The military cargo plane touched down at Edwards Air Force Base with all the grace of a flying brick. Tony had forgotten how much he hated military transport—no style, no comfort, just efficiency and the vague smell of jet fuel mixed with institutional despair.
"Home sweet home," he muttered, watching through the small window as California sprawled beneath them. Los Angeles. Smog and sunshine and about eight million people who had no idea their world might one day be eaten by a cosmic horror.
Percy was practically vibrating in his seat. Not nervousness—excitement. The kid had been glued to Tony's phone for the past hour, scrolling through the internet with the wonder of someone discovering fire.
"There are *how many* YouTube videos of cats?" Percy asked for the third time.
"Millions," Tony said. "Welcome to modern civilization. We have indoor plumbing and an inexplicable obsession with filming our pets."
Calypso was more reserved, but Tony had caught her watching the ground approach with something like hunger. Three thousand years on an island. Three months in a cave with Tony. This was her first time seeing modern civilization in... well, ever.
"It's so big," she said softly. "The city. It just keeps going."
"Los Angeles sprawl," Tony confirmed. "Ten million people all convinced they're going to be famous. Most of them are wrong."
Rhodey, seated across from them in his dress uniform, had been quiet for most of the flight. Processing. Tony could see the wheels turning behind his eyes—trying to reconcile the Tony Stark who'd left three months ago with whoever had come back.
The past few days at the base had been a special kind of hell.
Medical evaluations. Psychological assessments. Debriefs that went in circles because half of what actually happened couldn't be discussed without sounding insane. Tony had stuck to the script: cave, torture, arc reactor, armor, escape. Simple. Clean. Leaving out the part about magic and gods and universes being devoured.
Percy and Calypso had passed everything with flying colors, which was deeply suspicious if you thought about it too hard. Percy shouldn't have been in the physical condition he was—muscular, healthy, showing none of the signs of three months of captivity. But the Mist had smoothed that over. Made the doctors see malnutrition that wasn't there, injuries that had "healed remarkably well."
Calypso's exams had been more complicated. The medical staff had been prepared for evidence of sexual assault. Had approached her with the kind of gentle care reserved for trauma victims. And Calypso had handled it with a grace that made Tony's chest ache.
She'd submitted to the exams. Let them document "injuries" that the Mist created in real-time. Sat through therapy sessions where she'd spun a story of survival and dissociation that was probably more truth than lie, just with different details.
Tony had asked her, later, if she was okay.
"I've survived worse," she'd said simply. "The Mist makes it easier. Makes them see what they need to see. I barely have to lie—just let them fill in the blanks with their own assumptions."
"That doesn't make it okay."
"No. But it keeps us out of a lab. So I'll take it."
Now they were landing. Now they were home. And Tony had no idea what came next.
The cargo door began to lower with a hydraulic hiss. California sunlight spilled in—bright and warm and completely unlike the desert that had nearly killed them. Tony stood, adjusting the suit Rhodey had somehow procured. Custom-tailored, perfectly fitted. Because even after three months in hell, Tony Stark had standards.
Percy's armor had shifted into what looked like a simple black suit—no tie, because apparently even magical divine armor had limits on what it considered acceptable fashion. The kid looked uncomfortable. Like he'd rather be wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
Calypso had adapted better. Her armor had transformed into a pantsuit—white and gold, because apparently she had a color scheme and was sticking to it—after Tony and Percy had shown her internet images of business attire. She looked professional. Powerful. Like someone who absolutely belonged in the corporate world and definitely wasn't a three-thousand-year-old titaness with magic powers.
"Ready?" Rhodey asked.
Tony took a breath. Felt the arc reactor hum in his chest. "As I'll ever be."
The cargo door finished lowering. And there, at the base of the ramp, standing next to a sleek black car—
Pepper.
Pepper Potts. His assistant. His—friend? More than friend? Tony had never quite figured out what Pepper was to him, except absolutely essential and probably too good for his sorry ass.
