Marvel: The saiyan

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over Shallot's home as Nick Fury stepped aside, revealing Natasha Romanoff standing in the doorway. Dressed in her trademark sleek black tactical gear, her presence immediately shifted the atmosphere in the room. Natasha exuded calm confidence, each step calculated, her body language controlled and ready for anything. The fiery red hair tied back in a practical ponytail highlighted her sharp green eyes, which carried an intensity that left no room for casual pleasantries.

Shallot leaned casually against the wall of his entryway, his tail swaying lazily behind him. His sharp black eyes zeroed in on Natasha, scanning her up and down as though he were appraising a predator that had just wandered into his den. If she felt the weight of his gaze—or even noticed the oddity of his tail—she didn't show it. Her posture didn't waver, her expression didn't falter.

"You called her?" Shallot asked, directing his question at Fury, though his gaze remained locked on Natasha. His voice carried a slight edge of irritation, as if her very presence was already an inconvenience.

Although not in the conventional way, Shallot remembered Natasha Romanoff from the films he had watched in his previous life. Yet, here she was—not the actress, but the real Natasha Romanoff. And as impressive as Scarlett Johansson had been in the role, the Natasha standing before him eclipsed her entirely. She was sharper, deadlier, and, truthfully, more beautiful in a way that almost caught Shallot off guard. Almost. He quickly shoved any distracting thoughts aside, ensuring none of it showed on his face.

"She's the best we've got," Fury replied simply, his tone neutral. "And if you're the kind of threat I think you might be, I want the best keeping an eye on you."

"Well," Shallot said, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he pushed off the wall and stood tall. "It's pleasant to know I'm held in such high regard by the great Nick Fury."

Fury's expression didn't change, though Natasha's lips quirked ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, at Shallot's sarcasm. It wasn't a smile—more of a flicker of acknowledgment.

"I'm not here to flatter you," Natasha said, her voice smooth, with a faint undertone of steel. "I'm here to make sure you don't become a problem."

Shallot tilted his head, the smirk on his face widening into something almost predatory. His tail flicked behind him in a deliberate, cat-like motion, as if toying with the tension in the room. "Don't become a problem?" Shallot repeated, his voice low and mocking. "If I was a problem, do you think you'd even know about it before it was too late?"

Before either of them could respond, Shallot let a fraction of his power slip loose. It wasn't much—barely a whisper of his true strength—but it was enough to make the air in the room heavy. Fury and Natasha felt it immediately, like a subtle yet oppressive weight pressing down on their chests. Fury's single eye narrowed slightly, though he didn't flinch. Natasha's stance shifted almost imperceptibly, her muscles tensing as she instinctively prepared for an attack that didn't come.

Just as quickly as he had unleashed it, Shallot pulled the pressure back, leaving the room feeling light again. He crossed his arms over his chest, his smirk fading into something more neutral. "But," he said, his tone suddenly more casual, "I accepted the deal anyway, so I'll leave it at that."

Fury raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the display but wise enough not to escalate the situation. "Glad to hear it," he said evenly. "Because Romanoff here isn't just anyone. If you decide to step out of line, she'll be the first one to put you down."

Shallot chuckled softly, the sound low and unbothered. "Good luck with that," he said, the barest hint of a challenge in his voice.

Natasha, still calm and composed, stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Shallot. She met his gaze head-on, her green eyes unreadable. "You're used to people underestimating you," she said, her tone conversational but sharp. "But don't make the mistake of underestimating me. I don't miss."

Shallot smirked again, clearly amused by her confidence. "Oh, I believe you don't," he said, leaning in slightly as though sharing a secret. "But here's the thing, Natasha—you've never had to deal with someone like me before."

There was a moment of silence as their gazes locked, the air between them charged with unspoken tension. Fury glanced between them but said nothing, letting the moment play out.

Finally, Natasha straightened, taking a step back. "We'll see," she said simply, her tone cool and unshaken.

Fury cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Alright, now that we're all introduced, here's how this is going to work. Romanoff will be keeping an eye on you—whether you like it or not. Consider it a precaution."

"Babysitting?" Shallot asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Call it what you want," Fury replied. "But as long as you're on this planet, you're in my jurisdiction. And until I'm convinced you're not a threat, you're going to have a shadow."

Shallot sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he said, his tone laced with mock exasperation. "But if she starts snooping through my stuff, don't expect me to be nice about it."

"Noted," Fury said. He turned to Natasha, giving her a small nod. "He's all yours."

Natasha didn't respond, simply turning her attention back to Shallot. Her expression remained unreadable, though her eyes held a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or even a hint of amusement.

