technically, Evenson no longer had any reason to stick around.

Unfortunately, it was already late, and Coulson had suggested that the team stay in Oslo for the night. They could book rooms at a hotel, enjoy a proper celebratory dinner, and worry about the return journey the following morning.

Evenson wasn’t about to pass up an offer like that.

For starters, he’d been in the middle of performing a ritual when SHIELD had interrupted him. The ceremony was supposed to last seven days, but thanks to Coulson and his people, he’d been forced to wrap it up in half a day.

That was a considerable loss of income.

And now, after helping them solve their case, providing advice, and personally dealing with the more troublesome aspects of the mission, he was expected to miss the victory dinner and quietly go home?

What was he, a saint?

Evenson wasn’t nearly that selfless.

He intended to enjoy the hotel accommodations and the celebratory meal to the fullest.

Coulson’s team, to their credit, didn’t skimp on the expenses. Since SHIELD was paying, they booked an entire floor of one of Oslo’s hotels.

A five-star establishment.

Well, a five-star budget hotel, technically. But the distinction hardly mattered when someone else was footing the bill.

The food was excellent, too.

Unfortunately, not everyone was in the mood to celebrate.

Melinda May had been keeping to herself ever since the encounter with the Berserker Staff.

The artifact had dragged a painful memory out of the depths of her mind, one she’d spent years trying to bury.

Bahrain.

A little girl who had unexpectedly developed superhuman abilities.

A mission that had forced Melinda to kill a child because there had been no other way to stop the situation from spiraling out of control.

She had lost a fellow agent and taken a child’s life. The experience had left scars that never truly healed.

It had shaken her confidence in her own judgment, made her increasingly reluctant to accept field assignments, and fundamentally changed her personality.

The trauma had affected every aspect of her life, not merely her career. It had contributed to the collapse of her marriage and left her struggling to maintain the relationships she still had.

It was also one of the reasons she’d agreed to Evenson’s enhancement.

She had believed that if she possessed extraordinary power, she could prevent tragedies like Bahrain from happening again. She could protect her colleagues, save innocent lives, and avoid ever being forced into such an impossible choice.

After the enhancement, her mental state had gradually improved. She’d begun accepting field assignments again, facing dangers she once would have avoided, and convincing herself that she’d finally escaped the nightmare of her past.

Then the Berserker Staff had forced her to remember.

With terrifying clarity, she’d relived the incident as though it had happened yesterday.

She could no longer pretend that time and personal growth had somehow absolved her of what she’d done. She couldn’t change the past, and she couldn’t simply declare herself a different person and walk away from her actions.

The memories belonged to her.

So did the consequences.

Melinda had no interest in celebrating. She sat apart from the others, quietly working her way through a bottle of red wine.

As it happened, Evenson was sitting alone as well.

This was largely because he’d accumulated an absurd number of empty plates on his table. Nobody else had been willing to sit beside him, lest they be forced to witness his eating habits up close.

Melinda, however, had more pressing concerns.

She walked over and dropped into the seat opposite him.

Evenson hurriedly caught a plate that nearly slid off the table, then wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Bad mood... hic... having a rough night?"

"Mhm."

Melinda rested her forehead in one hand. Her eyes were slightly unfocused.

"About what happened?" Evenson asked. "You want to talk about it?"

He glanced at the bottle in her hand.

Half a bottle of red wine, and she was already this drunk. At this rate, she really ought to stop drinking.

Melinda nodded.

"Hm."

"I’m afraid I can’t help you there."

Evenson shook his head.

"I’m not a psychologist. I told you from the beginning that I could teach you how to handle what comes next. But I can’t change what has already happened, and I can’t make your psychological scars disappear."

He was fully aware of his own limitations.

A Warlock could certainly try to provide psychological counseling. The problem was that there was no guarantee the patient would emerge from the experience better off.

For all he knew, someone who came to him with ordinary emotional troubles might leave determined to take revenge on society.

"If you’re looking for a round of truth or dare, where we sit here trading painful memories and complaining about everything we hate, I’m not much use for that, either."

"Hmph. I expected as much."

Melinda gave a bitter little snort.

Then, apparently deciding that if she couldn’t receive comfort, she could at least complain, she continued.

"You’ve never been through anything like that. You have no idea how painful it is to make a choice like the one I had to make."

"Heh."

Evenson chuckled softly.

He collected the stacks of plates from his table and set them on the floor, then straightened the tablecloth before looking her in the eye.

"What difference would it make if I had?"

He leaned back in his chair.

"Tell me something, Melinda. By ordinary standards, I’m a pretty heartless person. You’ve wondered before why a man in his twenties could go so long without having a girlfriend before Claire, haven’t you?"

Melinda nodded.

"Was it because you were poor?"

"That’s part of the reason people might assume, but no. I could afford to support a girlfriend as long as she wasn’t excessively demanding."

"True enough."

Melinda considered the matter.

