Once Natasha dropped the seduction curriculum and moved on to legitimate tradecraft, her class turned out to be genuinely fascinating. Advanced driving techniques, high-tech gadgetry, surveillance methods the students had never imagined — she had their full attention.
Daisy was heading out of the classroom when she heard someone call her name.
"Miss Johnson."
Phil Coulson — that permanently open, trustworthy face — was standing nearby, waving her over. His role here was technically an instructor, but he operated more like a student counselor.
There was no hostility from him. Daisy felt that clearly. She turned and walked toward the man who, in another life, had been something like a father figure to her.
That version of their relationship wasn't possible here. The trajectory was different. But she knew what he was, at his core: a genuinely good person.
"Mr. Coulson — just Daisy is fine. What's up?"
Coulson smiled warmly. "Of course, Daisy. The Director mentioned you'd be taking on some additional work?"
Already? He's moving this fast? She felt a flicker of irritation — Fury never sat still.
Still, she'd made a promise. And the Academy had given her more than she'd expected. She nodded.
"What's the assignment?"
Coulson, either not noticing or not caring about her reluctance, continued easily: "Less an assignment, more a supplementary project — you can think of it as coursework, if you prefer. Do you know who Tony Stark is?"
Hard to pretend otherwise. She nodded.
"Are you aware that his father, Howard Stark, was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s founders?"
Daisy still couldn't tell where this was going. She nodded again.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. needs a better read on Tony Stark — his personality, his working methods, his research capacity."
"You've got mountains of data on him already," Daisy said. "What do you need me for?"
Coulson clearly anticipated the question. "People change. Our previous observations were all conducted from the outside. For various reasons, Director Fury wants someone to make direct contact — get a firsthand read, put together a thorough analysis to inform future decisions."
It was clear enough. Just show up, have a conversation, maybe share a meal. Compared to the kind of work that usually landed in her lap, this barely qualified as work.
Her Skye Analytics company had been gaining traction. There was a meeting scheduled this week with a Stark Industries executive — which Fury had obviously found out about and used as his justification for assigning her. He never missed a thing.
She'd planned to skip the meeting and let her team handle it. Not anymore.
"Fine. I'll go introduce myself to Mr. Stark. I'll have a report on your desk afterward."
Coulson handed her a set of car keys and said goodbye with a smile.
Daisy went back to her room, changed into civilian clothes, gave Sharon a quick heads-up that she'd be out for a couple of days, then found her car in the underground garage.
A brand-new Chevrolet. There seemed to be a deep and enduring connection between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Chevrolet in this world. As the saying went: not everyone who drives a Chevy is an agent — but every agent drives a Chevy.
She buckled her seatbelt, floored it, and left the Academy behind.
Back in New York, she drove straight to the office.
Skye Analytics had come a long way in just over two months. The company had developed a quiet but genuine reputation, and this week had drawn the attention of a Stark Industries executive, Obadiah Stane, who'd requested a meeting. Her team had been in full preparation mode ever since.
Day-to-day management and external-facing work all ran through James Wesley. He thrived in rooms full of successful people — it was what he was made for.
David Lieberman was still heads-down in the lab with his small team, simplifying the algorithms. The scope of big data was enormous, and the legal and financial interests involved were too complex for a startup to seize everything at once. Daisy had already decided the company's next major focus: healthcare and medical services. Own that sector, and you became indispensable — untouchable.
The legal team, led by Maki Matsumoto, was building steadily. The company had already won its first lawsuit — a case filed against them for data collection and privacy infringement — thanks to a healthy cash reserve and Maki's team's sharp preparation.
"You're back, Miss!" Maki's default expression — controlled, slightly severe — softened the moment Daisy walked through the door. Then, the moment the door closed, she leaned in and started whispering. "I've been keeping a close eye on that one. Nothing suspicious so far." Her "that one" meant James Wesley — former mob strategist, current company director.
Daisy appreciated the loyalty. She rewarded it by promising Maki a home-cooked Chinese dinner that evening.
In Wesley's office, they ran through the plan for the Stark Industries meeting.
There wasn't much to debate. Stark Industries was a continent-sized beast. Skye Analytics was a shrimp. They weren't in the same league.
But the fact that a company this enormous had looked their way at all had Wesley buzzing with excitement. He'd drafted three different scenarios for handling the meeting.
Then he paused and looked at Daisy with barely-concealed alarm. "You're not planning to show up dressed like... that, are you? You need something professional. Seriously."
She had to admit he had a point. She'd never seen anyone walk into a business negotiation in jeans and canvas sneakers — not even the famously eccentric Tony Stark, who still wore a suit and tie in public.
She accepted the feedback through gritted teeth.
After the meeting wrapped up, Maki accompanied her on a shopping trip.
Two pencil skirts later, Daisy was done. She couldn't walk in them without feeling like she was about to rip the seams with a single step. She pivoted immediately.
Trousers. Even if they weren't as comfortable as combat gear, at least they had two legs.
White button-down shirt, black blazer and slacks. She studied herself in the mirror and felt a creeping sense of irony. She looked exactly like a field agent. Which, technically, she was — but there was no reason to broadcast it.
She tried a soft pink women's suit instead. Better. More neutral. Less "I will disarm you and interrogate you."
Shoes were the last battle. No outfit — pants or skirt — was complete without heels.
She picked a pair of black pointed-toe pumps with a 5-centimeter (about a 2-inch) heel. Took a few test steps. With her enhanced balance and body control, the physical challenge was manageable. The psychological weight of them was a separate problem she chose to ignore.
Then came the accessories — handbag, necklace, earrings, the whole arrangement. No knockoffs. Not when she'd be walking into a room with people who would notice. All brand-name, all expensive. Daisy, who had quietly climbed back into the category of "perpetually broke" after her last big purchase, felt the sting all over again.
Before heading back, she stopped with Maki at a salon and had her hair redone.