AN: Longtime reader, but first-time writer. I don't own anything but the plot. Anything recognizable (and some less-recognizable) belongs to Marvel.
Three hours after the battle with the Chitauri, Tony Stark landed on the landing pad outside his mostly-demolished penthouse. He wearily walked into the tower to get a drink, call Pepper, take a shower, and begin assessing the damage to the tower. As he walked in he took in the Loki-sized indentations in the floor, the Hulk-foot-sized marks next to them, the charred holes dotting the far wall, and the glass shards and other debris scattered around the room. But he hardly noticed any of the damage. Instead, he walked directly over to the man sitting at the largely-intact bar.
"Rhodey! What the hell are you doing here?"
Lt. Colonel James Rhodes looked up from his beer and said, "Waiting for you, Stark. Decided to have a drink while I waited."
"You couldn't have shown up, like, four hours ago?" Tony demanded angrily. "I coulda used someone to watch my back. There was an alien invasion, in case you didn't catch the news. Instead, you're here three hours after the battle ended wearing my suit, sitting on my reinforced barstool at my bar in my wrecked penthouse in my tower. Where were you?"
"Hang on, your suit? I seem to recall you giving me this suit the week after the Expo when I stopped by to return your Mark-Two suit. You already had my War Machine suit mostly done; you just needed a brain scan to sync the helmet to my brain pattern. You said something about how you'd been planning to give me a suit before you died, and had decided it would do us both more good while you were still alive."
"Yeah, I remember giving you that suit," Tony responded, "but I also remember saying it was yours as long as you had my back. Where have you been?"
Rhodey sighed and turned back to his drink. "Believe me, there's nowhere I'd rather have been than fighting off an army of crazy killer aliens led by an egomaniacal demi-god with daddy issues alongside my oldest friend. Unfortunately, a furious wannabe pirate ordered me to stay away every time I called him."
"'Wannabe pirate?'" Tony asked, realization starting to dawn. "This 'wannabe pirate' wouldn't happen to be the Director of a super-secret government agency, would he? And why would he order you not to join the battle?"
Rhodey took a swig of beer before turning back to Tony and saying, "Yes, and you'll have to ask him yourself."
The next morning, all those involved in the "Battle of New York," as it was coming to be called, gathered in a conference room on an undamaged level of the helicarrier, which was now floating off the coast of New Jersey awaiting a trip to dry dock. Nick Fury stood up and looked at the 20 other people in the room. The corner of his mouth twitched up in the closest approximation to a smile any of them had ever seen as he said, "Well done, everyone. It looked pretty hairy there for a while yesterday, but you managed to contain the threat, defeat the alien army, capture the war criminal, and come together as a team. This morning, we need to debrief you from the battle yesterday—."
"Before we do that," interrupted Stark, "I'd just like to know why there are so many people here when only six of us actually fought in the battle. And why did you deny Rhodey's requests to help us?"
Clearly annoyed by the interruption, Fury fixed his eye on Tony, who glared back angrily. After a long moment, Fury said, "While only a few of you actually fought in Manhattan, all of those in this room were involved in yesterday's incident in some capacity. That includes War Machine. He and his team were part of my 'Plan B.'"
"Sir," began Agent Hill, "should we really be telling them about Avengers Initiative—Plan B?"
With a shrug, Fury turned to his second-in-command and said, "Stark'd just hack our system again if we didn't tell him." He resumed staring at Tony and mockingly asked, "Did you really think you were the Earth's last line of defense between a murderous alien army and complete human enslavement?"
"Well," Tony responded, "I kinda thought that was the idea when the helicarrier started falling from the sky. You're welcome, by the way. The boat looks a lot better in the air than falling from it."
"Good, that was the whole point." Director Fury answered, ignoring the last comment. "But the fact of the matter is, I was not going to leave the fate of the world in the hands of a narcissistic billionaire who thinks tin cans are in style; a super soldier who still thinks slide rules are the latest technology; a green rage monster who's as likely to break Manhattan as save it; the alien/demi-god whose little brother caused this whole mess; and a couple master assassins, one of whom was just mind-raped into a glorified flying monkey by a 'glow-stick of death'-wielding alien, and the other of whom was vicariously mind-raped, neither of whom have been at the top of their game for the last week. No, Stark, you were only the tip of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s plans for countering yesterday's threat," Fury said. "No offense," he added with a glance at Agent Barton, who'd cringed at the mention of his part in Loki's schemes.
"None taken, sir," Barton responded. "I would just like to apologize for shooting you, sir."
"Apologize?" Fury asked. "I should be thanking you. In the first 5 minutes you after you were taken, you committed at least two separate acts of rebellion. When you could easily have killed me with a headshot, you instead shot me in my chest, the one place where you knew I was wearing armor. When I warned Agent Hill, you somehow managed to not kill her at a distance of 10 feet with a full clip of ammo and surprise on your side. Have you ever done that before? And then, before your raid on the helicarrier you somehow managed to miss a shot at our #2 engine so you only managed to destroy one engine instead of two, making your attack on the bridge a necessity rather than a luxury. Our repaired sensor data from the attack showed a second detonation in the air below the ship," Fury added on seeing the confused looks around the table. He sarcastically continued, "That's fourteen missed shots in less than a week, a new record for you. Barton, I'm only sorry for all the horrible things Loki must have done to you for fighting him so much."
Clint shifted a little closer to Natasha, who whispered something quietly into his ear in Russian. He nodded and relaxed ever so slightly back into his chair.
Tony glanced from Director Fury to the two assassins and back, cleared his throat, and said, "As touching as this moment may be, you still haven't answered my question. You had a 'Plan B' for the Chitauri invasion?"
"Mr. Stark," Fury responded with a twitch of his lip, "I'm a super spy. My 'secrets have secrets.' I always have a Plan B."