Happy Hogan strutted through the gleaming lobby of Stark Industries with the swagger of a man who'd finally found his calling—even if nobody else had gotten the memo yet. His security badge, positioned with military precision at the exact center of his chest, caught the afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He'd actually practiced this walk in the mirror that morning, though he'd never admit it.
"Badge! Badge! Come on, people, we've talked about this!" His voice boomed across the marble floors with all the authority of someone who'd clearly been rehearsing this speech. "I know it seems redundant, but that's what makes it secure! The redundancy is the security! Badge, guys!"
He pointed at each passing employee with the precision of a traffic conductor during rush hour, his other hand resting on his hip in what he'd convinced himself was an intimidating pose. "I put a memo in the—bathroom—I mean the restroom—facilities area. Come on, work with me here, people!"
The employees scattered like startled birds, some frantically patting their pockets for badges they definitely had clipped to their shirts, others simply accelerating toward the elevators with the desperate energy of people who'd learned that engaging with Happy's security protocols was a twenty-minute commitment minimum.
Near the elevator bank, Pepper Potts stood reviewing quarterly projections on her tablet, her red hair catching the light in a way that had probably caused at least three minor accidents in the parking garage that week. She possessed that particular brand of executive presence that came from years of turning Tony Stark's brilliant chaos into actual business—a skill set roughly equivalent to translating ancient hieroglyphics while juggling flaming torches.
At the sound of Happy's increasingly theatrical badge enforcement campaign, she looked up with the expression of someone watching a enthusiastic toddler explain why the living room was now covered in finger paint.
"Pepper! Perfect timing!" Happy announced, bounding over with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who'd just discovered that not only do tennis balls exist, but humans throw them on purpose. "You're gonna love this—Tony's got robots in his basement now. They're wearing little party hats! Actual festive headwear! This is an untapped resource just sitting there looking adorable!"
Pepper's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched in that particular way that had made board members reconsider hostile takeover attempts and convinced foreign diplomats to actually read contracts before signing them. "Uh-huh. So you're suggesting that I replace our entire janitorial staff with... party-hat-wearing robots?"
"What I'm saying," Happy continued with the conviction of a man who'd clearly been workshopping this presentation during his lunch breaks, "is that the human element of Human Resources is our biggest vulnerability. It's like a massive security hole just sitting there, being human all over the place."
He began counting on his fingers with the intensity of someone solving a complex mathematical proof. "Think about it—robots don't steal office supplies, they don't call in sick with 'food poisoning' after consuming suspicious amounts of shrimp at the company barbecue, they don't leave passive-aggressive Post-it notes about whose turn it is to clean the coffee machine, and they definitely don't have opinions about the thermostat settings."
Pepper's tablet nearly slipped from her manicured fingers. "What? Happy, that's—"
"Revolutionary? I know, right?" Happy's chest puffed up like a peacock who'd just won a beauty contest. "Plus, have you seen how cute they look in those little hats? Employee morale would go through the roof. Who doesn't love a robot in a party hat?"
As they walked toward the executive elevators, Happy continued his newly appointed rounds, badge-pointing with the dedication of a Swiss watchmaker and the subtlety of a foghorn. "Excuse me, miss," he called to a young intern whose visitor badge was clearly visible but apparently positioned two degrees off-center. "Badge protocol, please. And also—" He squinted at her name tag. "Bambi? Really? Is that your real name or are you just testing my facial recognition skills?"
Pepper stopped dead in her tracks, her Louboutin heels clicking to an abrupt halt on the polished marble. The sound echoed through the lobby like a gunshot, causing several passing employees to instinctively duck. "Did you just call her Bambi?"
"Security protocols," Happy replied with the kind of straight face usually reserved for discussing national defense strategies or explaining why pineapple belongs on pizza. "I've developed a comprehensive system for categorizing potential security risks based on—"
"Happy." Pepper's voice carried that particular tone that mothers use right before they start counting to three, combined with the underlying steel of someone who'd once made a Fortune 500 CEO apologize for existing.
"Yes, boss?" Happy replied, momentarily forgetting that he technically didn't work for her anymore.
She inhaled slowly, the way people do when they're trying very hard not to commit acts of violence in public spaces, particularly spaces with this much expensive marble. "Okay. I am thrilled—and I mean genuinely, absolutely, over-the-moon thrilled—that you're now the Head of Security. It is, without question, the perfect position for you."