Fury made his way to the door, pausing just before stepping outside. "Oh, and Shallot?" he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Play nice."

Shallot chuckled, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "No promises."

With that, Fury left, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the quiet room. Shallot and Natasha were left alone, the tension between them palpable.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Shallot broke the silence.

"So," he said, crossing his arms. "What's the plan, Agent Romanoff? Are you going to stand in the corner with a notebook and take notes on everything I do? Or are we skipping straight to the part where you try to kill me?"

Natasha's lips quirked into a faint smirk, her first real show of emotion since arriving. "Neither," she said. "For now, I'm just going to watch. Observe. Get a read on you."

Shallot raised an eyebrow. "Get a read on me, huh? Well, I hope you brought a good book. This is going to take a while."

Natasha stepped closer, her smirk fading as her expression turned serious. "Don't make this harder than it has to be," she said quietly. "I'm not your enemy—unless you give me a reason to be."

Shallot held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged, his smirk returning. "Fair enough," he said. "Just try to keep up, alright?"

Natasha didn't respond, instead taking a seat on the edge of the sofa, her posture relaxed but alert. Shallot watched her for a moment longer before turning and heading toward the kitchen.

As he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement at the situation. Nick Fury thought assigning Natasha Romanoff to watch him would keep him in check. Shallot wasn't sure whether to be insulted or impressed.

The tension in the room eased slightly as Shallot walked toward the kitchen. It wasn't that he was ignoring Natasha—he just figured that if she was going to be sitting in his house all day, the least he could do was enjoy himself. His steps were deliberate, his tail flicking lazily behind him, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

The kitchen was massive, a chef's dream of stainless steel counters, marble surfaces, and top-of-the-line appliances. Shallot swung open the industrial-sized fridge with one hand, revealing an interior stocked with an absurd amount of food. Stacks of meat, fresh vegetables, containers of sauces, and rows of spices lined the shelves. It was a visual feast in itself.

Natasha's gaze flicked toward the fridge from where she sat on the couch. She'd read the reports on Shallot—how much he ate, how often, and the borderline absurd quantities of food required to sustain him. But seeing the sheer scale of it in person was another thing entirely.

"Planning to feed an army?" Natasha asked, her tone neutral but laced with faint curiosity.

Shallot glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he began pulling ingredients from the fridge. "Nope. Just me." He paused, then added, "Well, and I'll save you some if you want. But don't expect anything fancy—just enough to keep you from passing out while you stare at me all day."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly on the couch. "You cook?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of mild surprise. She'd expected him to rely on takeout or pre-made meals, given the demands of his training and his apparent nonchalant attitude.

Shallot chuckled as he set a stack of fresh chicken thighs, vegetables, and rice on the counter. "What? You think I just live on instant noodles and protein bars?" His hands moved swiftly, arranging the ingredients as though he'd done this a thousand times before. "I've been living alone for over two years. Cooking was a survival skill at first. Now…" He shrugged. "It's just kind of fun."

Natasha said nothing, though she continued to watch him closely. Her reports hadn't mentioned this. She'd read about Shallot's power, his training, and, of course, his overwhelming appetite—but nothing about him spending time in the kitchen. It was… unexpected. She filed the observation away for later.

Shallot worked quickly, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had mastered the basics but wasn't overly fussy. He marinated the chicken in a mixture of soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and honey, his hands moving deftly as he seasoned the meat. While the chicken rested, he washed and chopped vegetables with surprising precision, arranging them in neat piles on the cutting board.

"You seem… oddly domestic," Natasha commented, tilting her head as she observed him.

"Surprised?" Shallot quipped, smirking as he turned on the stove and heated a skillet. "I get it. Big guy with crazy powers, lives alone in the woods, and trains like a lunatic. Doesn't exactly scream 'home chef,' does it?"

Natasha's lips quirked slightly, though she didn't outright smile. "It's… unexpected, that's all."

Shallot threw the chicken into the sizzling skillet, the sound of meat hitting hot oil filling the room. He grabbed a spatula and stirred the chicken as it cooked, the sweet and savory aroma quickly filling the kitchen. "Well, you'll find I'm full of surprises, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as she continued to watch. She didn't reply, but her sharp green eyes missed nothing—the way he moved, the relaxed yet deliberate way he handled the food, even the faint smirk that seemed to tug at his lips whenever he glanced in her direction.

By the time Shallot had finished cooking, the kitchen counter was covered in steaming dishes. The chicken was perfectly glazed with a golden-brown sauce, the vegetables stir-fried to vibrant perfection, and the rice cooked to a fluffy consistency. Shallot stepped back, surveying his work with a satisfied grin.

