A/N: Reflections of Iron is the fictional autobiography of Tony Stark, a fictional Marvel(c) character and therefore I disclaim. The idea is based off of a post I saw on Tumblr regarding the Avengers as teachers but I don't know who posted it. If it's you, tell me!

Looking back on my life, I don't feel that I have accomplished anything admittedly remarkable for myself until I began working for SHIELD. We all have times when we feel that a part of us is missing and it's our life goal to retrieve it. We can never be certain of finding all the parts, but I believe that I am pretty damn close.

At the age of five, I built my first bike. At the age of nine, I built my first engine. I have won countless science fairs and received numerous awards, but none of that meant anything. It all meant nothing in comparison with what I have in that school.

I am, as you may or may not be resourceful enough to know, Anthony Stark—a physics teacher at the SHIELD varsity and a stupendously respected scientist with all modesty aside. Teaching at SHIELD is undoubtedly the best decision I have ever made. To get us all on the same page, SHIELD is an international institution for ridiculously overachieving children and children born into ridiculously rich families. Most of our students were, and still are, both of the above. The building is actually home to the staff and students spanning grades six to university four. I would get into details, but an 'autobiography' is, undeniably, about me, the author. Everything started in July, I believe three days after Independence Day. Those three words marked my turning point:

"I'm sorry, what?" Those three words: I'm, sorry, what, I yawned.

"Mr. Stark, are you taking this seriously? We really would like you to consider our offer."

"I am. I am thoroughly considering your offer and I conclude that I must turn down your offer because it's ridiculous. I am a paramount figure of modern technology, a well-respected and world-renowned celebrity for anything made of metal and you, what's your face, want me to be a minimum-wage teacher at a kindergarten." I retorted, my words abundant with sarcasm.

"Mr. Stark, my name is Agent Coulson—Phil Coulson—and I am here on behalf of director and principal Fury of SHIELD. We will provide you with basic needs: living space, food, labs, and et cetera; you will not be on minimum wage, no teacher should be; and lastly, we are a prestigious institution."

"Lastly? Great, so we're done here," I joked quite disrespectfully but I was actually quite serious.

"Mr. Stark, we would be—" I cut him off.

"Look, Agent, I hate to be rude but I'm asking you to please get out of my house. I have everything I could ever want here and just keep in mind that Mr. Stark and kids don't go together."

Agent sighed. He briskly left without another word. He sort of hung his head as he passed through the automatic door of my living room, clutching the briefcase he lugged around with him almost every time. He wasn't the tallest man. In his neat, black suit and saddened form, he could have shrunk into a micron in the romantic natural lighting of such a cloudless evening. In truth though, I was actually willing to give in and try out this teaching idea but I had a certain trait of arrogance at the time. It may or may not still be lingering—it's a necessary part of my character, honestly.

I sat there for a while, frustrated by my indecisiveness. My 'living room' had a massive window—a wall of glass—overlooking the sea. The rays of the dimming, orange sunlight refracts around my spacey room like a security matrix. I actually set things up this way purposefully in my spare time, which is to say the ten minutes after dinner a few months back.

I sat there for a while, thinking about the last five times Agent tried to get me to sign those papers. I remember thinking to myself, "Why would he even choose me? I don't have any experience in teaching at all". My brilliant imagination began fabricating scenarios of a possible life in SHIELD. I never really gave the man a chance to properly propose his offer. I guess I did that a lot back then. I felt better than everybody else because I was better than everybody.

I sat for a while, trying to think of one person I could talk to.

I sat for a while, alone.