Chapter 1
James rolls his eyes in mounting frustration as he listens to his advisers argue back and forth in front of his desk. Takes off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stave off a steadily building headache.
“I honestly don’t understand the need for this,” he tries to interject, leaning back in his chair to level the increasingly rowdy group before him with an authoritative glare. “We have plenty of good agents in my security detail, and even if Happy decides to retire, which I by no means begrudge him, by the way,” he nods to the man in question, who gives him a tight appreciative smile, “I feel like I’m pretty well covered. I gotta agree with Obie, I don’t see the need for an outside hire.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President,” Coulson, his Chief of Staff, cuts in, meeting his raised eyebrow with a patently unperturbed look, “but given the recent events–”
“You mean the death threats, Phil, don’t you,” James interrupts him dryly, smirking when man’s cheek twitches slightly – the only outward sign of his discomfort. “Let’s call it like it is, shall we.”
“As you wish, sir,” Coulson concedes, face once again carefully blank. “Given the recent death threats and the sensitive nature of the information apparently available to the person behind these threats, it is my strong belief that it would be prudent to bring in a… fresh face.”
James narrows his gaze at that, plops the glasses back on his nose. “You think someone in my detail is tied to this.” It isn’t a question, and James would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered the notion himself. Some of the things mentioned in those messages were just personal enough to make him wonder. To say nothing of the fact that the latest message somehow made it past said security and ended up on his personal desk for Happy to find. Still, the idea that someone on his staff would be behind this…
“It’s preposterous!” Obadiah’s voice booms in protest, and he cringes at such a loud echo of his own thoughts. “It is one thing to try and force an added and completely unnecessary expense on this office, but to imply that one of our highly decorated, thoroughly vetted individuals might be behind these despicable acts is simply–”
“Obie!” he raises a calming hand in his VP’s direction, cutting off what he knows, from Obadiah’s expression alone, will be a prelude to another nasty argument.
“I am not forcing anything on this office,” Coulson grits out, turning slightly toward the other man, his voice as professionally cold as always, but there’s a kind of snap-ready tension in his body now, fists clenched in barely concealed anger. “I am merely trying to ensure that the president has the best protection available to him under the circumstances.”
“And I’m assuming you have somebody in mind,” James interjects, as Obadiah once again opens his mouth to object.
“Mr. Hogan does,” Coulson confirms with a nod. “And I stand by his recommendation.”
“Happy?” he turns to his bodyguard, who has remained suspiciously silent until now. Raises an eyebrow in silent question.
Happy flicks a sideways gaze at Obadiah – and there’s hesitation there and hostility that has James frowning in confusion. Happy speaks, however, before he has a chance to ponder this.
“Tony Stark, Sir. A former colleague of mine.”
“Stark?” Obadiah scoffs, flapping his arms in a melodramatic show of frustration. “You cannot be serious!”
“Why not?” James wants to know. He’s heard the name before, he’s sure of it, but he can’t remember where or under what circumstances.
“The man’s a disgraced has-been,” Obadiah sneers, and James can see the way Happy bristles at the words.
“Tony’s the best there is,” Happy insists, his voice calm but his eyes blazing with silent fury.
“He’s a goddamn mall cop!” the VP exclaims, spittle flying from his lips. “He got fired from his previous job for assaulting the very person he was supposed to be protecting! Did you know that, Mr. President?” Obadiah turns his attention to James now. “My good friend, Senator Hammer, was sent to the hospital with a concussion and a broken jaw thanks to that lunatic.”
Ah, now James remembers where he’s heard the name. He smiles lightly, thinking back to those reports he’d seen on the news a few years ago. He doesn’t know the particulars, was never privy to it. He was only a senator himself back then, freshly elected, bright eyed with optimism and the desire to change Washington and the world. And Justin Hammer was one of the Old Guard, just like Obie – the Washington elite who had been there for ages and knew just how to spin things in their favor. Hammer has always given him the creeps, and he’s heard enough rumors about the way that man treated his staff, especially the women, to make him somehow certain that whatever reasons this Stark character had for punching out the senator, they must have been good ones. One look at Happy’s face, at the way he’s shooting daggers at Obie, cheeks tinged red with fury, tells him he’s on the right track.
“Well,” he says, pulling all of their attention back onto his person. “I suppose it can’t hurt to have a chat with Mr. Stark.” It’s amazing, he thinks, the way his three visitors react to his words. There’s a silent nod of approval from Coulson, an expression of relief and almost gratitude on Happy’s face, and a look of utter indignation on Obadiah’s.
“Mr. President, James, you can’t be serious!” he sputters.
“My Chief of Staff and my personal bodyguard are both vouching for this person’s character,” James responds coolly, rising to leave, conversation over as far as he’s concerned. “The least I can do is meet the man. Set it up, Phil, would ya?” he throws over his shoulder, a smirk pulling at his lips as he glimpses Obadiah’s reddening face on his way out the door.