She was crying.
Tony felt his throat go tight. He'd seen Pepper handle crises with the calm efficiency of a bomb disposal technician. Had watched her manage his chaos without breaking a sweat. But now—tears streaming down her face, trying desperately to maintain composure and failing.
He walked down the ramp. Percy and Calypso followed at a respectful distance, giving him space. Rhodey brought up the rear.
"Tony," Pepper breathed. She was holding herself together through sheer force of will. "Oh my god, Tony."
"In the flesh." Tony stopped in front of her, suddenly unsure. Did he hug her? Pat her shoulder? Make a joke to break the tension? "Miss me?"
"Are you *crying*?" The words came out before he could stop them.
"No!" Pepper said immediately. Too quickly. "No, of course not. Something got in my eye."
"Really. Something got in your eye."
"Yes. The wind. Or dust. Or—" She stopped, apparently realizing how stupid this sounded. "Fine. Yes. I was crying. Happy now?"
"Not the word I'd use," Tony said quietly.
Pepper took a shaky breath. "I was crying because I love my job. And I would have lost it if you'd died. So really, these are tears of professional relief. Nothing more."
The lie was so transparent Tony almost laughed. Almost. But Pepper's eyes were pleading with him not to push it, not here, not now.
"Right," Tony said. "Professional relief. Got it."
Behind Pepper, Happy Hogan—bodyguard, driver, friend—was watching Percy and Calypso with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for auditors and parking enforcement. His hand wasn't on a weapon, but it was close.
"Happy," Tony called. "Come meet the people who kept me alive."
Happy didn't move. "Boss, with all respect, I don't know these people."
"We spent three months in a cave together."
"Yeah, or they're part of the group that kidnapped you and this is some kind of long con."
Tony opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Because honestly? That was a reasonable concern if you didn't know about magic and divine armor and universes being eaten by cosmic horrors.
"They're not," Tony said firmly. "Trust me. Percy Jackson and Calypso Atlas. Private security. They had my back when everything went to shit."
He gestured Percy and Calypso forward. They approached—Percy with the easy confidence of someone who'd fought literal gods, Calypso with the poise of someone who'd been alive longer than most civilizations.
"Percy, Calypso—this is Pepper Potts, my assistant and the person who actually runs my life. And Happy Hogan, who's suspicious of everyone and excellent at his job."
Pepper had composed herself, switching into professional mode. She extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you both. I'm glad—" Her voice caught. "I'm glad you were there. To help."
Calypso shook her hand. The titaness had clearly studied Tony and Percy's interactions on the plane, absorbing modern social cues with the adaptability of someone who'd spent millennia dealing with heroes from different eras. "We did what we could. I'm sorry it took so long to get him out."
"Three months is a long time," Pepper said quietly.
"It was." Calypso's expression flickered—something ancient and sad passing across her features. "But we survived. That's what matters."
Percy shook Pepper's hand next, then Happy's. Tony noticed both of them react slightly to Percy's grip—probably the demigod strength thing. Percy was holding back, but even holding back, there was something *different* about him.
Happy's suspicion didn't decrease. If anything, it intensified. "You got any ID? Military service records? Background I can check?"
"Happy," Tony warned.
"Boss, you were kidnapped by terrorists. Forgive me for wanting to verify—"
"They're staying with me," Tony interrupted. Decision made. Final. "At the Malibu house. Until they figure out their next steps."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Boss," Happy said slowly. "That's maybe not the best—"
"They saved my life," Tony said, which wasn't exactly true, but the cover story demanded it. "They don't have anywhere to go. Their families—" He glanced at Percy and Calypso, saw the real grief there. "—they lost people. During the attack. During captivity. So yeah, they're staying with me. Non-negotiable."
Pepper's eyes had gone sharp. Reading between the lines. Seeing something in Percy and Calypso's expressions that made her own soften. "Of course," she said. "Whatever you need. I'll have rooms prepared."