Happy's chest swelled like a balloon at a birthday party, his smile threatening to split his face in half. "Thank you, Pepper. I really appreciate—"
"However," she continued, holding up a perfectly manicured finger that somehow managed to look more menacing than most people's entire hands, "since you've taken this position—this wonderful, perfect-for-you position—"
"And I do appreciate the opportunity, I really do. Not everyone would have seen my potential—"
"Since you've taken the post," she persevered with the patience of someone who'd spent years managing Tony Stark's attention span, "we've had a rise in staff complaints of three hundred percent."
Happy's grin grew even wider, if such a thing were physically possible without requiring medical intervention. "Thank you! See? I told you I was good at this job!"
Pepper blinked slowly, like a computer trying to process conflicting data. "That's... that's not a compliment, Happy."
"That's not a compliment?" Happy's face scrunched up in genuine confusion, like someone trying to solve a Rubik's cube while wearing mittens. "Wait, hold on. No, it definitely is a compliment! If complaints are up three hundred percent, that obviously means I'm three hundred percent more effective at identifying security vulnerabilities that everyone else was just ignoring!"
He began gesturing enthusiastically, his badge catching the light like a disco ball. "Clearly, somebody around here has been trying to hide something, and I'm flushing them out like a... like a security bloodhound! A very fashionable, badge-wearing bloodhound with excellent instincts!"
Before Pepper could explain why this logic was fundamentally flawed on approximately seventeen different levels—she'd actually started making a mental list—her assistant appeared at her elbow with the timing of a stage manager during a Broadway production.
"Excuse me, Miss Potts? Your four o'clock appointment is here."
"Thank you, Jennifer," Pepper replied, mentally adding 'have urgent conversation with Happy about appropriate workplace terminology and basic mathematics' to her already overwhelming to-do list, right between 'approve quarterly budgets' and 'figure out why Tony installed a hot tub in his lab.'
Happy immediately snapped to attention like a meerkat spotting a potential predator, his hand instinctively moving toward his badge as if it were some kind of security talisman. "Wait, wait, wait. Hold everything. Did you clear this four o'clock with me? Because I don't recall authorizing any four o'clocks today. I have a very detailed four o'clock protocol."
He pulled out a small notebook that was apparently filled with what looked like hieroglyphics and football plays. "See? Four o'clock protocols, subsection B: 'All afternoon appointments must be pre-screened for badge compliance, suspicious handbag contents, and general shifty energy levels.' I don't see any documentation here."
Pepper rubbed her temple where a headache was beginning to bloom like a particularly aggressive flower. "Happy, we'll talk about this later—all of this later, possibly with visual aids and interpretive dance—but right now I have to go deal with this very... complicated situation."
"Complicated how?" Happy's protective instincts activated immediately, and he puffed up like an agitated pufferfish who'd been personally insulted. "What kind of complicated are we talking about here? Paperwork complicated? Lawsuit complicated? Or 'someone's going to end up in witness protection' complicated?"
"I used to work with him," Pepper explained as they walked, her voice taking on the weary tone of someone recounting a recurring nightmare involving tax audits and root canal surgery. "Back in the day. And he used to ask me out. Constantly. Like, every single day. Multiple times a day. It got to the point where I started taking different elevators, using alternate routes through the building, and once I actually hid in a supply closet for twenty minutes just to avoid another awkward conversation about dinner plans."
Happy's expression darkened like storm clouds gathering over a picnic. "I don't like the sound of that. I don't like the sound of that at all. Should I... should I assume a defensive posture? I've been practicing my defensive postures."
"It's fine, Happy. It was years ago."
"But is it fine though? Because my security senses are telling me it's not fine. And I've learned to trust my security senses. They're very reliable."
When Happy opened the glass door to Pepper's office with all the ceremony of a knight entering a potentially dragon-infested castle, they both froze like deer in headlights—if deer wore expensive suits and had opinions about quarterly earnings reports.
Where Pepper had been mentally preparing herself to see the same awkward, slightly desperate scientist from her past—complete with nervous energy and questionable fashion choices—instead stood someone who looked like he'd stepped out of a men's magazine photoshoot titled "Scientists Who Could Also Model Cologne."
Aldrich Killian had transformed himself into something that could only be described as weaponized charm wrapped in a hand-tailored Italian suit. His posture radiated the kind of confidence usually reserved for people who'd never experienced impostor syndrome, and his smile was the kind that probably made stock prices rise just by existing in the same room as quarterly reports.
