This is quite important intelligence; sometimes, even a very subtle habit can become a fatal trump card.
The battlefield of a top agent is everywhere, especially between the sheets. When a target is extremely relaxed or engaged, even if they maintain a high level of alertness, it's still easy for them to reveal their true self.
Inside the jet, silence reigned. Coulson also pricked up his ears, hoping the Black Widow could extract golden fragments of intelligence from that "necessary contact."
Natasha fell silent.
It wasn't the precisely calculated pause of a mission report, but a rare blankness, almost making one feel her thoughts briefly drifting away.
On the communication screen, her usually calm, unruffled face seemed to change for a split second, extremely subtle, too quick to catch.
"During the assessment," Natasha began, her voice still steady, but with an indescribable fluidity, as if describing an artwork worthy of appreciation, "Target Hawk Lane displayed extraordinary physical reserves. His core muscle group control and explosive power coordination were excellent, and his dynamic balance was at a peak level."
She paused, seemingly recalling details: "Technically, he combines strength with precision. His tactical movements... were aggressive but not reckless, demonstrating a profound understanding of human mechanics and biological structure, and a skilled mastery of human weaknesses. His rhythm control was master-level, adept at utilizing the environment and applying psychological pressure."
Coulson's jaw dropped slightly. This description sounded... like a combat briefing, but with a strange tone of admiration?
He secretly glanced at Fury.
Fury's face grew even darker, like a cold piece of cast iron.
"Agent Romanoff," Fury's voice was as low as muffled thunder, every word laced with ice, "I'm asking if you observed any intelligence details that could help us analyze his psychological state, potential weaknesses, or background clues. I'm not asking you to write a physical assessment report on his performance in bed!"
Fury almost bit off the last few words.
Natasha seemed to snap out of it then, withdrawing from that involuntary state of "professional appreciation."
Her face instantly regained the absolute composure expected of an agent, as if that evaluation had never happened.
"Reporting, Director," her voice became cold and objective again, "Throughout the entire process, the target maintained high concentration, with defensive mechanisms fully engaged. No relaxation, unconscious habits, or exploitable physiological or psychological weaknesses were observed. His willpower is extremely resilient, and his environmental awareness never diminished."
She added, unequivocally: "Aside from the objective descriptions of his physical capabilities and combat proficiency mentioned above, no effective intelligence was obtained."
Silence descended upon the jet once more.
Coulson tactically cleared his throat, feeling the air so thick it was hard to breathe.
He dared not look at Fury, nor at Natasha beside him.
Fury's single eye stared intently at Natasha, his gaze seemingly trying to penetrate her, to see what lay beneath her calm exterior.
A feeling called "absurdity" surged in his heart.
Hawk Lane... is he that amazing?
So strong that even his top agent was captivated!
For the first time, he felt a flicker of doubt about Natasha. He decided—to find someone else to try. Fortunately, two excellent new agents had been placed at Hawk's alma mater, Columbia University.
However, during the incident at Bates Capital, multiple intelligence agencies had embedded spies into Columbia to make contact with Hawk, but S.H.I.E.L.D. had not yet obtained their complete list.
But regardless, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pace had to be faster than other intelligence agencies.
After pondering for a few seconds, he slowly leaned back in his chair, his voice devoid of emotion, yet carrying immense weight:
"Understood. Complete the mission report with full details. Agent Romanoff, after the mission, you need to write an extremely detailed after-action review report. Every point of contact, every conversation, every observed detail, whether you deem it valuable or not. Also, your physical training volume will be doubled."
He paused, his single eye flashing with a cold light, adding pointedly:
"Especially Smith squats... add another hundred."
He leaned slightly forward, his single eye fixed on Natasha on the communication screen:
"Now, as he said, arrange a meeting, the sooner the better."
Fury didn't say "negotiation," but used "meeting," both echoing Hawk's original words in the elevator and indicating that S.H.I.E.L.D., or rather, he, Fury, was willing to initiate dialogue on a relatively equal footing.
The communication cut off.
Coulson held his breath, secretly glancing at Natasha. On her beautiful face, beyond the professional coolness after a completed mission, nothing could be discerned.
And only Natasha herself knew that in the "extremely detailed" review report Fury demanded, regarding those two hours of "necessary contact," all she could likely write was still that objective, almost complimentary, yet intelligence-free "physical assessment," because that was the only "detail" she could clearly recall.
The rest of her sensory memories had long been overwritten by a powerful, heart-pounding sense of control and extraordinary skill, imprinted deep within her physical perception, rather than recorded in an agent's analytical log.
A moment later, Natasha took a deep breath and retrieved Hawk Lane's private contact information. The number was not public; Hawk himself had entered it into her phone after their "necessary contact."
She took a deep breath, her fingertips tapping on the virtual keyboard, her wording precise:
[Mr. Lane, regarding your coffee invitation, my employer is very interested. Are you available this evening?]
Message sent.
Almost instantly, a reply popped up:
[Natasha, so efficient. It seems your boss needs this conversation more than I thought.]
[Tonight at 9 PM, "Tears of the Muse" across from Bates Tower.]
[Top floor terrace, I've booked it.]
[By the way, let me ask again, "Smith squats"... did my performance satisfy you?]
Blatant flirtation, with a playful sense of control.
Natasha looked at the words on the screen, as if she could hear Hawk's low voice and his faint smile.
She decided to respond in a more direct way, more in line with Hawk's expectations—this in itself was a test.