Happy still looked unhappy (appropriately named), but he backed down. "Fine. But I'm running background checks. Full security sweep of the house. And they're not getting access codes until I clear them."
"Deal." Tony clapped his hands together, eager to move past the tension. "Now. Important question. Where's the nearest drive-thru? Because I have been dreaming about cheeseburgers for three months and I will fight someone if I don't get one in the next thirty minutes."
Pepper blinked. "You want to stop for fast food? Tony, Obadiah has arranged a press conference at headquarters. The media is already gathering. The board wants to see you. There are a hundred things that need to—"
"Cheeseburgers," Tony said firmly. "Then press conference. In that order."
"Tony—"
"Pepper. I spent three months eating stale bread and whatever the hell the Ten Rings considered food. I built an arc reactor in my chest to keep shrapnel from killing me. I blew up a terrorist camp and walked through a desert and honestly, I've earned a goddamn cheeseburger."
Pepper looked at him. Really looked at him. And whatever she saw made her expression soften. "Okay. Cheeseburgers first. Then the press conference."
"Thank you." Tony turned to Percy and Calypso. "You two like burgers? Please tell me you like burgers."
"Love them," Percy said immediately.
Calypso looked uncertain. "I've never had one."
Every head turned to stare at her.
"Never?" Pepper asked. "How have you never had a cheeseburger?"
"I grew up very sheltered," Calypso said smoothly. The Mist rippled around her—subtle, barely noticeable. Making her backstory slot into place in everyone's minds. "Limited food options. It's... complicated."
Tony could see Percy fighting a smile. Sheltered. Right. Three thousand years on a magical island was certainly *a* kind of sheltered.
"Then today's your lucky day," Tony declared. "We're about to introduce you to one of humanity's greatest achievements. The cheeseburger. With fries. And a milkshake. The whole American experience."
They piled into the car—a sleek black sedan that probably cost more than most people's houses. Happy drove. Pepper took shotgun. Tony, Percy, and Calypso crammed into the back seat.
It should have been awkward. Tony was hyper-aware of how close Calypso was sitting, how Percy's presence seemed to fill more space than his physical body should. But there was something comforting about it too. These two people who'd been through hell with him—different hell, but hell nonetheless.
"So," Pepper said, turning in her seat to look at them. "What are your plans? After—" She gestured vaguely. "After everything."
Percy and Calypso exchanged a glance. That silent communication thing again.
"Honestly?" Percy said. "We have no idea. We lost pretty much everything in the attack. Family, friends, homes. We're kind of starting from scratch."
"I'm sorry," Pepper said quietly. And she meant it. Tony could hear it in her voice. "If there's anything Stark Industries can do—"
"Actually," Tony interrupted, an idea forming. "We could use them. Security consultants. Both of them. Percy's got combat training that would make Navy SEALs jealous, and Calypso's got tactical thinking I've literally never seen before."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Percy *did* have combat training—just from fighting monsters instead of terrorists. And Calypso was three thousand years old. Her tactical thinking was probably beyond anything the modern world had seen.
"You want to hire them," Happy said flatly. "The two people you've known for three months in a cave."
"Yes."
"The two people I haven't background checked."
"Yes."
"Boss, this is insane."
"Happy, my entire life is insane. At least this time I'm making an informed decision."
Pepper was studying Percy and Calypso with interest. "You'd be willing to work security for Stark Industries?"
"We'd need training on modern protocols," Calypso said carefully. "Our experience is... specialized. But yes. We're willing."
"Then let's discuss it after the press conference," Pepper decided. "Right now, let's focus on cheeseburgers and making sure Tony doesn't say anything catastrophically stupid to the media."
"Hey," Tony protested. "I'm very good at press conferences."
"You once called a reporter a 'festering wound on the body politic' because she asked about weapons sales."
"She was a festering wound on the body politic."
"Tony."
"Fine. I'll behave. Mostly."