This was definitively not the man who used to lurk by the coffee machine, timing his caffeine breaks to coincide with hers.
"Pepper," he said, and even his voice had undergone some kind of transformation—deeper, smoother, like expensive whiskey mixed with liquid confidence.
"Killian?" Pepper's professional composure cracked just slightly, revealing genuine shock underneath, like discovering your accountant was secretly a superhero. "Is that... are you actually...?"
"You look great," Aldrich said, his eyes taking in her appearance with obvious appreciation but somehow managing to avoid being creepy about it—a skill that had apparently come with whatever life upgrade package he'd purchased. "You look really, really great. Success suits you. Better than that terrible coffee we used to drink in the break room."
Pepper felt her cheeks warm despite every professional instinct screaming at her to maintain composure. "God, you look... I mean, you look..." She gestured helplessly at his general person, like someone trying to describe a particularly impressive magic trick. "What on earth have you been doing? Did you make some kind of deal with a fitness devil? Or discover a fountain of youth? Or hire a team of scientists to redesign your entire existence?"
Aldrich chuckled, a sound that was somehow both self-deprecating and entirely confident—like someone who'd figured out the secret to being humble and devastating simultaneously. "Nothing quite so dramatic, really. Just five years in the hands of some very expensive physical therapists, a personal trainer who I'm pretty sure was secretly a Navy SEAL or possibly a reformed assassin, and a lifestyle coach who charged more than most people make in a year."
He adjusted his perfectly tailored cuff with practiced casualness. "Oh, and please—call me Aldrich. 'Killian' always sounded so... academic. Like someone who'd spend Friday nights reorganizing lab equipment for fun."
Happy, who had been standing in the doorway like a confused bouncer trying to decide whether to check IDs or call backup, suddenly remembered his newly appointed duties. "Uh, excuse me, Mr... Aldrich... person. You were supposed to be issued a security badge upon entry. A very specific security badge with very specific security... badge-related features and protocols."
Pepper shot him a look that could have powered a small city and probably caused at least three people in the outer office to suddenly remember important phone calls they needed to make. "Happy, it's okay."
"Is it though?" Happy's eyes darted between them like a tennis match played by particularly suspicious players. "Because I'm getting some very specific vibes here, and my vibe-detection system is highly calibrated."
"We're good."
"Are we sure about that? Because my security training—which, I should mention, was very thorough and involved multiple PowerPoint presentations—specifically covered situations exactly like this one."
"Yes, I'm sure. Stand down."
Happy's eyes darted between Pepper and this mysterious transformation of a man, his security instincts pinging like a smoke detector with a dying battery. "Okay, but I'm gonna linger. Right here, in this general lingering vicinity. Lingering with purpose and professional intent."
"Thank you, Happy."
"Just... you know... lingering strategically. Like a security-minded person would linger. With appropriate levels of suspicious attention."
Once the glass door closed with a soft click that somehow sounded ominous, Pepper turned back to her guest, trying to recalibrate her entire understanding of the situation while maintaining the professional composure that had served her through countless board meetings and at least three hostile takeover attempts.
"It's very nice to see you, Killian—Aldrich. Sorry. This is just... wow. The transformation is really quite remarkable."
"Thank you. I've been working on it." Aldrich settled into the chair across from her desk with the easy confidence of someone who owned not just the room, but probably the building and possibly the entire city block. "You know, Pepper, I've been looking forward to this meeting for quite some time."
Outside in the waiting area, Happy immediately zeroed in on Aldrich's companion—a man sitting with the kind of absolute stillness that suggested either deep meditation, carefully controlled violence, or possibly both. He had the look of someone who'd seen things, done things, and was currently calculating the exact number of steps it would take to reach every exit in the building.
Something about him set off every alarm bell Happy had developed during his years of protecting Tony Stark, which was saying something considering Tony's remarkable talent for attracting dangerous situations like a magnet attracts metal shavings.
"Hey there, buddy," Happy called out, pointing to his badge with the intensity of a laser pointer being wielded by an overly caffeinated cat. "Badge situation? We need to talk about your badge situation."
The man—Savin, though Happy didn't know that yet and probably wouldn't remember it if he did—calmly picked up his visitor's badge and held it up with the kind of patience usually reserved for dealing with very small children, very large predators, or customer service representatives.
"Merry Christmas," Savin said pleasantly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes in a way that made Happy's security instincts start playing warning sirens in his head.
