"Hello again, Leo. I'm Agent Coulson. We met briefly during the press conference fiasco in New York last time," Coulson said, his smile perfectly modulated—warm, but non-committal. He sat on the stool next to Leo, resting his elbows on the cool mahogany bar.
Leo turned, his innocent gaze landing on the surprisingly trim, somewhat balding super-agent. "Agent Coulson, I recall. It's hard to forget someone who works for an organization with such an aggressively long name." He offered a slight, knowing smile.
"Guilty as charged on the nomenclature," Coulson admitted smoothly. "Now, Mr. Leo, you're currently residing with Mr. Stark, aren't you?"
"Yes, I've been borrowing his lab space for a few weeks now. It's surprisingly well-stocked, though the owner can be… temperamental."
"Then I believe you would have a more intimate understanding of the events that transpired during Mr. Stark's time in Afghanistan, or perhaps his recent high-altitude test flight. Things he might overlook in an official report." Coulson's voice was gentle, designed to coax information from a compliant young mind.
Leo took a slow, deliberate sip of his ice water, his eyes meeting Coulson's. "Agent Coulson, while I appreciate your commitment to your mission, Mr. Stark has already agreed to meet with you officially. I really think any questions regarding classified defense projects or near-death experiences would be much better handled by him directly. After all, he was the one actually falling."
Leo looked at the man, the unassuming linchpin who would eventually assemble the first generation of Avengers—and die doing it, only to be secretly resurrected by Nick Fury with the controversial GH-325 drug. Leo didn't follow the spy narratives closely, but he knew Coulson was essential, and he found a strange fondness for the ever-smiling agent.
"However," Leo continued, leaning slightly closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I do think you should visit Stark Industries more often, Agent Coulson. Miss Pepper Potts works far too hard, and I suspect she'd secretly appreciate a little disruption in her routine. Maybe you could stop by the executive floor for coffee? She seems to have a lot of scheduling issues."
Leo winked, then retreated to his ice water.
Coulson was genuinely intrigued. The boy was evasive, sharp, and unnervingly observant. He recalled the specific directives from Fury regarding the unexplained "Leo" factor in Stark's recent life. Coulson didn't leave, electing instead to simply stand beside the boy, watching the room.
The two watched the center of the floor with quiet interest as Tony and Pepper danced the slow waltz—a very intimate, close-contact "cheek dance," as it was sometimes called. They were talking quietly, laughing in hushed tones, seeming to forget the hundreds of eyes on them.
Suddenly, Tony and Pepper separated. Tony leaned in, whispered something to Pepper that made her blush fiercely, and then, his face serious, he escorted her out to the sweeping stone balcony, away from the grinding chaos of the crowd.
Coulson realized his immediate surveillance target had left the field. He gave Leo a nod. "It seems my primary subject has temporarily excused himself. I believe I have sufficient information for now, Leo. Thank you for the… logistics tip." Coulson slipped back into the crowd and vanished, clearly deciding to tail Tony outside.
Leo smiled faintly, allowing his eyes to gleam subtly with the golden light of his power. His vision sharpened, penetrating the velvet drapes and the thick stone walls. He clearly saw the two figures standing face-to-face in the moonlight on the deserted balcony.
The tension between them was palpable, electric. They spoke earnestly, their voices lost to the distance, but the language of their bodies was crystal clear. The inexplicable, slowly burgeoning feelings between the CEO and his long-suffering assistant were rapidly reaching a flashpoint.
Pepper Potts, driven by a deep, undeniable pull, seemed to give in first. She leaned forward, just slightly, hesitantly closing the distance. She was making the first move, a small, courageous initiative.
Tony, a man who navigated boardrooms and bedrooms with arrogant certainty, suddenly became profoundly unsure of himself. His body twitched, a reflexive movement toward her, then he pulled back, becoming rigid, stiff. He had performed this ballet countless times with countless women—a predatory sweep, a confident closure—but facing Pepper, his best friend, his anchor, his hesitation was genuine.
He likes her. He's terrifyingly afraid of losing her. He wants to be responsible for her, but doesn't know what 'responsibility' means outside of a multi-million-dollar trust fund, Leo thought, watching the excruciating scene.
Pepper, having committed, closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable, gentle culmination.
Tony's eyes were filled with an intense, visible struggle—a battle between the playboy persona and the man who was terrified of commitment. Finally, with a visible swallowing motion, he made a resolute decision and closed his eyes, leaning in to meet her.
But Pepper, having waited those agonizing few seconds too long, opened her eyes, startled by the delay. Tony, sensing the moment had passed, also registered the shift. Their lips were barely an inch apart, a hair's breadth from touching, but the spell was broken. They separated again, the air thick with awkward, beautiful failure.
"Oh, you absolute idiot!" Leo mentally screamed, slapping his thigh quietly under the bar. He felt a profound pang of empathetic regret for Tony, mourning the non-occurrence of that classic cinematic moment.
Tony walked back into the main hall, his posture unnaturally stiff. He strode directly to the bar, shoving a crumpled hundred-dollar bill into an empty glass. "Two vodka martinis, not sweet, extra olives. And make it quick. I need to dissolve this awkwardness."
Leo, still perched on his stool, held up his glass of ice water and smiled at the flustered billionaire. "Mr. Stark, you seem a little… hesitant today. Are you feeling shy? It's not a good look for a man of your legendary confidence."
Tony shot him a dry, sarcastic look. "Little Leo, you should know that ice water is the secret to a long life and clear skin. Remember to drink more of it. It's far better than vodka. Or anything, really."
Before Leo could retort, a sleek figure in a sundress, with a camera bag slung over her shoulder, walked up and stood directly in front of Tony.