They pulled into a McDonald's drive-thru. Tony could see the recognition dawning on the teenager working the window—eyes going wide, mouth dropping open. Tony Stark. At a McDonald's. Three days after returning from being dead for three months.
"Welcome to McDonald's, can I—OH MY GOD YOU'RE TONY STARK."
Tony grinned. "That I am. And I need approximately seven cheeseburgers, three large fries, two chocolate shakes, one vanilla shake, and whatever these two want." He gestured at Percy and Calypso.
Percy ordered like someone who'd been starving—which, given that his last real meal had been on a magical island that no longer existed, was probably accurate. Two burgers, fries, Coke, apple pie.
Calypso stared at the menu like it was written in Linear A. "I... have no idea what any of this means."
"Trust me," Tony said. "One cheeseburger. Fries. Chocolate shake. You're about to have a religious experience."
They got their food. The teenager at the window tried to ask for a selfie, but Happy shut that down with a look that could curdle milk. They pulled into a parking spot and ate in the car, which Pepper protested was "completely undignified," but Tony ignored her.
The first bite of burger was transcendent. Tony may have made a noise that was borderline inappropriate.
"This is incredible," he mumbled around the food. "This is everything. This is life."
Percy was eating with the efficiency of someone who'd grown up fighting for every meal. Calypso, however, was taking small, careful bites, her expression shifting from uncertainty to wonder.
"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, this is—"
"Amazing?" Tony supplied. "Life-changing? The pinnacle of human achievement?"
"All of those things." Calypso took another bite, her eyes closing. "We never had anything like this on—" She caught herself. "Where I grew up. This is incredible."
Tony watched her experience modern fast food with the kind of joy usually reserved for religious conversions and decided that maybe, maybe, some things in this universe were worth saving.
They finished eating. Pepper fussed about Tony having ketchup on his suit (which he did). Happy remained suspicious but slightly less so now that he'd seen Percy and Calypso eat like normal humans (or close enough).
"Okay," Pepper said, pulling out her phone. "Press conference in forty minutes. We need to go over talking points. The board wants you to reassure everyone that Stark Industries is stable, that weapons development will continue—"
"It won't," Tony said.
Everyone in the car froze.
"What?" Pepper's voice was very carefully neutral.
"Weapons development. It's done. I'm shutting it down."
"Tony, you can't just—"
"I can. I am." Tony met her eyes. "I spent three months watching terrorists use my weapons to kill people. To threaten people. To destroy lives. I'm not doing it anymore. No more weapons. Stark Industries is getting out of the killing business."
Pepper looked like she wanted to argue. Then she looked at Percy and Calypso—at their expressions, at whatever she saw there—and her face softened.
"You're serious," she said quietly.
"Deadly serious. No pun intended."
"Obadiah is going to lose his mind. The board is going to fight you. The military contracts alone—"
"I know. I don't care." Tony's hand went to the arc reactor in his chest. "Yinsen died to get me out of that cave. Died so I could come back and do better. And I'm going to do better. Starting now."
The silence in the car was heavy. Even Happy had stopped looking suspicious and started looking concerned.
Percy spoke up. "For what it's worth, I think it's the right call. The weapons thing. We've seen what happens when power falls into the wrong hands." His voice went distant. "Seen what it costs. Better to stop creating the power in the first place."
"Easy for you to say," Happy muttered. "You're not tanking a billion-dollar company."
"No," Calypso said. "But we've seen civilizations fall because they relied too heavily on weapons. On power. On the idea that strength alone could solve every problem." She looked at Tony. "Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is choose not to fight."
Tony felt something in his chest loosen. Relief. Validation. These two people—who'd lost everything, who understood what it meant to survive impossible odds—were backing his play.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Pepper was already typing on her phone, her fingers flying. "Okay. If we're doing this, we need a strategy. You can't just announce it at the press conference—we need to prepare the board, talk to legal, figure out the financial implications—"
"Pepper."