Evenson owned property in Brooklyn, and not the sort of tiny apartment that barely qualified as a place to sleep. He had a reasonably valuable commercial property, and although his shop always seemed to be hovering on the edge of bankruptcy, it had never actually gone under.

He wasn’t wealthy by billionaire standards, but he certainly wasn’t struggling to put food on the table.

He also had a far more relaxed lifestyle than ordinary people who spent their lives buried beneath mortgages and other financial obligations.

If he wanted to settle down and get married, money alone wouldn’t have stopped him.

"Then it was a matter of feelings?" she asked.

"Not exactly love at first sight or anything like that."

Evenson shrugged.

"It’s more that I have trouble empathizing with other people. Put simply, I don’t really care about them."

"I don’t care about them," Melinda repeated, trying to understand.

"That’s right."

Evenson nodded without hesitation.

"Which means that, if necessary, killing a little girl wouldn’t trouble me in the slightest."

Melinda fell silent.

"I’ve killed quite a few people," he continued. "And no matter which one it was, I never felt any particular way about it. No satisfaction, no sadness. Nothing."

He spoke without pride or shame, as if discussing the weather.

"You might consider some of those people deserving of their deaths. Others might have been completely innocent. Men, women, elderly people, children. To me, the distinction doesn’t necessarily matter."

He paused.

"If I decide that killing someone is necessary, I won’t lose sleep over it afterward. I won’t feel guilty, and I won’t be haunted by what I’ve done."

Evenson reached across the table, took the bottle from Melinda’s hand, and swallowed a large mouthful.

Then his face turned bright red.

"Damn it! Cough, cough!"

He clutched his throat.

What the hell was this? Red wine mixed with high-proof liquor?

No wonder Melinda was getting drunk so quickly.

"Cough... Anyway..."

He struggled to regain his breath.

"If you’re looking for life advice based on personal experience, I’m afraid I’m not the person to ask."

Melinda studied him.

"That must be a lonely way to live."

She seemed to have arrived at the conclusion that Evenson was a man with a serious emotional deficiency, someone who’d spent his life cut off from other people.

"Not really."

Evenson grabbed a large glass of ice water and gulped it down, finally easing the burning in his throat.

"If you don’t care, what is there to be lonely about?"

"Perhaps."

Melinda reclaimed her bottle.

Then she gave him a strange, almost meaningful smile.

"But you’re not completely useless."

Evenson didn’t understand what she meant.

Not at the time.

The celebration eventually came to an end, and the team began returning to their rooms.

Evenson took out his key card and opened the door to his own room. Just as he was about to step inside, Melinda passed behind him.

Her room was directly across the corridor.

She said nothing.

Instead, she turned her head toward him, tugged lightly at the collar of her white shirt, and lifted the bottle of red wine she’d been carrying.

She gave it a small shake.

Then she turned and walked into her room.

The door closed most of the way but remained slightly ajar.

Evenson stared after her.

Well.

That was certainly a clear invitation.

He spent approximately half a second considering the matter before making his decision.

He stepped into his own room, hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the door, checked that nobody else was watching, and slipped into Melinda’s room.

The following morning, Evenson came to the uncomfortable realization that his latest mistake really did qualify as a matter of personal conduct.

At least, that was how he’d initially described it to himself.

The truth was somewhat more complicated.

There had been no emotional exchange between him and Melinda. She hadn’t come to him looking for affection, comfort, or a romantic relationship.

She’d simply been carrying a great deal of psychological pressure and had wanted a physical outlet.

Evenson happened to be someone she found tolerable.

That was all.

By the end of the night, he felt less like a lover than a male escort hired to provide a service.

And that, frankly, annoyed him.

So that’s how it is?

He’d been used to help her relieve some stress.

Was that all he was good for?

Fine. But if you’re going to use me to deal with your problems, surely there are other kinds of stress you could work through as well.

Evenson was, after all, a loyal friend.

He was perfectly willing to go to great lengths to help someone he considered a friend in need.

The next morning, however, Evenson discovered that he wouldn’t be leaving Norway just yet.

It wasn’t because Melinda had woken up, grabbed him by the collar, and demanded that he take responsibility for what had happened.

Quite the opposite.

After the night’s exertions, she was sleeping soundly and showed no signs of waking anytime soon.

The problem was a new assignment.

And this time, the mission hadn’t come from Coulson’s team.

It had come directly from SHIELD headquarters.

Evenson got up, dressed, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down and began reflecting on the previous night’s mistakes.

Or perhaps replaying the highlights would have been a more accurate description.

Before he could finish his coffee, his phone rang.

He glanced at the number.

SHIELD headquarters.

That was unusual.

He answered cautiously.

"This is Evenson. Who’s calling?"

"I’m Maria Hill. We have a mission for you."

Her voice was crisp and businesslike.

"Don’t refuse it. A special client has specifically requested your involvement, and the director left a note stating that you should be assigned to this operation."

Evenson blinked.

A client has specifically requested me?

What was he, some kind of private security contractor?

And what did she mean by a special client?

"I thought SHIELD wasn’t a private security company," he said. "Since when do we have clients?"