Natasha couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she stood and approached the counter. "You made all this in, what… twenty minutes?"

"Like I said," Shallot replied, his tail flicking behind him as he grabbed a plate and began serving himself, "two years of practice. You'd be surprised what you can learn when the alternative is living on junk food."

He sat at the small dining table, his plate piled high with food, and immediately began eating with gusto. Natasha hesitated for a moment before grabbing a smaller plate and serving herself a modest portion. She wasn't particularly hungry, but curiosity—and perhaps a faint sense of politeness—compelled her to try it.

She took a bite of the chicken first. The flavor hit her immediately—sweet, savory, with just the right balance of ginger and garlic. It was… surprisingly good. Better than she'd expected. Her expression remained neutral, but inside, she was impressed.

Shallot noticed her pause and smirked between bites. "Not bad, huh?"

Natasha glanced at him, her face giving nothing away. "It's decent," she said nonchalantly, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her lips.

"'Decent,' huh?" Shallot repeated, raising an eyebrow as he shoveled another forkful of rice into his mouth. "I'll take it."

As Natasha continued eating, she noticed Shallot's pace hadn't slowed. He was devouring his food at a speed that would put competitive eaters to shame, yet somehow, he didn't look sloppy or desperate. It was as though his body had adapted to consuming massive quantities of food while maintaining some semblance of dignity.

By the time she finished her plate, Shallot had already cleaned off three and was going back for a fourth. Natasha leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she watched him.

"You weren't kidding about the appetite," she said, her tone light.

Shallot shrugged, not breaking stride. "Saiyan metabolism," he said simply, between bites. "Burns through calories faster than you'd believe."

Natasha tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her green eyes. "And you really cooked all this yourself? No shortcuts, no help?"

Shallot nodded, his smirk returning. "What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."

"Apparently," Natasha replied, though there was a faint edge to her voice—a subtle reminder that she was still watching, still assessing.

When Shallot finally finished eating, he leaned back in his chair, looking more satisfied than he'd been all day. "Well," he said, stretching his arms above his head, "that hit the spot."

Natasha stood and carried her empty plate to the sink, rinsing it off with the same efficiency she applied to everything she did. "I'll admit," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him, "I wasn't expecting that. The cooking, I mean."

Shallot raised an eyebrow. "Impressed?"

"Let's just say you're not what I expected," Natasha replied cryptically, drying her hands before turning to face him.

Shallot smirked, his tail flicking lazily behind him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Stick around, Agent Romanoff," he said, his tone teasing. "I might surprise you even more."

Natasha didn't respond, though the faintest hint of a smile flickered across her lips before disappearing just as quickly. Without another word, she returned to the living room, leaving Shallot alone in the kitchen.

As Shallot began tidying up, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Fury might have sent Natasha to keep an eye on him, but it seems she's not as cold as she seems.

Shallot leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, his sharp black eyes gleaming with amusement as he regarded Natasha, who had returned to the couch. She seemed perfectly comfortable, or at least as comfortable as someone could be while assessing every inch of his home with a trained, calculating gaze.

"Now, normally," Shallot began, his tail swaying lazily behind him, "I'd let you wander through my living room and be a jerk about it—y'know, make snide comments about the furniture or complain about the lack of surveillance cameras you just had removed." He flashed her a teasing smirk. "But I think we've both had enough of that little song and dance for one day."

Natasha's expression didn't shift, though her eyes flicked toward him, narrowing slightly. "You're awfully accommodating for someone who just had an uninvited guest walk into their house," she said smoothly, her tone calm but edged with curiosity. "What's your angle, Shallot?"

Shallot chuckled, pushing himself off the counter and gesturing for her to follow him. "My angle," he said, starting toward the hallway, "is that I'm not in the mood to sleep with one eye open. I figure if you're staying here, we might as well establish some ground rules—starting with me being a good host and showing you where you can crash."

Natasha didn't respond immediately but stood and followed him without hesitation. She moved with the silent grace of a predator, her presence calm yet undeniable. Shallot could feel her sharp gaze on him, analyzing every word, every movement, as though she were piecing together a puzzle only she could see.

As they walked through the hallway, Shallot's tail swished lightly, the motion absentminded but noticeable. Natasha glanced at it briefly but said nothing. She'd learned by now that Shallot's tail was more than just an appendage—it was a window into his mood. Right now, it seemed relaxed, almost playful, though she knew better than to underestimate him.

They stopped in front of a door at the far end of the hallway. Shallot pushed it open, revealing a simple but well-kept guest room. The walls were painted a neutral white, the furniture minimalist—a queen-sized bed with crisp white sheets, a small wooden dresser, and a desk in the corner. A single window let in the fading light of the afternoon sun, casting a warm glow across the room.