Happy squinted at him like he was trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle while wearing someone else's prescription glasses. Something was definitely off, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly. It was like that feeling when you walk into a room and forget what you came for, except the room was a person and the forgotten thing was probably important for not ending up dead.
"Yeah... Merry Christmas to you too, pal," Happy replied slowly, his brain working overtime to figure out what was bothering him. "Nice... weather we're having?"
Back in the office, Aldrich was preparing for the moment he'd been rehearsing for months, possibly in front of mirrors and definitely with the kind of attention to detail that would have impressed theater directors.
"So, Pepper," he began, settling back into his chair with the easy confidence of someone who owned several successful companies and possibly a small country, "after years of navigating the President's rather... shall we say, narrow-minded approach to what they like to call 'questionable biotech research'—and really, who gets to decide what's questionable in the pursuit of human advancement?—my think tank has developed something rather extraordinary."
He paused for effect, clearly enjoying the buildup. "Something that's going to change everything we thought we knew about human potential."
"Everything's a very big word, Aldrich," Pepper replied, settling into her chair with the practiced wariness of someone who'd heard approximately four hundred and seventy-three world-changing pitches in the last fiscal quarter alone. "I've learned to be suspicious of everything-changing propositions. They tend to be either completely impossible or completely illegal. Sometimes both."
"Fair enough," Aldrich acknowledged with a smile that suggested he'd expected exactly this response. "But I think you'll find this particular proposition falls into a third category entirely."
He produced three innocuous-looking metal spheres from his jacket pocket with the casual flair of a magician about to perform his signature trick. "It's an idea we like to call Extremis. And I think it's going to blow your mind. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Though the actual results are rather more literal than you might expect."
"I'm intrigued," Pepper admitted, though her tone suggested she was also prepared to be disappointed.
"Mind if I adjust your lighting?" Aldrich asked, though he was already standing and moving toward the windows with the confident assumption of someone who was used to rearranging environments to suit his presentations.
Without waiting for permission—a move that would have earned him a scathing look from Pepper under normal circumstances—he dimmed the lights with a gesture that suggested this wasn't his first dramatic reveal. The office transformed from corporate-bright to something more intimate, more theatrical.
"Now then," he said, settling back into position with renewed energy, "regard the human brain."
He tossed the spheres onto her coffee table with practiced casualness, and as they settled into a perfect triangle formation, something extraordinary happened. The air above the table began to shimmer like heat waves rising from summer pavement, and suddenly the office was filled with a three-dimensional holographic projection of stunning complexity.
Pepper gasped despite herself.
"Oh, wait," Aldrich chuckled, manipulating what appeared to be a small control device that had materialized from nowhere. "That's actually the observable universe. Easy mistake—the mathematical structures are remarkably similar, wouldn't you say? But if I do this..."
The cosmic display shifted and focused, galaxies spiraling inward until they revealed something far more intimate: the intricate landscape of neural networks, synapses firing like tiny lightning storms, the very architecture of human consciousness made visible in brilliant, pulsing detail.
"Now that's the brain," Aldrich announced with obvious pride. "Strangely mimetic though, wouldn't you say? The universe, the mind—it's all just patterns within patterns, fractals all the way down."
Pepper leaned forward, her business instincts warring with genuine fascination. The projection was unlike anything she'd seen, even in Tony's lab—and Tony's lab contained technology that most people wouldn't see for another decade. "That's... that's incredible. How are you generating this level of detail? The resolution is extraordinary."
Aldrich's smile turned almost predatory, though still somehow charming. "Thanks. It's mine."
"I'm sorry, what?" Pepper blinked, certain she'd misheard.
"This projection—you're literally looking inside my head right now." He tapped behind his ear, where Pepper could now see the faint outline of something beneath the skin, like a very sophisticated and very expensive tattoo. "Live neural feed. Real-time brain activity. Every thought, every impulse, every moment of consciousness mapped in three-dimensional space."
Pepper stared at him, then at the projection, then back at him. "That's... that's not possible. The technology alone would require—"
"Would require a complete rethinking of biointegrated computing, neural interface design, and probably several laws of physics?" Aldrich finished with obvious amusement. "Yes, it would. But that's rather the point of Extremis, isn't it?"
Before she could object or ask any of the approximately fifty questions that were forming in her mind, he was standing, moving with fluid grace to step onto her coffee table. "Come on up. Don't worry—I'm sure the table is reinforced. Stark Industries doesn't strike me as the kind of company that cuts corners on furniture load-bearing capacity."