"—and we'll need PR to handle the fallout, because the media is going to have a field day, and the stock is going to take a hit, and—"
"Pepper."
She stopped typing. Looked at him.
"I'm announcing it at the press conference," Tony said. "In forty minutes. No preparation. No strategy. Just the truth."
"That's insane."
"Yeah. It is." Tony smiled—sharp and reckless and probably stupid. "But I've been dead for three months. I've earned the right to be a little insane."
Pepper stared at him. Then, slowly, she smiled back. "You're going to give me a heart attack."
"I'll try to make it worth it."
"You'd better."
Happy pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward Stark Industries headquarters. In the back seat, Tony sat between Percy and Calypso, feeling the weight of what he was about to do settle on his shoulders.
Shutting down weapons manufacturing. Upending everything Stark Industries stood for. Possibly destroying his company and his reputation in one press conference.
But Yinsen had died for this. For Tony to have the chance to do better. To be better.
And Tony Stark didn't waste chances.
"For the record," Percy said quietly, "I think you're doing something really brave. Changing everything. It's not easy."
"Says the guy from another universe who lost his entire world," Tony replied.
"Yeah. Which is how I know it's not easy." Percy's expression was serious. Old beyond his years. "But you do it anyway. Because the alternative is staying the same. And staying the same means nothing changes."
"Eloquent."
"I have my moments."
The Stark Industries headquarters came into view—gleaming glass and steel, a monument to technological advancement and, Tony was now realizing, the military-industrial complex. Cameras were already set up. Reporters crowding the entrance. Board members probably having aneurysms somewhere inside.
"Ready?" Rhodey asked from the passenger seat. He'd been quiet for most of the ride, processing. Now his expression was carefully neutral. Military officer waiting to see what his civilian friend would do.
Tony took a breath. Felt the arc reactor pulse against his chest. Thought about Yinsen's last words. About Percy and Calypso losing everything. About second chances and doing better.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready."
The car pulled up to the entrance. Cameras flashed. Reporters surged forward. And Tony Stark—survivor, engineer, walking proof that dying wasn't permanent if you were stubborn enough—stepped out into the California sun to change everything.
Percy and Calypso followed. Two impossible people in a world that didn't know how impossible it was about to get.
But that was a problem for later.
Right now, Tony had a press conference to crash and a weapons division to shut down.
Easy.
—
# Strategic Homeland Whatever
The Stark Industries headquarters lobby was a cathedral to capitalism. Three stories of glass and polished marble, with Tony's various magazine covers blown up to billboard size on the walls. *Forbes*. *Time*. *Wired*. All featuring Tony Stark's face—confident, smirking, the picture of American innovation and excess.
Percy stared at a particularly large image of Tony holding what looked like a missile, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Is that normal? Having giant pictures of yourself everywhere?"
"For Tony? Extremely normal," Pepper said, her heels clicking against the marble as she navigated them through the growing crowd. "He has an ego the size of a small planet."
"I can hear you!" Tony called back. He was already being swarmed by Obadiah Stane—older man, bald, expensive suit, the kind of smile that made Percy's monster-sense tingle. Not a monster. Just... something off.
"Let the billionaires talk business," Pepper said, steering Percy and Calypso toward a side area. "You two should probably stay out of sight until after the press conference. The media will have questions, and we're not ready to—"
"Ms. Potts?"
The voice came from behind them. Pleasant. Professional. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who was very good at their job and wanted you to know it.
Percy turned. And immediately cataloged everything about the man approaching them.
Mid-thirties. Average height, average build, average features. Brown suit, blue tie, shoes that were practical rather than fashionable. Hairline receding slightly. Expression friendly but controlled. And most importantly—the way he moved. Balanced. Aware. Someone with combat training trying very hard to look harmless.
Percy's hand didn't go to his pocket, but he was suddenly very aware of where Riptide was. Next to him, Calypso had gone still in that way that meant she was ready to make her staff appear in under a second.