Shallot stepped aside, gesturing toward the space with a flourish. "Your room, Agent Romanoff. Not exactly a five-star hotel, but it's clean, quiet, and comes with a complimentary view of the forest. No hidden cameras, either—so don't worry about me being creepy."

Natasha stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room with the precision of someone who didn't take anything at face value. She moved to the window, glancing out at the dense trees that surrounded the property. "I wasn't worried," she said simply, her tone devoid of humor.

Shallot leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watched her. "Of course you weren't," he replied, his smirk widening. "You're Natasha Romanoff. The infamous Black Widow. Master spy, assassin, and part-time ninja. What do you have to be worried about?"

Natasha turned to face him, her green eyes sharp and unreadable. "If I thought you were a threat, Shallot, you wouldn't still be standing there."

Shallot chuckled, unfazed by the subtle warning in her tone. "Fair enough," he said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. He pointed toward the dresser. "Extra blankets in there if you get cold. Not that I imagine someone like you gets cold, but hey—just in case."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between him and the dresser. "You're surprisingly considerate for someone who just threatened to pluck Fury's eye out."

"Hey," Shallot said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "He broke into my house. I think I showed remarkable restraint."

Natasha smirked faintly, the ghost of a smile flickering across her lips before disappearing just as quickly. "Remarkable might be a stretch."

Shallot shrugged, turning toward the door. "Well, you're all set. Make yourself at home, but try not to rearrange my stuff while I'm asleep, alright?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly, though her tone remained neutral. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

Shallot paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. "Tsk."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed back down the hallway, his tail flicking behind him. Natasha watched him go, her expression thoughtful. Shallot was... not what she'd expected. The reports had painted him as a dangerous anomaly, a potential threat with power that defied explanation. But in person, he was something else entirely—equal parts cocky and enigmatic, with a sharp wit that seemed to hide something deeper.

As she unpacked her small duffel bag and set it on the desk, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Shallot than he let on. Whether that made him an ally or a threat, she wasn't sure yet.

But one thing was certain: this assignment was going to be far more interesting than she'd anticipated.

Later that evening, Shallot sat on the couch in the living room, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he flipped through channels on the TV. He wasn't really paying attention to anything—it was more of a distraction than anything else. His mind kept drifting back to Natasha.

Her presence in his house was… strange. Not unwelcome, exactly, but definitely an adjustment. He wasn't used to sharing his space with anyone, let alone someone as sharp and guarded as her.

As if on cue, Natasha appeared in the doorway, her movements as quiet as ever. She'd changed into a simple black tank top and gray sweatpants, her red hair loose around her shoulders. Shallot glanced up, raising an eyebrow.

"Didn't take you for the sweatpants type," he said, smirking.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "Didn't take you for the cooking type."

"Touché," Shallot replied, gesturing to the other end of the couch. "You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna sit down?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, then walked over and sat down, keeping a respectable distance between them. Shallot noticed the way her eyes darted around the room, subtly taking in every detail. It was a habit, he realized—one she probably couldn't turn off even if she wanted to.

"So," Shallot said, breaking the silence. "What's the verdict? Am I the dangerous alien monster Fury warned you about, or do I get a pass for now?"

Natasha didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned to him, her green eyes locking onto his. "You're dangerous," she said evenly. "That much is obvious. But you don't strike me as a monster."

Shallot tilted his head, intrigued by her response. "No? What do I strike you as, then?"

Natasha's lips quirked into a faint smirk, though her eyes remained sharp. "Complicated."

Shallot chuckled, leaning back against the couch. "I'll take it."

For the rest of the evening, the two of them sat in silence, the TV playing softly in the background. Though neither said it out loud, there was a mutual understanding between them—a fragile truce, built on equal parts curiosity and caution.

And for now, that was enough.

A few minutes later, 

As the quiet hum of the TV filled the room, Shallot leaned back on the couch, his energy levels finally beginning to dwindle.

It wasn't often he felt exhaustion creeping up on him—his Saiyan biology kept him sharp and resilient far beyond what most humans could endure.

But even he wasn't immune to fatigue, especially after days of rigorous training with Tony and late nights fine-tuning his own ki techniques. "Alright," Shallot muttered, standing and stretching.

His tail curled lazily behind him as he cracked his neck, letting out a low sigh. "I'm calling it a night."

Natasha, still seated on the couch, looked up from her spot. She had settled in, her posture casual but still alert, her green eyes tracking his movements. "Done for the day?" she asked, her voice neutral, though there was a faint hint of curiosity behind it.