"Aldrich, I don't think—"
"Trust me," he said, extending his hand with the kind of smile that had probably launched a thousand bad decisions and at least a few small wars. "When will you ever get another chance to literally walk through someone's thoughts? To see consciousness from the inside?"
Against her better judgment—and she would later blame this momentary lapse on everything from low blood sugar to temporary insanity—Pepper found herself accepting his hand and stepping up onto the coffee table beside him. The surface held their combined weight easily, and suddenly they were standing together in the center of the holographic brain, surrounded by the pulsing networks of his consciousness.
It was like standing inside a galaxy made of electricity and possibility.
"Now," he said, his voice dropping to something almost intimate, "I want you to pinch my arm. As hard as you like. Don't worry about hurting me—I promise I can take it."
Pepper hesitated, feeling slightly ridiculous standing on furniture with a man she'd been trying to avoid for years. "This is completely insane."
"The best discoveries usually are," Aldrich replied with that devastating smile. "Go ahead—pinch me. Hard as you can."
She reached out and gave his bicep a sharp pinch, immediately gasping as a section of the holographic brain exploded into brilliant activity, neural pathways lighting up like a Christmas tree having an argument with a lightning storm.
"What is that?" she breathed, momentarily forgetting that she was standing on furniture in her office with a man who'd apparently figured out how to turn his brain into a multimedia presentation.
"Primary somatosensory cortex," Aldrich explained with the enthusiasm of a professor who'd found his favorite student and also discovered they were genuinely interested in the subject matter. "The brain's pain processing center. But watch this—this is what I really wanted to show you."
He gently guided her to turn around, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders as he manipulated the projection with subtle gestures. The image shifted and flowed around them like a living thing, revealing new layers of complexity, new depths of possibility.
"Extremis harnesses our bioelectrical potential," he continued, highlighting a specific region that appeared different from the rest—empty, waiting, like a room prepared for a guest who hadn't arrived yet. "And it activates... here. You see this empty space? This blank area in an otherwise incredibly complex system?"
Pepper found herself genuinely fascinated despite every professional instinct telling her to be suspicious. "It looks like... like a slot. Like something's supposed to go there."
"Exactly!" Aldrich's enthusiasm was infectious, his eyes lighting up with the fervor of someone who'd spent years waiting for someone else to understand what he was seeing. "This is essentially an empty slot in our neural architecture. What this tells us—what this proves beyond any reasonable doubt—is that our minds, our entire DNA structure, is literally designed to be upgraded."
Pepper stood transfixed, surrounded by the swirling galaxies of human potential made visible. The projection pulsed around them like a heartbeat made of light, and for a moment she forgot about quarterly reports, board meetings, and the seventeen increasingly urgent emails waiting in her inbox.
"You're talking about evolution," she said softly.
"I'm talking about revolution," Aldrich corrected, his voice taking on an almost evangelical fervor. "Why wait millions of years for natural selection to maybe, possibly, eventually give us improvements when we can take control of our own genetic destiny? Why accept the limitations we were born with when we can transcend them entirely?"
The projection shifted around them, showing pathways lighting up, connections forming, possibilities blooming like flowers made of electricity. "Imagine perfect health, enhanced intelligence, abilities that would make us... more than human. Better than human."
Outside the office, Happy continued his vigilant watch, occasionally glancing at Savin, who sat with the patience of someone waiting for something very specific to happen. His tablet chimed with an incoming video call, and Happy fumbled with the device like someone trying to defuse a bomb while wearing oven mitts.
The screen flickered to life, showing what appeared to be Happy's forehead and one confused eyeball filling the entire frame like some kind of security-themed abstract art installation.
"Hello?" he answered, squinting at the screen as if he could force it to make sense through sheer determination and possibly intimidation.
"Is this the forehead of Security?" Tony's voice crackled through the speakers, tinged with that particular brand of amusement he reserved for Happy's technological mishaps and occasionally for board meetings that went particularly well.
"What?" Happy's face scrunched up in confusion and mild indignation, like someone trying to solve a math problem that kept changing numbers. "You know what, look, I got a real job now, Tony. A respectable position with actual responsibilities and everything. What do you want? I'm working here—I got something important going on."