"Special Client 666," Hill replied.

"I don’t know much about this individual, but the number is apparently a designation for someone important, not the title of a conventional employer."

She paused briefly.

"The client claims you owe him a favor. According to the director’s notes, any mission involving this individual is to be assigned to you as the first priority."

"Oh."

Evenson’s expression changed.

He understood immediately.

Mephisto.

He’d asked the demon lord for help with several documents recently, including the credentials he’d used to persuade the priest in Ireland to surrender the Berserker Staff.

It seemed that Mephisto had finally decided to collect on the favor.

And a favor owed to that particular individual was not something to take lightly.

"What’s the assignment? Where are we going?"

"Retrieval of an object somewhere in the United States. You’ll be working with Coulson’s team."

"What?"

Evenson nearly dropped his phone.

"You want me to work with them?"

"Yes."

Hill sounded mildly puzzled by his reaction.

"Team operations are standard SHIELD procedure. Besides, you’ve worked with Coulson’s group several times before. You know how they operate, and you have established rapport with them."

Evenson almost asked whether SHIELD had any other teams left.

Then he reconsidered.

"How much do you know about this client?"

"He’s based in Los Angeles and owns a rather famous bar. Apparently, he’s quite handsome."

Hill sounded as though she were reading from a remarkably thin file.

"That’s about all I know."

As he suspected, Nick Fury hadn’t told Hill the client’s true identity.

"Understood," Evenson replied slowly. "Then Director Fury probably didn’t arrange this assignment himself."

"That’s correct," Hill confirmed. "The director has been extremely busy lately. I’m temporarily handling assignments and operational scheduling. Is there something wrong with my decision?"

Evenson opened his mouth.

There was a great deal wrong with the decision, but explaining why would require telling Hill things she wasn’t cleared to know.

Most importantly, Fury would never have assigned Coulson’s team to a mission involving Mephisto without a very good reason. And, as the consultant expected to handle the actual work, Evenson personally didn’t want Coulson anywhere near the real objective.

He spoke carefully.

"Nothing against you, Hill, but I don’t think the director would have assigned Coulson to work with this individual. And, speaking as the consultant involved, I don’t recommend having Coulson’s team participate in the actual operation."

There was a pause on the other end.

Hill seemed to be considering his objection.

"The director has been occupied for quite some time, and SHIELD is short on personnel right now. We don’t have another suitable team available to send."

She continued before Evenson could respond.

"Coulson’s team will serve as your cover. Their assignment is to investigate an individual with unusual abilities. Unless you make some serious mistakes, they won’t come into contact with the actual objective."

She paused.

"Alternatively, you can undertake the assignment by yourself. In that case, you’ll have to find your own way from Norway to the continental United States. Travel expenses are your responsibility."

"That’s fine. No problem."

Evenson’s change of attitude was instantaneous.

"I’ll work with Coulson’s team. I understand the importance of cooperation."

He sounded like the most dedicated SHIELD consultant in the world.

Hill accepted his answer without further comment and ended the call.

Evenson put his phone away, then sat on the edge of the bed and gave the sleeping Melinda a firm nudge.

"Wake up."

She stirred.

He nudged her again.

Melinda opened her bleary eyes. When she finally recognized the face looking down at her, she immediately swung a foot toward him.

Evenson caught it just in time.

"Whoa!"

He held her foot in one hand and blew lightly against the sole.

"That’s a terrible way to greet someone in the morning."

"Hmph."

Melinda yanked her foot away and sat up, clutching the blanket around herself.

For a few seconds, she looked completely disoriented.

Who am I? Where am I? What happened?

Then the previous night’s events came flooding back.

She slapped a hand against her forehead.

Damn it. I drank too much.

"About last night..."

She gathered her unruly hair and tried to find the right words. There was a distinct note of embarrassment in her voice as she attempted to come up with an explanation.

"We should discuss what happened..."

"Later."

Evenson stood up and folded his arms.

"We’ve got a new assignment. SHIELD headquarters has specifically assigned me to it, with Coulson’s team serving as cover. The actual mission is mine."

Melinda’s expression immediately became more serious.

"Then, according to protocol, you shouldn’t be telling me the details."

SHIELD’s compartmentalization rules were clear enough. If Coulson’s group was acting as cover, then the members of that group weren’t supposed to know the true objective.

"Normally, you’d be right."

Evenson nodded.

"But this assignment is unusual. It involves someone I have a history with."

He looked directly at her.

"I need you to help keep Coulson and the others focused on their cover assignment. Make sure Coulson doesn’t learn what we’re really doing. This is for his own good."

Melinda considered the request, then nodded.

"If I’m going to help, I need to know who we’re dealing with."

Evenson let out a long sigh.

The name was one he would have preferred not to say aloud.

"Mephisto."

Melinda’s expression changed.

The name alone was enough to make it clear that this wasn’t going to be an ordinary SHIELD operation.

And Evenson, for all his usual irreverence, looked entirely serious.