"Yeah," Shallot replied, running a hand through his spiky black hair. "Big day tomorrow. Back to the grind—training Stark, then back here to push myself."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips. "Sounds like you're running a one-man boot camp."

Shallot grinned faintly. "Pretty much. It's a full-time gig keeping Stark in one piece and not embarrassing himself too much."

"You must be a saint," Natasha teased, though her tone was light.

"Far from it," Shallot quipped, his voice laced with amusement. "I just like watching him suffer a little. Builds character."

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound almost surprising even to herself.

Shallot had a way of disarming her with his blunt honesty and sarcasm—it was strange but oddly refreshing compared to the usual guarded conversations she was used to.

"Well, try not to burn yourself out," she said, her tone shifting back to its usual calm. "Even Saiyans need rest, don't they?"

Shallot's eyebrows shot up slightly at her use of the word Saiyan.

It was still strange hearing it come from someone other than himself. "Yeah, we do," he said, a small smirk returning to his face. "Not that I burn out easily."

With that, he turned toward the hallway, his tail flicking lazily behind him as he walked. "Try not to snoop too much while I'm asleep, Romanoff. My place might look normal, but I'd hate for you to stumble into something you're not ready for."

Natasha leaned back on the couch, crossing her arms as she watched him disappear down the hall. "Goodnight, Shallot," she called out, her tone light but with just a hint of challenge.

"Night," Shallot replied casually, his voice drifting back toward her.

Shallot's Bedroom Shallot stepped into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

The room was simple, like the rest of the house—spacious but without unnecessary clutter. The only thing that stood out was the large window that offered a clear view of the starlit sky.

He often found himself staring out at it, wondering about the life he'd left behind and the strange turn of fate that had brought him to this world.

But tonight, he was too tired to dwell on such thoughts. Kicking off his boots, Shallot collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to change out of his training clothes.

He stretched out, his tail draping over the edge of the mattress as he let out a long sigh. His body, though strong, felt the weight of the day's efforts.

Training Tony, and dealing with Fury's and Natasha's uninvited visit had drained more energy than he cared to admit.

He closed his eyes, his breathing evening out as sleep began to take hold. But before he drifted off completely, a single thought crossed his mind—a reminder of the routine that awaited him tomorrow.

Train Stark. Push him harder. Then train yourself even harder.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Another day, another challenge," he muttered to himself before sleep finally claimed him.

The Next Morning The first rays of sunlight streamed through Shallot's window, painting his room in shades of gold and amber.

He stirred slightly, his tail twitching as his body adjusted to the new day. With a groggy grunt, he sat up, stretching his arms over his head as his muscles protested slightly from the previous day's exertion.

"Alright," Shallot muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Time to get moving."

He went through his usual morning routine—quickly showering, throwing on his training clothes, and scarfing down a light breakfast (for him, anyway, which still amounted to three times the portion of a normal human meal).

By the time he stepped out of his room, he was fully awake and ready to take on the day. In the living room, Natasha was already up, dressed in casual workout gear and leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in hand.

She glanced up as Shallot walked in, her expression as composed as ever. "Early riser, huh?" she said, taking a sip from her mug.

"Always," Shallot replied, grabbing an apple from a nearby bowl and taking a bite. "Guess you are too."

Natasha shrugged, setting her mug down. "Old habits."

Shallot nodded, tossing the apple core into the trash with practiced ease. "Well, I'm heading out. Gotta whip Stark into shape before he starts thinking he's invincible again."

Shallot stood by the open doorway, Natasha's retort hanging in the air. She was already stepping forward, pulling her red hair into a high ponytail, her piercing green eyes locked onto him. Her casual confidence made it clear she intended to join him, whether or not he had planned for it.

"You're coming?" Shallot asked, one eyebrow raised as a playful smirk danced on his lips.

"I'm supposed to be observing you," Natasha replied, her tone calm but firm. "And besides, someone has to make sure you don't break Stark in half."

Shallot snorted, shaking his head. "Fair enough," he said, stepping out onto the grass. Then, he tilted his head to the side, his smirk widening as he added, "But let me ask you this—do you even think you can keep up?"

Before Natasha could respond, Shallot's aura flared to life—a faint, glow that rippled around him. Without another word, he bent his knees slightly and shot into the sky, leaving a shockwave in his wake. The air cracked like thunder as he disappeared in an instant, a grey streak slicing through the clear morning sky.

Natasha blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sheer speed of his departure. It wasn't her first time witnessing Shallot's power, but it still caught her off guard. She muttered under her breath, "Show-off."

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Author's note: sorry for being late, I wanted to rest today but I had a mid completed chapter so I decided to finish it and publish it, enjoy.