From his workshop—a space that looked like a technology museum had exploded inside a very expensive garage—Tony leaned back in his chair, a sonic screwdriver (or possibly just a very advanced screwdriver) still in his hand from whatever project he'd been tinkering with. The familiar chaos of his lab surrounded him: holographic displays showing everything from weather patterns to stock prices, half-assembled gadgets that probably violated several laws of physics, and the gentle hum of arc reactor technology that had become his personal soundtrack.
"What, harassing interns?" Tony asked with the casual cruelty of someone who'd perfected the art of friendly insults over many years of practice.
Happy's eyes flashed with wounded pride, like a dog who'd been told he wasn't a good boy. "Let me tell you something—you know what happened when I told people I was Iron Man's bodyguard? They would laugh. Actual laughter, Tony. To my face. Out loud laughter."
Tony couldn't help himself—a chuckle escaped, exactly the sound Happy had been dreading.
"See? Just like that!" Happy exclaimed, his voice rising an octave and approximately thirty decibels. "Exactly like that! I had to leave while I still had a shred of dignity left. Now I got a real job, a respectable job where people take me seriously and don't make jokes about my professional capabilities."
He straightened his badge with wounded dignity. "I'm watching Pepper. Professionally. With professional watching."
"What's going on? Fill me in," Tony said, his tone shifting to something approaching genuine interest, possibly because he'd run out of things to fidget with in his immediate vicinity.
"For real?" Happy asked, surprised by the sudden attention and slightly suspicious that this might be some kind of elaborate setup for another joke at his expense.
"Yeah, for real. Give me the full intelligence briefing."
"Alright, so she's meeting up with this scientist guy," Happy began, settling into his role as unofficial intelligence operative with the seriousness of someone briefing the Pentagon. "Rich guy, very handsome. Suspiciously handsome, if you ask me. Like, movie-star handsome but with the kind of bone structure that suggests good breeding and possibly a personal stylist."
"Right," Tony prompted, already multitasking with some holographic interface that was probably controlling satellites or designing new ways to make his coffee machine more efficient.
"I couldn't make his face at first, right? But you know I'm good with faces. It's like a superpower I have, recognizing faces and also remembering where I've seen them before, which is actually two separate skills that work together."
"Oh yeah, absolutely. You're the best face-recognizer I know," Tony replied with the kind of automatic agreement reserved for humoring old friends and occasionally small children.
"Exactly! Thank you for acknowledging that. So I run his credentials through the system, cross-reference with our visitor databases, and I make him as Aldrich Killian. We actually met this guy back in... where were we in '99? That science conference with all the boring presentations and expensive coffee?"
Tony paused his tinkering, accessing some distant corner of his memory that was probably filed under 'Things I Should Remember But Don't.' "Um... Switzerland. The one with the really uncomfortable chairs and that presenter who kept talking about molecular gastronomy for three hours."
"Right, right, exactly! Switzerland with all the... the Swiss things. Mountains and chocolate and precision timekeeping."
"Killian?" Tony's voice carried a note of genuine confusion, like someone trying to remember a song from twenty years ago. "No, I don't remember that guy at all."
"Of course you don't," Happy said with the weary patience of someone who'd had variations of this conversation approximately seven hundred times. "He's not a blonde with impressive... assets and a tendency to laugh at your jokes, so naturally he didn't register on your very selective radar."
Tony opened his mouth to object, then realized Happy probably had a point and decided to let it slide.
"At first it was fine," Happy continued, warming to his surveillance report with the enthusiasm of someone finally getting to use skills he'd been developing through careful observation of police procedurals. "They were talking business, very professional, very corporate boardroom appropriate. But now it's getting weird, Tony. Really weird."
"Weird how?"
"He's showing her a big brain!"
Tony nearly choked on the coffee he'd just picked up, which was probably some kind of custom blend that cost more than most people's rent. "He's showing her his what?"
"A big brain! And she likes it! She's really into it, Tony. They're standing on her coffee table looking at this big floating brain together, and there's definitely some kind of... of chemistry happening. Scientific chemistry, but also the other kind of chemistry."
Happy held up his tablet and pointed it toward Pepper's glass office, where Aldrich and Pepper could be seen standing close together, surrounded by the swirling holographic projection. Unfortunately, what Tony saw on his screen was Happy's face at an even more unflattering angle, like a security camera that had been installed by someone who'd never actually seen a person before.
"Look at this, Tony! Look at what's happening right now!"
"Look at what?" Tony asked, genuinely confused and slightly concerned that Happy might be having some kind of technological breakdown. "You're just showing me... you. Watching them. It's like a very boring documentary about surveillance."
