Pepper Potts was upstairs, sipping on her tea and casually flipping through the news when the headline about Obadiah Stane’s death caught her eye.

"Not exactly shocked," she muttered under her breath. Knowing Stane had been scheming to off Tony for months kind of dulled the impact. Her mind flitted briefly to the chaos he'd left behind before her phone buzzed sharply, pulling her back to reality.

A brisk call later, she hurried downstairs, her heels clicking decisively against the hardwood floor. Tony’s voice greeted her as soon as she stepped into the room. "Pepper, ever heard of someone named Coulson?" Tony asked, lounging in his chair like he owned not just the house, but the planet.

Pepper raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. "I know him. Why? Weren’t you the one rolling your eyes every time his name came up?"

Tony shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Yeah, but I’m interested now. Things change."

"That’s not suspicious at all," Pepper replied dryly, crossing her arms. "What’s this about, Tony?"

"Nothing major," Tony said with mock innocence. "Just that Coulson works for something called the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Ever heard of it?"

Pepper’s mind clicked into gear. "You mean S.H.I.E.L.D.? That’s what they do—handle... weird stuff. Like government ghostbusters, but less slime and more explosions."

Tony smirked at the comparison, clearly amused. "Weird stuff, huh? Sounds like my kind of people. Do you have Coulson’s number?"

"I do," Pepper replied cautiously, not liking where this was headed. "What exactly are you planning, Tony?"

"Relax," Tony said, leaning back with a grin that screamed mischief. "I just want to talk to him. Tell him to meet me tomorrow at noon. No excuses."

Pepper sighed but pulled out her phone. "Fine. But don’t blame me if he’s too busy hunting aliens or whatever."

To her surprise, Coulson picked up immediately. His voice came through calm, professional, and unnervingly polite. "Miss Potts, how can I assist you?"

"Tony Stark would like to meet with you tomorrow at noon," she said, keeping her tone crisp. "It’s... important."

Coulson didn’t even hesitate. "Understood. I’ll be there."

Pepper hung up and turned to Tony, eyebrow raised. "He’s coming. Noon sharp."

Tony’s grin widened, but his expression quickly turned thoughtful. He was already connecting dots, processing information in that annoyingly brilliant head of his.

The next day, right on time, Coulson arrived at Stark Manor. The guy had punctuality down to an art form. He was led to the second-floor lounge, where Tony was waiting with a mix of impatience and curiosity.

"Coulson," Tony greeted, shaking his hand briefly. "Thanks for coming. Let’s skip the small talk. I’ve got questions, and you’re going to give me answers."

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Coulson’s polite smile didn’t waver. "Of course. Ask away."

Tony gestured at the screen behind him, which flickered to life, showing a grainy, shadowy figure that looked like it belonged in a horror movie. "Recognize this?"

Coulson’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the image. Even his poker face couldn’t fully hide the unease flickering in his gaze. "I do. Where did you get this?"

Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Afghanistan. Ring any bells?"

Coulson’s expression didn’t change, but his silence spoke volumes. Finally, he nodded. "That fits."

"So?" Tony pressed. "What’s the deal? Alien? Mutant? Time traveler? Give me something to work with."

Coulson’s voice was measured, careful. "We know it calls itself Death. Operates in the mercenary underworld. Highly dangerous, extremely elusive. Beyond that, we’ve hit a wall."

"Death?" Tony repeated, incredulous. "Great. A goth with a god complex."

Coulson’s lips twitched, almost but not quite a smile. "It’s more than that. The black market refers to him as the God of Death. Nobody knows his true name or origin, but his reputation alone commands millions for a meeting."

Tony leaned back, clearly intrigued. "Millions, huh? Sounds like a guy who knows how to market himself. What’s the price tag for meeting him?"

"Twenty million, minimum," Coulson replied evenly. "Just to talk. More if you want to hire him."

Tony let out a low whistle. "That’s steep, even for my taste. And here I thought you government types were broke."

Tony Stark always believed he'd paid a steep price for something money couldn’t buy—peace of mind. That belief crumbled when he discovered he could essentially buy it with a fat stack of cash. In Tony’s world, if a problem could be solved with money, it didn’t qualify as a real problem.

Which is how he found himself in a meeting with the ever-stoic Phil Coulson, trying not to roll his eyes into another dimension. “Our department isn’t exactly poor,” Coulson began with a measured tone, clearly bracing himself. “It just requires… planning and approvals to access the funds.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his signature bluntness firing on all cylinders. “So, you're broke. Got it.”

Coulson’s jaw tightened just enough for Tony to notice, but the man’s years of training kept him as cool as a winter breeze. “We’re not broke, Mr. Stark,” Coulson clarified, his words sharp yet polite. “We’re efficient.”

“Efficient at jumping through hoops to get a dime,” Tony quipped, smirking. “Seriously, it sounds like your department runs on bake sales.”

Coulson exhaled slowly, releasing the tension in his hands. “Mr. Stark,” he said, his voice steady, “I’ve answered your questions. May I ask one now?”

Tony leaned back, twirling a pen between his fingers. “Sure, Agent. Fire away.”

Coulson straightened his tie, as if gearing up for the main event. “How did you escape captivity?”

Tony’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by a shadow of something deeper. But a deal was a deal. “I built a suit of armor,” he said simply, then dove into the story. He described the crude tools, the threats, the grueling days of assembly, and the sheer determination it took to break free. What he didn’t share was the secret of the Arc Reactor—it wasn’t a trust thing; it was just too personal.

Coulson listened intently, his expression unreadable but his admiration evident in his eyes. When Tony finished, Coulson spoke with uncharacteristic warmth. “You’re a remarkable man, Mr. Stark. To turn a prison into a workshop and create that…”

Tony grinned, his ego clearly thriving on the praise. “The world already knows I’m a genius. Nice to see you’re catching up.”

Unfazed, Coulson pressed on. “And what’s your plan for this armor? Cleaning up Stark Industries’ messes? Helping those in need?”

Tony’s grin faltered. He thought of Yinsen—the man who’d given everything to ensure his escape. “It’s personal,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter. “There’s someone I owe, and his hometown deserves better. I’m doing this for him.”

Coulson nodded, respecting the sentiment. “And beyond that? What about the bigger picture?”

Tony shrugged. “Guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

Coulson studied him carefully before deciding to reveal more. “The bigger picture, Mr. Stark, is more complicated than you think. Aliens are real. They’ve been here before, and they’ll come again.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m aware. The ‘God of Death’ you mentioned? He’s not from around here. Told me Earth’s tech is like cave drawings compared to what’s out there.”