Ronan scanned the banquet guests, his frown deepening.
From their chatter and gestures, they seemed like regular folks—tall, short, fat, thin, all sorts.
But some of them? They hit Ronan different.
What kind of different? Hard to pin down.
Just… off.
He sipped his juice, eyeing each person in turn.
Every one sparking that odd vibe got mentally flagged.
Ten minutes later, he'd cased the whole room, cataloged everyone.
Roughly one in ten triggered that weird feeling.
Funny thing? Those folks all had little clusters around them.
"What's up? scoping something?"
War Machine—James Rhodes—sidled up beside him.
Maybe he saw Ronan solo and figured he'd keep him company.
"Nothing much—just checking out the big shots."
"Tony's engagement gig—mostly close friends, right?"
Ronan probed, smooth as silk.
"Mostly, yeah—but not all."
"Some are government brass, old arms-deal pals from back in the day."
"The rest? Friends."
Rhodes casually pointed out a few.
Pure chance—every one he fingered was on Ronan's list.
That coincidental?
"Who're those guys you just pointed at?"
Ronan pressed.
"Huh? Something off with them?"
Rhodes shot him a surprised look.
Tony'd bitched about Ronan privately—called him petty, whatever.
But Tony never knocked his eye.
Ronan's hunches? Dead-on, always.
"Nah, nothing."
"Just wanna memorize 'em—don't wanna blow my cover if I run into them later."
Ronan didn't spook the herd, tossing out a casual excuse.
It held water—his ID's under wraps.
Only the Avengers know him.
Rhodes bought it, suspicion fading.
Sure, Ronan bumping into these suits was unlikely, but he hit Tony's place often.
A slip-up there? Trouble.
"That middle-aged guy in the blue suit? Layson White, Defense Department honcho."
"The fat dude next to him? Military rep, Ross's right hand."
"That one over there, laughing? D.C. guy, Secretary of State's aide."
As Rhodes ran down the list, Ronan's face went blank.
Only one of them wasn't flagged.
The rest? All his "weird" picks.
This wasn't coincidence—something shady's brewing.
U.S. government cloning top dogs for safety?
Or maybe they're juiced up—Steve Rogers-style serum?
Or something Ronan couldn't even guess.
Puzzled as hell, he kept it cool.
Tony's engagement bash—no place to stir chaos.
He'd clocked the faces—Steve could dig into them later.
Retired Steve's rusting out—this'd stretch his legs.
"Thanks, James."
"Got 'em locked in."
Ronan nodded, grinning his thanks.
Rhodes waved it off, chatting about random crap.
After a bit, the engagement ceremony kicked off.
Compared to Strange's wedding, this was laid-back.
No red carpet, no dad handing off the bride.
Just the couple swapping rings.
Watching them kiss, Ronan joined the crowd's hearty applause.
Post-ceremony? Mingling and grub time.
"Phew."
"This damn—cough—this tedious ritual crap."
Tony rolled up with Pepper, toasting Ronan's presence.
If Pepper weren't right there, "damn" would've slipped out full force.
"Gotta say, Tony—you two are the perfect fit."
"Only Pepper, the sharpest dame, could tame a wild stallion like you."
Rhodes grinned nearby.
Tony grimaced—hated admitting it, but true.
Since they locked in, he'd quit the playboy game.
"So Tony needs a keeper—stops him pulling crazy stunts."
Ronan raised his glass, smirking.
Tony's the star today—prime ribbing target.
"Alright, enough—this is my engagement."
"Pepper, go work the room—I need a word with Ronan."
Tony patted Pepper's hand.
No clue why, but she didn't ask.
Nodded at Ronan and Rhodes, then drifted off to host.
"I'll go babysit the military crowd."
Rhodes, ever the wingman, cleared out—left Tony and Ronan solo.
Once he was gone, Tony locked eyes with Ronan.
"What's up? Something to say?"
Tony read him like a book.
"Few folks in your hall? Off vibe."
"Watch yourself."
"Anything goes down, ping me first—keep Pepper safe."
Ronan figured a heads-up was due.
Kept it vague, but Tony caught the drift.
He opened his mouth to dig deeper—Ronan shook him off.
Tony chasing this? Bad call—he's too exposed.
Steve, lurking in the shadows, fits the job better.
Tony in the spotlight? Just stay sharp.