Happy stared at his tablet like it had personally betrayed him and possibly stolen his lunch money. "I'm not a tech genius like you, alright? I don't understand why these things don't work the way they're supposed to work! Just... just trust me on this one. Get down here. Now."
"Happy, just flip the screen around and then I can see what they're doing," Tony explained with the patience of someone who'd given this exact tutorial approximately fifty times and was beginning to question his faith in human evolution.
"I can't! I don't know how to flip the screen! And don't talk to me like that anymore, like I'm some kind of... of technologically challenged person who can't operate basic equipment!" Happy's frustration boiled over like an overfilled coffee pot. "You're not my boss anymore, remember? I have a new boss now, and my new boss appreciates my skills!"
While Happy wrestled with the concept of front-facing cameras and the general unfairness of technology, Tony was already pulling up information on his own systems, running facial recognition software on the name Aldrich Killian. A photo appeared on his holographic display—the transformation from awkward scientist to magazine model was indeed striking enough to make Tony wonder if plastic surgery had evolved into some kind of art form.
"Alright, I don't work for you anymore, remember?" Happy continued his rant, his voice reaching frequencies that were probably bothering dogs in the neighboring counties. "But I'm telling you, I don't trust this guy. He's got shifty energy. Shifty energy and suspicious good looks and probably expensive cologne. It's like a whole convention of red flags walked into our building wearing a very attractive suit."
"Just... relax, Happy," Tony said, though his attention was now split between Happy's paranoia and Killian's surprisingly impressive credentials, which were scrolling past on his screen like a resume designed by someone with multiple PhDs and a very good publicist.
"Seriously? Relax?" Happy's voice pitched higher, approaching frequencies that could probably shatter glass. "That's your professional assessment of this situation? Relax?"
"Look, I'm just asking you to secure the perimeter," Tony explained with the casual tone of someone discussing weekend plans. "Maybe tell the shifty companion to go grab a coffee or something? Buy him a pretzel from one of those street vendors?"
Happy's face filled with the kind of righteous indignation usually reserved for parking tickets and customer service representatives who insist they're doing their best. "You know what, Tony? You should take more of an interest in what's going on around here. This woman—Pepper—she's the best thing that ever happened to you, and you're just... you're just sitting in your fancy workshop playing with your toys while she's here running your entire company and apparently being impressed by other men's big floating brains!"
Tony paused, looking slightly chastened and possibly a little guilty. "You said it was a giant brain?"
"Yes! A giant brain! There's also a shifty character in the waiting area who I'm pretty sure is conducting some kind of reconnaissance mission. I'm gonna follow this guy, run his plates, check his background, and if it gets rough..." Happy's voice took on a tone that suggested he'd been watching too many action movies and possibly taking notes. "So be it."
Despite everything—the technological frustration, the surveillance paranoia, the general chaos that seemed to follow Happy wherever he went—Tony felt a familiar warmth, the kind that comes from realizing that some people care about you enough to worry unnecessarily about your wellbeing.
"I miss you, Happy," he said, and for once his voice was completely sincere.
Happy's expression softened, his wounded pride showing through like sunlight through clouds. "Yeah, I miss you too, you know? But I miss the way things used to be. Now you're off with the 'Superfriends'—which, by the way, is not their official name, but it's what I call them in my head—and I don't know what's going on with you anymore. The world's getting weird, Tony. Really weird."
"Hey, I..." Tony started, then stopped as something occurred to him. "I hate to cut you off, but do you have your taser on you?"
Happy's paranoia sensors immediately activated. "Why? What's happening? Are we under attack?"
"I think there's a woman in HR who's trying to steal some printer ink," Tony said with practiced innocence. "You should probably go over there and zap her. You know, for security purposes."
Tony casually placed his tablet in his wine fridge—because of course he had a wine fridge in his workshop—and closed the door, effectively ending the call while still technically being online.
Happy stared at his tablet screen, which now showed the interior of a wine refrigerator. "Yeah, nice, Tony. Real nice."
But as he looked back toward Pepper's office, where the demonstration was reaching its climax, Happy's security instincts kicked into overdrive. Something about this whole situation felt wrong, and years of protecting Tony Stark had taught him to trust those instincts.
He stood up, straightened his badge one more time, and prepared to do what he did best—worry about the people he cared about, whether they wanted him to or not.