"Yes?" Pepper's professional smile was in place, but Percy could see the tension in her shoulders. She didn't know this man.
The man pulled out a badge. Some kind of government ID that Percy couldn't read from this distance. "Agent Phil Coulson. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
A pause. Everyone stared at him.
"That's..." Pepper blinked. "I'm sorry, what division?"
"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," Agent Coulson repeated patiently. Like he'd said this many times before and was used to the reaction.
"That's the longest name I've ever heard for a government agency," Percy said before he could stop himself.
Agent Coulson's smile didn't waver. "We're working on branding. In the meantime, I've been sent to schedule a debriefing with Mr. Stark regarding his experience with the Ten Rings. As well as—" His eyes shifted to Percy and Calypso. "Mr. Jackson and Ms. Atlas. Your experiences would also be valuable to our investigation."
Percy felt the Mist ripple around them. Subtle. Calypso was already working it, making sure this Agent Coulson saw what he expected to see. Two security contractors. Nothing special. Nothing worth investigating too deeply.
But the way Coulson was looking at them suggested he was the kind of person who noticed things. Who filed away details for later.
Dangerous. Not in a monster way. In a much more complicated way.
"Of course," Pepper said smoothly, slipping into assistant mode. "I'll need to check Mr. Stark's schedule. He's just returned from three months of captivity. I'm sure you understand he needs time to recover, meet with the board, handle press obligations—"
"I completely understand." Coulson pulled out a business card, offered it to Pepper. "Perhaps we could schedule something later this month? The debriefing is important, but we're not insensitive to Mr. Stark's situation."
Pepper took the card, glanced at it. Percy caught a glimpse: minimal design, just a name, phone number, and that absurdly long agency name.
"Later this month," Pepper agreed. "I'll have someone from Tony's office reach out to coordinate."
"Excellent." Coulson's attention shifted back to Percy and Calypso. "And you two? I understand you were held in the same facility as Mr. Stark?"
"That's correct." Calypso's voice was steady. Professional. Giving nothing away. "For three months. We escaped together."
"Must have been difficult."
"It was."
"I'd like to hear about your experience. How you survived. What you saw. The Ten Rings are an organization we've been tracking for some time."
Percy could feel Calypso working the Mist harder. Encouraging Coulson to accept the simple story. Not dig deeper. Not ask questions that would require complicated lies.
"We're happy to cooperate," Percy said. "Once we've had some time to process everything. It's been—" He gestured vaguely. "A lot."
"I understand." Coulson's expression was sympathetic, but his eyes were still cataloging. Still noticing. "Take your time. When you're ready, Ms. Potts has my contact information."
"Actually," Pepper said, her tone shifting to something more direct, "I have a suggestion about your agency."
Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"The name. Strategic Homeland... whatever it was. It's too long. No one's going to remember that. You need something shorter. Catchier. An acronym, maybe."
Percy watched Coulson process this. The agent's expression didn't change, but there was something in his eyes. Amusement? Appreciation?
"We're considering several options," Coulson said diplomatically. "Branding is an ongoing discussion within the organization."
"Well, consider it a friendly suggestion from someone who manages a CEO with the attention span of a goldfish. If you want people to take you seriously, they need to be able to remember what you're called."
"Duly noted, Ms. Potts."
Movement near the press area. Tony was being guided toward a podium. Obadiah Stane was at his elbow, clearly trying to manage whatever Tony was about to say. Pepper's attention shifted immediately.
"If you'll excuse me," she said to Coulson, "I need to make sure my boss doesn't accidentally declare war on someone during his first press conference back."
"Of course." Coulson stepped back. "I'll be in touch about that debriefing."
Pepper hurried toward the press area. Percy and Calypso started to follow, but Coulson cleared his throat.
"One moment," he said quietly. "If you don't mind."
Percy turned. Every instinct he had was screaming *threat*. Not danger—this guy wasn't about to attack them. But definitely threat. The kind of person who noticed things and remembered them and put pieces together.