"Wow. Tony Stark. Out in the wild," she stated, her voice sharp and professionally antagonistic.
"Oh, hello," Tony replied vaguely, his mind still stuck on the balcony. He vaguely recalled the striking figure, but couldn't place the name.
"Reporter Christine Everhart, Mr. Stark. Do you remember me? We shared a… brief moment before your vacation?" Leo supplied helpfully from the side, earning a venomous glare from the reporter. It was the woman who had followed Leo to Tony's house, allowing him to deliver the reactor model in the first place.
Christine ignored the boy entirely and continued, her focus locked on Tony. "You actually had the audacity to show up tonight? After your company's stock plunged thirty points and you declared you were getting out of the arms business? Can you give me some kind of reaction to the public outrage?"
Tony stared at her stiff expression, trying to process the barrage. "Outrage? I think the feeling I'm experiencing right now is mild indigestion."
He finally recognized her—the last woman he'd slept with before his life-changing trip to Afghanistan. The realization only added another layer of deep, humiliating regret, complicating his recent, tender moment with Pepper.
"I heard your company is caught up in a devastating scandal, and yet you're here, trying to surf the tide of controversy," Christine pressed, her voice rising.
"You may not know this, but I have been medically incapacitated and unavailable for comment for several months, which is why I haven't seen any of your vicious publications," Tony retorted, his voice edged with anger.
"Is this what you call taking responsibility?" She handed him a stack of glossy, high-definition photographs. "This town is called Gomila, Mr. Stark. Have you ever heard of it?"
The familiar, chilling name—the region where he was attacked and held hostage—snapped Tony back to immediate, ferocious attention. He snatched the photos and stared at them.
The images were damning: bearded insurgents, easily recognizable as the group that had abducted him, were openly brandishing high-powered rifles, mortars, and rocket launchers. Every single weapon bore the unmistakable, stenciled Stark Industries logo. Behind them lay a horrific landscape of rubble, ruined buildings, and debris—evidence of recent, brutal conflict.
"This was filmed when?" Tony demanded, his face hardening, his voice deadly low.
"Yesterday. Freshly imported destruction, Tony."
Tony's hand shook as he held the evidence of his company's deep corruption. "I never approved this shipment. Not a single crate left the factory with my signature."
"Oh, but your company approved it. Your board approved it," Christine shot back.
"My company's consent does not equal my personal consent!" Tony roared, his anger boiling over the top of his shock.
He stormed toward the door. Obadiah Stane was still holding court, basking in the last vestiges of media attention.
Obadiah noticed Tony's furious expression instantly. He gently pushed away the reporters clamoring for a reaction. "Tony, Tony! Easy now."
Tony thrust the photos into Obadiah's chest. "Have you seen these? What in God's name is going on in Gomila, Obi? You told me you stopped everything!"
"Tony, Tony! Come up here, up the steps, away from the cameras," Obadiah soothed, pulling Tony up the small, carpeted riser. He leaned close, his demeanor changing completely from paternal to chillingly pragmatic. "You can't afford to be so naive anymore, Tony. This is business."
"Naive? So, I was naive before?" Tony stared at the man who had been his surrogate father for fifteen years. "You told me, 'There's a bottom line to doing business.' That was our core philosophy! But we didn't do secret deals! We didn't knowingly supply terrorists! Did we, Obi? Tell me we didn't!"
Tony desperately needed his uncle, his last familial tether, to lie. He needed a denial, a simple 'I don't know,' to cling to.
But Obadiah had reached his limit with Tony's moral transformation. Facing the reporters' cameras, ignoring the flashing bulbs, Obadiah leaned in, his voice a low, cold hiss in Tony's ear.
"Tony. Who do you think was trying to vote you out of your own company while you were sitting in a cave making a tin can? It was me. I signed the execution order on that enforcement. I authorized the sale of those weapons. I have been running this company for a long time, Tony. And you were getting in the way."
He gave Tony a look of utter contempt, a cold pat on the shoulder, and strode out, disappearing through the main doors, leaving Tony completely exposed.
Tony Stark, the brilliant, arrogant, untouchable heir, stood frozen. The man he thought was his last relative, the steadfast uncle, had betrayed him and sold the legacy of his father to warlords. He stared blankly at Obadiah's retreating back, his body motionless, the devastation complete.
The reporters, sensing a bigger story—the exit of the company's powerful COO—followed Obadiah, creating a vacuum around Tony. In that instant, every person in the hall abandoned Tony's side.
Tony Stark remained standing exactly where he was, isolated on the small riser, as if the air around him had suddenly dropped far below the freezing point. The cold, familiar chill of betrayal made him shiver violently.
Leo, who had followed the confrontation and witnessed the final, vicious cut of Obadiah's words, felt a fierce ache in his chest for his friend. Since the death of Howard and Maria Stark, Obadiah had been Tony's one constant. Now, that relationship, too, was nothing but ash.
Leo moved quickly toward the steps. "Mr. Stark, I—"
"Just leave me alone, Leo. Please. Just… stop talking."
Tony lowered his head, his shoulders slumped, and quickly walked away, not even noticing the supercar's location. He simply vanished into the parking lot.
Leo watched the utterly defeated figure of Tony Stark drive away in what was likely the fastest car he could find, his destination unknown. He scratched his head, suddenly realizing the full extent of the social mess he was now left to navigate.
Right. The martinis.
Pepper Potts was still waiting alone on the moonlight balcony for the vodka martini that would now never arrive. Leo sighed, adjusted his perfect suit, and prepared to play the role of the compassionate assistant. It was going to be a very long night.