Tony glanced down at his drink, his tone carrying all the enthusiasm of someone discussing tax forms. "Yeah, that's the one."
He took a long sip, then exhaled dramatically. "God, you people really need to rebrand. That name's a mouthful."
Coulson's smile remained perfectly pleasant, the kind of expression that gave away nothing while recording everything. "Actually, Mr. Doyle mentioned the same concern when we first spoke. Quite emphatically, in fact."
He paused for effect. "Which is why our organization has officially shortened its name to SHIELD."
Tony's eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise breaking through his usual dismissiveness. Bureaucratic organizations didn't typically change fundamental branding based on public feedback; they were too invested in their own importance. "SHIELD? Huh. That's actually... better. More memorable."
"We're pleased you approve," Coulson replied smoothly, then transitioned with practiced ease. "Actually, there's something I'd like to discuss with both of you. I haven't had the opportunity before now, and running into you here seemed fortuitous."
Smith paused mid-bite, his curiosity piqued. "What exactly requires both of us?"
Tony already knew where this was heading, Pepper had warned him about the persistent government agent asking questions. "Let me guess. Afghanistan. My rescue. The whole dramatic extraction scenario."
Coulson nodded, his expression remaining professionally neutral. "Precisely. We need a detailed account of Mr. Doyle's rescue operation. Certain aspects require clarification for our records."
Tony's patience evaporated instantly. He set down his glass with deliberate finality. "This is a charity gala, Agent Coulson. Not an interrogation room. You want answers? Make an appointment with my secretary."
Smith wiped his mouth with a napkin, his tone casual despite the weight of Coulson's scrutiny. "The operation itself was straightforward. Locate Tony, neutralize hostile forces, extract him safely. Given your organization's intelligence capabilities, you're probably already familiar with my skill set. With those abilities, the mission wasn't particularly challenging."
Tony shot Smith a surprised glance. SHIELD actually knew about Smith's capabilities? That implied surveillance, profiling, maybe even active monitoring. How was this organization different from standard government agencies like the CIA or FBI?
Coulson's smile never wavered. "Indeed, Mr. Doyle's capabilities are well-documented. What puzzles us is the location aspect. How did you find Tony Stark in the vast expanse of the Afghan desert? The US military searched that region for a month without success."
He tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost birdlike. "Yet you managed to locate him, mount a rescue operation, and return him safely, all within three days of accepting the contract."
Smith's mind flickered to the Scouter, the Dragon Ball technology that let him detect power levels and track energy signatures across vast distances. Explaining that would open doors he had no intention of opening yet.
"That relates to a product we're developing," Smith said smoothly, his assassin's training making the deflection sound perfectly natural. "Not something I can discuss before the official launch. However, " He leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a confidence. ", we'll be unveiling it soon. SHIELD will receive an invitation to the demonstration. Your curiosity will be satisfied then."
Tony's interest sparked immediately. Smith was developing detection technology? That had potential applications far beyond rescue operations.
Coulson filed the information away with practiced efficiency. "I look forward to that demonstration. Though I'm curious, Mr. Doyle, you seem remarkably well-informed about SHIELD. More so than most civilians."
Smith's smile carried layers of meaning. "My organization has considerable history. When you've existed for as long as we have, you develop... institutional knowledge. The Strategic Scientific Reserve, for instance. Very influential during World War II."
The effect was immediate and gratifying. Coulson's professional mask slipped for just a fraction of a second, genuine surprise flickering across his features. The Strategic Scientific Reserve, the SSR, was SHIELD's direct predecessor, a fact buried in classified archives that most current agents had never heard mentioned aloud.
A thousand years of history, Coulson thought, recalibrating his assessment of the Fraternity. If they've existed that long, what else do they know? What other secrets are just... common knowledge to them?
Tony stored the name away mentally. JARVIS would have a full historical breakdown waiting for him when he got home.
Coulson recovered smoothly, his smile returning like it had never left. "The SSR. That's a name I haven't heard in quite some time. You're clearly well-informed about our organization's lineage."
He turned his attention to Tony, sensing he'd extracted all he could from Smith for now. "Since Mr. Doyle has been so accommodating, perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity about something else, Mr. Stark?"
Without waiting for permission, Coulson pressed forward. "After your return from Afghanistan, you've been wearing what appears to be an illuminated device in your chest. Some kind of LED fixture, perhaps? Could you tell us what it is?"
