The sun shone high the following morning and everything was wonderful. I remember that distinctively because every waking minute that summer seemed to have some element of subliminal mockery. I fell asleep (therefore awoke) in the living room last night thinking about life. I realized after about thirty long years of apparent blindness that I was a man who had everything…and nothing. I did have money, but I did not have family; I did have sex, but I did not have relationships. I had everything normal people ever wanted but I had nothing of what normal people have. It sounds sappy because it was sappy. I decided to wait for Agent to appear again and then I'd give him a chance and this time I meant it. He'd walk out that door with his chest held high and a smile on his face and I'd see him out the front door and he'd shake my hand and I'd shake his and I might just give that man a hug.

Everything sounded so good in my head (if not too good and slightly homoerotic) but let me just say, if life really worked that way then everyone would be best-selling autobiographers if not legendary romance novelists. There was just one problem: Agent never stepped back through my door. It didn't take me very long to realize that Agent Coulson was just an extremely nice man who tried to accomplish the task he was assigned: to put those papers in my hands. The problem is, I never loved being handed things—and still don't—unless it was alcoholic.

I was pretty certain I could find SHIELD's contact information online somewhere and I am also pretty certain that's the only time I was unsuccessful in my adulthood. The oddest fact was that there wasn't a website, there was no trace of this 'SHIELD' establishment ever existing, and there most certainly was no email or phone number. The word "scam" swam around my head and I was going to give up—something I never do, ever—when the phone rang. My phone rang. That was likely the fastest time I have ever answered a call because my record time here was marked by a few bruises from stumbling into chairs and desk corners in my valiant dive for the receiver.

"Stark." My words practically just fell out of my mouth.

"Tony! Is Jarvis taking a day off?" It was Pepper, Pepper Potts. A month before Phil showed up, Pepper left Stark Industries and she wouldn't tell me why. I was quite ambivalent as anyone would imagine.

"Actually, yes. Didn't you take him with you a month ago?" You see, Jarvis and Pepper used to work as my personal assistants—Jarvis was the tech guy and Pepper is the, well, everything else girl.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"No, I didn't," she chuckled. "What are you talking about?" Her mild confusion held honesty. Pepper is an honest woman and I trust her. But when she resigned her position, Jarvis presented his letter immediately afterwards; I didn't bother questioning either of them. It was upsetting, but my pride kept me quiet.

"Pepper…"

"Tony, wouldn't you like to know why I called?"

"Because you miss the sound of my voice?" I guesstimated with great modesty.

"Tony," I could almost see her smile. "I'm calling from work! You're giving off some very indecent impressions."

"I'm on speakerphone? Or is the line bugged? You found work? What on Earth could offer you a better job than Stark Industries? Who the hell are you working for?" I interrogated, slightly agitated—just slightly.

She drew a short breath, "No, no, work found me, I work for the government, Agent Coulson, and—" I cut her off. She said Agent.

" Coulson? You're working for Agent Coulson? Are you the reason he's after me?" Everything made sense!

"Actually, you're the reason he was after me," she stated factually, disassembling every piece of this puzzle I just put together.

"You said you work for the government. Coulson is a government official? I thought he worked for a school!" This was killing me.

"Oh god, I have to go. I'm so sorry, Tony. I just wanted to know if you're doing okay. I—" The line went dead. Fantastic, my irritability just cost me my last chance to start a new life, a real life. Agent probably had Jarvis too. I officially felt compelled to work for SHIELD but, again, my pride was the fetter attaching me to this life of fame and iron. On top of that, I don't work for anyone. I'm Tony Stark.

My brilliance thus deduced that this 'SHIELD' scam is government-operated and they are holding Pepper and Jarvis hostage as ransom for my signature on some shady weaponry contract—probably a discount or something—and either Agent Coulson is also held captive or he's one damn good actor. I had to save them. I'm the hero.

Being astoundingly tech-savvy, I traced the call which was purposefully made 'untraceable', hopped in one of my aircrafts, and I auto-piloted the bird to my geographical coordinates. I'm kidding. First of all, I don't have Jarvis to help; secondly, I don't have the initiative; thirdly, I'm preoccupied: the doorbell rang. Of course, I slugged over and answered the obnoxious prompt.

Impatiently, I inquired, "Who are you and what are you doing on my property?" When I stopped rolling my eyes, I immediately regretted opening my mouth in such an unmannerly fashion to such a well-mannered woman. What are the chances? She was average in height with a structured but lithe physique, pinned-up red hair, and almost-garish green eyes.

"You must be Mr. Stark." She replied flatly, completely un-amused, and with a mild Russian accent only detectable on her funky R's. "My name is Natalie Romanoff. I saw you had an opening for secretary and assistant."

How ironic was it that one hot, ginger secretary resigns and another one shows up? The skirt she wore was very flattering. I don't remember hammering out advertisements to Russia but by all means this girl has the job. "Yep," I replied, "You have the job!"

"I've prepared a resume and—" Ha! As if I was going to let her finish. I showed her around, gave her some basic tasks, and tried to make small talk. This girl was difficult; she rarely laughed. It was just, "Of course, Mr. Stark" or "No, I don't think that's a good idea," or "You are very funny Mr. Stark" completely in monotone. But she got things done with deadly efficiency which was actually quite disturbing. I was thoroughly surprised she didn't say anything even remotely related to SHIELD. I mean it is common knowledge that all Russians are spies. I joke. I joke very rudely.

I realized this wasn't going to take my mind off of SHIELD. I knew there had to be a way I could track them down or contact them or something. Before I plunge into permanent frustration, I need to find something to do. I reflected. About four months ago, I went to Afghanistan for a weapons demonstration. I just invented a new missile/launching system and apparently some terrorists wanted in on it too. They infiltrated the US Forces' 'accommodation team' (who were literally my butlers) and dosed me with some toxin that permanently damaged my heart. It slowed down my heartbeat to an almost crucial rate, offering a cure in return for information. I now wear a pacemaker and I figured I might as well improve it because why the hell not? I aspired to make one that could control my heart rate rather than regulate it and would resist metal detectors. I compulsively set to work with Natalie as my assistant. I just hoped this wouldn't give advantage to foreign spy industries.