Back inside Pepper's office, the holographic demonstration was winding down, but Aldrich's pitch was just reaching its crescendo. The neural pathways still pulsed around them as he helped Pepper step down from the coffee table, his hand lingering just a moment longer than strictly necessary.
"Imagine if you could hack into the hard drive of any living organism," Aldrich said, his voice taking on the fervor of a true believer, "and recode its DNA like software. Rewrite the basic programming of life itself."
Pepper smoothed her skirt and tried to process what she'd just witnessed. The scientist in her—the part that had fallen in love with Tony's innovations—was genuinely impressed. "It would be incredible," she admitted, her voice carrying a note of wonder.
"Mm," Aldrich agreed, his smile suggesting he'd expected exactly this reaction.
But Pepper's business instincts, honed by years of managing Stark Industries' more controversial projects, quickly reasserted themselves. "Unfortunately, to my ears it also sounds highly weaponizable. Enhanced soldiers, private armies... and Tony is not going to—"
"Tony," Aldrich interrupted smoothly, and something in his tone made Pepper look at him more sharply. "You know, I invited Tony to join AIM thirteen years ago. He turned me down. Barely gave me five minutes before he was off to... well, let's just say he had other priorities that evening."
Pepper could practically see the memory playing behind his eyes—some long-ago slight that had clearly festered over the years.
"But something tells me," Aldrich continued, stepping closer with renewed confidence, "there's a new genius on the throne now. Someone who doesn't have to answer to Tony anymore, and who has perhaps... slightly less of an ego."
The flattery was expertly delivered, but Pepper had been deflecting much more sophisticated attempts at manipulation for years. She shook her head with genuine regret. "It's gonna be a no, Aldrich. As much as I'd genuinely like to help you."
---
Twenty minutes later, they stood outside the gleaming Stark Industries building, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the plaza. Despite the rejection, Aldrich seemed remarkably composed—too composed, perhaps, for someone whose groundbreaking research had just been turned down.
"Well," he said with a rueful smile, "I can't say that I'm not disappointed. But then, as my father used to say, 'Failure is the fog through which we glimpse triumph.'"
Pepper tilted her head, genuinely intrigued by the cryptic phrase. "That's very deep."
"Mm," Aldrich nodded sagely.
"And I have no idea what it means," Pepper added with characteristic honesty.
Aldrich's composure cracked, and he let out a genuine laugh. "Well, me neither, to be perfectly honest. He was kind of an idiot, my old man. But he had a way with meaningless profundity that impressed people at cocktail parties."
The admission was so unexpectedly vulnerable that Pepper found herself laughing despite everything—the strange meeting, the rejection, the lingering sense that she was missing something important about this entire encounter.
"I'm sure I'll see you again, Pepper," Aldrich said, and there was something in his voice that made it sound less like a pleasantry and more like a promise.
Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek—a gesture that was perfectly appropriate and yet somehow felt charged with unspoken implications. As he pulled away, their eyes met for just a moment, and Pepper felt that familiar flutter of attraction that she'd been trying to ignore for the past hour.
She watched him walk away, noting the confident stride, the way his tailored suit moved with him, the transformation that was still almost impossible to believe. Part of her wondered what might have happened if circumstances were different, if Tony weren't... if she weren't...
"Happy," she said, suddenly aware that her security chief had materialized beside her like an anxious guardian angel.
"The car is ready, if you're ready to go," Happy announced, though his attention was clearly divided between his duties and whatever surveillance operation he'd been conducting from the sidelines.
Pepper glanced back toward the plaza, where Aldrich was approaching a sleek black sedan. "Yes, I just um..." Her mind went blank as she tried to think of a reasonable excuse for her momentary distraction. "God, I forgot my... other thing, so... I'm just gonna..."
She gestured vaguely toward the building and headed back inside, leaving Happy standing on the plaza with the expression of a man whose security instincts were practically screaming.
Happy watched Aldrich's car pull away from the curb, his years of protective paranoia kicking into high gear. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and snapped several photos of the license plate, along with the car's make and model. Something about this whole situation felt wrong—not dangerous wrong, necessarily, but wrong in the way that small problems become big problems when nobody's paying attention.
As the sedan disappeared into Los Angeles traffic, Happy made a mental note to run those plates as soon as he got back to his office. After all, three hundred percent more complaints meant he was doing his job three hundred percent better, right?
He had a feeling Tony was going to want to hear about this, whether he wanted to or not.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!