Tony's expression froze, then hardened into something defensive and hostile. "What I wear on my own body is my business, Agent Coulson. Personal freedom, you've heard of it?"
He set his drink down hard enough that liquid sloshed over the rim. "Taxpayers don't fund your agency so you can indulge random curiosity about people's accessories."
Movement on the dance floor caught Tony's attention, Pepper, elegant in an evening gown, navigating through the crowd. Perfect excuse for an exit.
"Smith, keep eating. I see my assistant, and I need to discuss our guest list policies. Apparently, we're letting just anyone in these days." The pointed look at Coulson wasn't subtle.
Tony strode toward the dance floor without waiting for a response, leaving Coulson diplomatically rebuffed and Smith still methodically consuming enough food for three normal people.
Coulson didn't appear fazed by the rejection. His expression remained pleasant, almost amused. One target had walked away, the other was ignoring him in favor of canapés, but he'd gathered more intelligence tonight than he'd expected. Smith Doyle's knowledge of the SSR alone was worth reporting to Fury immediately.
Smith continued working through the buffet selection with single-minded focus, his Saiyan metabolism demanding constant fuel. Coulson watched for another moment, mentally noting the enhanced appetite alongside everything else, then melted back into the crowd to observe from a more discreet distance.
Time passed. Smith made significant progress through the catering spread while Tony swept Pepper onto the dance floor with practiced charm. They moved through a waltz with the ease of two people who'd known each other for years, Tony's hand at her waist, her palm against his shoulder.
Then Pepper spoke quietly, her expression troubled, and Tony's entire demeanor shifted. His steps faltered. His jaw tightened. Whatever she'd said hit him like a physical blow.
A reporter had approached her, she explained. Christine Everhart, the woman from the weapons convention, the one Tony had slept with and dismissed. She'd come armed with photographs, evidence that Stark Industries hadn't stopped weapons production at all. The company was still manufacturing, still selling, still shipping munitions to international buyers. Including, apparently, militants in the Middle East.
The Ten Rings. The same organization that had held Tony captive, that had tortured him, that had killed American soldiers with Stark weapons. They were receiving fresh shipments of Stark ordnance even now.
And the town in those photographs? Gulmira. Yinsen's hometown, the place the kind scientist had wanted so desperately to return to, the home he'd sacrificed himself to give Tony a chance to escape.
Tony's anger crystallized into something cold and absolute. He excused himself from Pepper with barely controlled fury and stalked toward the exit, hunting for Obadiah.
He found his mentor outside, glad-handing donors with practiced ease. The confrontation was brief and brutal. Obadiah didn't even try to deny it, just explained calmly that the board had overruled Tony's shutdown order, that weapons production was too profitable to abandon, that Tony was being naive about global politics and business realities.
Then came the final betrayal: it was Obadiah who'd petitioned the board to lock Tony out. Obadiah who'd orchestrated Tony's removal from operational control. Obadiah who'd smiled to his face while systematically dismantling everything Tony had tried to accomplish.
The revelation hit harder than any physical wound. Tony stood there, speechless, as the man he'd trusted, the man he'd considered almost a father, casually admitted to betrayal wrapped in business justifications.
Tony didn't waste another second at the gala. He found Smith still working through his fourth plate, tapped his shoulder, and said simply, "I'm leaving. Stay if you want, but I'm done here."
Then he was gone, his Audi peeling out of the parking lot with squealing tires and probably several traffic violations.
Smith watched Tony's departure, piecing together the likely sequence of events. The weapons sales revelation would've hit Tony hard, proof that his moral awakening meant nothing if his company ignored it. And discovering Obadiah's role? That would've been devastating.
Tony was going to take action now. Probably suit up in the Mark III once it was finished and personally destroy every Stark weapon he could find. Starting with Gulmira, most likely.
Smith had no interest in witnessing that particular rampage. He'd seen enough of Tony's heroic journey in his memories. Besides, his own stomach was finally satisfied, a rare achievement given his enhanced metabolism.
He slipped out of the gala without fanfare, retrieved his 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupé from valet parking, and drove back toward the Fraternity headquarters. The night air rushed past as he accelerated onto the highway, his mind already moving to the next pieces on the board.
Tony would become Iron Man tonight, whether he realized it yet or not. The Mark III would be christened in combat, saving lives in Gulmira, proving that one man in a suit could make a difference.
And Obadiah? He'd see that footage eventually. He'd understand what Tony had built. And his greed would drive him to create something monstrous in response.