The California sun poured golden light across the cliffs, washing Stark's villa in a hue that felt more like paradise than fortress. For the first time in days—weeks, really—the sprawling glass-and-concrete home was quiet. No explosions. No press screaming questions. No board members plotting in shadows.
Just quiet.
Tony Stark lay sprawled on a couch that looked far too modern for lounging, but he made it work. Barefoot, shirt slightly unbuttoned, a glass of something amber resting on his chest as he absently spun it with a finger. He exhaled, and for once, there wasn't an edge in the sound.
Across the living room, Pepper Potts perched neatly on an armchair, her laptop half-closed on her knees. She wore the kind of composed expression she'd perfected over years of corralling Tony's chaos, but even she looked softer, calmer. The kind of calm that only came when her boss wasn't actively trying to kill himself with bad decisions.
And then there was Brendon King—lean, composed, quietly sharp in contrast to Tony's languid sprawl. He stood by the balcony doors, the ocean breeze lifting his hair slightly, a tumbler of water in his hand. He seemed less like a guest in Stark's villa and more like the house had been waiting for him.
The three of them sat in a silence that was neither awkward nor empty. It was rare. A stillness earned.
Tony broke it first. Of course he did.
"Y'know," he said, eyes still on the ceiling, "this place almost feels… peaceful. It's unnerving. I keep expecting a missile to blow out the glass, or for Stane to waltz in with another betrayal speech."
Pepper gave him a look—half a warning, half sympathy. "Tony."
"I'm just saying," he shrugged, "the last few months have really skewed my expectations of a good Tuesday."
Brendon's lips curved faintly. "Peace doesn't come easy for men like you."
Tony tilted his head enough to glance at him. "And men like you?"
Brendon met his gaze evenly. "Peace is something I prepare for but never count on. If it comes, I enjoy it. If not… I make sure I'm ready."
Tony gave a small, appreciative nod. "You sound like my dad's journals. Only less whiskey stains."
Pepper leaned forward slightly, cutting through the banter with her calm, steady voice. "Maybe this is exactly what you need, Tony. To stop. To breathe. To think about what comes next."
Tony chuckled. "What comes next. That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" He swirled his glass, watching the light refract. "I mean, I've got a metal suit in the basement that makes every defense contractor on Earth wet themselves. I've got the press hounding me, senators sharpening their knives, and about fifty-six lawsuits waiting for me to open my inbox. And yet…"
He sat up suddenly, setting his glass on the table. For once, there was no smirk, no irony—just clarity.
"… I don't want to go back. To weapons. To boardrooms. To playing the same game Stane played until it killed him. I don't want any of it."
Pepper blinked, startled. Brendon didn't move, but his gaze sharpened.
Tony exhaled, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "I've been thinking. Dangerous, I know. But seriously. I want to build. I want to create. R&D. Technology that doesn't just blow things up. Technology that… maybe puts us back on the map for the right reasons. Energy. Utilities. Hell, maybe I'll build the world's first flying Roomba."
Pepper gave him a small, surprised laugh, then shook her head. "Tony…"
"No, listen." He pointed at her, suddenly serious again. "I can't do that if I'm chained to board meetings and quarterly reports. And you know it. You've been running this company from behind the curtain for years. You're smarter than any of those clowns upstairs. You should be CEO."
The words hung in the air like a live wire.
Pepper blinked once. Twice. "… I—what?"
Tony grinned faintly. "Pepper Potts. CEO of Stark Industries. Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"
She stared at him, searching for the catch. "Tony, you can't just—"
"I can," he interrupted, lifting his brows. "I own the place. Remember? And I'm telling you, I don't want the job anymore. You do. You've been doing it unofficially anyway. Might as well make it official."
Pepper's lips parted, then closed again. She looked at Brendon as if for sanity, but he merely raised a brow and sipped his water, offering no rescue.
Finally, she exhaled. "Tony… this is huge. You can't just drop this on me in your living room like it's a new paint color for the cars."
Tony leaned back, spreading his hands. "Sure I can. Look, I trust you. More than anyone. If I'm going to dive into projects with King here—" he gestured lazily toward Brendon— "I need someone I trust running the business. Someone who won't sell us out or tank the company while I'm busy reinventing the future. That someone is you."
Pepper looked down at her lap, fingers twisting together. She had imagined this moment, maybe even hoped for it, but not like this. Not so soon. Not so casually spoken, as if the future of Stark Industries was just another of Tony's improvisations.
Brendon finally spoke, his voice calm, even. "He's right, Pepper. He needs space to build, and he trusts you to keep his house in order. That kind of trust is rare. Don't dismiss it lightly."
Pepper glanced at him, then at Tony. Both men were watching her, though in very different ways. One with a boyish stubbornness, the other with quiet calculation. She exhaled slowly. "… I'll think about it."
Tony's grin returned, smug and satisfied. "That's all I ask."
The moment settled, the weight of the conversation lingering. But Brendon wasn't done.
He set his glass down, stepping closer. His gaze drifted, almost deliberately, to the glowing arc reactor in Tony's chest. The faint blue light hummed softly against the dim of the room.
"There's another matter," Brendon said casually, though his eyes betrayed a sharper focus. "One I've been working on."
Tony frowned. "And what matter would that be?"
Brendon tilted his head, the faintest of smirks tugging at his lips. "A solution to your… upcoming problem."
The words hung heavy. Pepper's brows knit in confusion. Tony, however, stiffened slightly, his gaze dropping instinctively to his chest.
"My upcoming problem," Tony echoed, voice low.
Brendon didn't elaborate. He simply let the silence do the work, let Tony feel the weight of the implication. That Brendon knew. That Brendon saw more than he admitted.
But then, just as casually, Brendon waved it off. "Another time. For now, I'd like access to the core of J.A.R.V.I.S. I have upgrades in mind—better integration, more adaptive systems, security fortifications. Nothing invasive. But I'll need full access."
Tony blinked, caught between suspicion and curiosity. "That's a hell of a pivot. You go from hinting at mysterious medical revelations to asking me to hand over my AI like it's a spare iPod."
Brendon's gaze didn't waver. "I'm telling you I can make J.A.R.V.I.S. better. Smarter. More resilient. But I can't do it if I'm locked out of his core."
For the first time in his life, Tony Stark felt something strange—something he rarely allowed himself.
Unconditional trust.
He didn't know why. He didn't know how Brendon King had managed it. But looking at him now, Tony knew—deep down, without hesitation—that this man wasn't another Stane waiting to stab him in the back. He wasn't a rival, a manipulator, or a parasite. He was… something else.
A partner.
Pepper saw it too. She blinked, surprised, as Tony leaned back, lips twitching into something softer than a smirk.
"Alright, King," he said. "You've got it. J.A.R.V.I.S. is all yours. Don't break him. He's family."
Brendon inclined his head. "I don't break family."
The three of them sat in silence after that. But it wasn't awkward. It wasn't empty. It was a silence full of something new.
Possibility.
The world outside was already preparing for the storm. Governments, enemies, rivals—all sharpening their blades. But for that moment, in Stark's villa, there was only stillness. Only trust.
And beneath it all, Brendon King was already thinking ahead. To the palladium. To the poison creeping toward Tony's heart. To the absence of Justin Hammer in this altered timeline, and how Ivan Vanko would adapt without that desperate alliance.
The storm was coming. But for now, there was peace.
And peace, Brendon thought, was always the best time to prepare for war.