"Something we can help you with, Agent Coulson?" Calypso's tone was pleasant, but Percy could hear the steel underneath.
"Just an observation." Coulson's hands were in his pockets. Casual. Unthreatening. "I've been doing this job for a long time. Interviewing survivors, witnesses, people who've been through traumatic situations. And there's usually a pattern. Certain tells. Physical signs of prolonged captivity."
Oh no.
"You two don't show those signs." Coulson said it mildly. Like commenting on the weather. "You're both in remarkable physical condition. No visible signs of malnutrition. No psychological indicators of prolonged stress. Mr. Jackson, your reflexes when I approached—those were combat reflexes. Very good ones. Military training?"
"Private security," Percy said. The lie felt thin. "We stay in shape. Part of the job."
"Mmm." Coulson's eyes were sharp. Evaluating. "Ms. Atlas, you move like someone with extensive martial arts training. Not the kind of training you get from a weekend self-defense class. Real training. Years of it."
Calypso smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "I had a very thorough education."
"I'm sure." Coulson pulled his hands from his pockets, adjusted his tie. "I'm not trying to suggest anything inappropriate. Just... making observations. For the report."
The Mist was working overtime now. Percy could feel Calypso pushing it, making Coulson's suspicions seem unreasonable. Making him doubt his own observations. But this guy was resistant. Not immune—Percy didn't think anyone without divine blood could be truly immune to the Mist—but resistant.
Strong-willed. Trained observer. The kind of person who trusted his instincts.
Dangerous.
"We survived because we're good at our jobs," Percy said firmly. "We kept each other alive. Kept Mr. Stark alive. That's what we're trained to do."
"And you did it admirably." Coulson's pleasant expression was back. "I look forward to hearing the details. During the debriefing. Later this month."
He walked away. Not toward the press conference—toward the exit. Like his business here was done.
Percy and Calypso stood in silence for a moment.
"He suspects something," Calypso said quietly.
"Yeah. He does."
"The Mist will hold. He'll question his instincts. Decide he was being paranoid."
"You sure about that?"
Calypso's expression was troubled. "No. That man... he's not like the others. He's trained to notice inconsistencies. To trust patterns over individual observations. The Mist can make him doubt, but it can't make him forget."
"So he's a problem."
"Potentially. If he decides to dig deeper. If his organization—whatever it's called—decides we're worth investigating." She looked at Percy. "We need to be careful. Very careful."
"Add it to the list," Percy muttered. "Cosmic horror that eats planets. Secret government agencies with acronym problems. Adjusting to a new universe. What's one more complication?"
"Percy—"
"I know. I'm just..." He dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm tired. Of running. Of hiding. Of pretending to be something we're not."
"I know." Calypso's hand found his. Warm. Grounding. "But we do it anyway. Because the alternative is worse."
Near the podium, Tony was starting his press conference. Pepper was hovering nearby, looking like she wanted to have a stress-induced aneurysm. Obadiah Stane was smiling for the cameras, completely unaware that his golden goose was about to blow up the entire business model.
"Come on," Percy said. "Let's go watch Tony commit corporate suicide."
"You think he'll actually do it? Shut down weapons manufacturing?"
"Yeah. I do." Percy started walking toward the press area. "He meant what he said. About doing better. About not wasting the life he was given."
"He reminds me of someone." Calypso was smiling slightly. "Stubborn. Reckless. Determined to save everyone even if it kills him."
"I have no idea who you're talking about."
"Of course you don't."
They found a spot near the back of the press area. Close enough to see, far enough to stay out of the cameras. Tony was at the podium now, looking deeply uncomfortable with the formality of it all. Someone had tried to make him sit down. He'd refused. Was standing instead, one hand touching the arc reactor through his shirt.
Centering himself. Remembering why he was doing this.
The room quieted. Cameras focused. And Tony Stark—survivor, genius, walking middle finger to death itself—opened his mouth to change everything.
---
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