She could hear someone getting chewed out before she even touched the door. Daisy pushed it open and walked in.
"Who are you?" A woman with a head of salt-and-pepper hair looked up, startled, along with everyone else in the room.
Daisy took stock of the scene. The small, slight boy had to be Peter Parker. Standing across from him was a much bigger kid — a full head taller than Peter, and for eleven years old, the word "stocky" didn't quite cut it. His arms were corded with muscle. The boy looked like he could cause real damage.
He also looked furious right now, jaw tight, veins standing out across his knuckles — like he was still itching to finish the fight.
That must be Flash Thompson. Daisy looked him up and down. He was a big kid, all right. His dynamic with Peter Parker read like a live-action version of a bully-and-target duo straight out of a comic — dominant and relentless on one side, nerdy and long-suffering on the other.
Of course, their story didn't end there. Flash spent years tormenting Peter, yet he was simultaneously a fanatic admirer of Spider-Man. Eventually, Flash Thompson would become a hero himself — operating under the name Agent Venom.
A bully who grew up to be a hero. That kind of story only worked in a world where redemption arcs came too easy. Do something terrible and get forgiven the moment you turn it around. Do something good but stumble once and get torn apart. The culture ran on it.
Having been on the receiving end of bullying herself, Daisy had opinions about that environment. She hated it.
But she also understood kids well enough to know that lecturing them accomplished nothing. To a teenager, adult moralizing registered as a single, loud noise: annoying.
She pointed at Peter Parker. "I'm here to take him."
"And who exactly are you to him?" the teacher pressed.
Daisy had anticipated this. Pretending to be a relative was a dead end — the kid was sharp and wasn't going anywhere with a stranger. She gestured to the teacher, pulled her aside, and presented her credentials.
She didn't have her S.H.I.E.L.D. card — she was still technically an academy student. What she handed over was an FBI badge. Every agent carried one as a general-purpose cover for outside work.
Inside the academy, the thing was worthless. But in front of a woman who'd spent her entire life law-abiding and orderly? It might as well have been gospel.
To her credit, the teacher took it seriously. She examined it carefully, then — with Daisy's nod of approval — called the number on the badge to verify. It checked out, the photo matched, everything was in order. FBI. No question.
The teacher wrapped up the conversation in record time and ushered them both out, leaving Flash Thompson behind to continue receiving his lecture.
Out on the sidewalk, Daisy popped open the car door and nodded for Peter to get in. The kid went on full alert immediately.
Reading the wariness on his face, Daisy explained her reason for being there.
Peter's mouth opened slightly. The pull of being in a movie was, if anything, even stronger than she'd estimated. Peter wanted to earn money — to take some of the financial pressure off his Uncle Ben and the family.
With Peter on board in principle, Daisy moved on to the family.
Uncle Ben was cautious. He asked a lot of questions on the phone, circling the same points several times before he was convinced. By the time Daisy drove Peter home, Ben and Aunt May were already waiting at the door.
She presented company documentation and bank statements. Made a series of reasonable assurances — school schedule unaffected, no inappropriate filming, nothing that would put Peter in a bad situation. An hour of back-and-forth, and they signed the contract.
At the door on her way out, Daisy turned back as if something had just occurred to her.
"There are a few climbing scenes in the script — chain-link fences, trees, that sort of thing. Might be worth practicing those when you get a chance, Peter."
With Peter locked in, Gwen was the easier of the two.
Captain Stacy was cooperative — not because of any personal history between them, but because he knew exactly who Daisy was. As an NYPD captain, he was aware of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he'd dealt with Nick Fury directly. Fury had even come to him at some point fishing for information about Daisy. A film shoot wasn't a significant ask. He could see his daughter was excited about it, and with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s involvement, the unwritten industry nonsense that plagued young performers wouldn't get anywhere near her. He approved over the phone without hesitation.
The preliminary auditions were chaotic but productive. Both kids had real instincts. Peter Parker took to climbing like it was something he'd always done — chain-link fences and trees cleared without effort or hesitation. Gwen, to everyone's surprise, was nearly as good at it. Daisy was pleased with both of them.
The role of the computer specialist was passed over by Captain Stacy — he didn't want his face on screen in that capacity. They found a recruit from within the academy to fill the slot instead.
Most of the major roles were filled. The one remaining lead — the greedy, portly antagonist whose actions triggered the island blackout — was still open.
Overweight people were everywhere. Inside S.H.I.E.L.D.? Not so much. She'd have to look outside again.
Daisy reached out to Pepper Potts for a coffee meeting, aiming to get an introduction to Stark's bodyguard: Happy Hogan.
Happy was a man who proved that a driver could want to be a director without being any less devoted a bodyguard. He'd shot a few things on his own time over the years — amateur, but earnest.
She'd only planned to meet Pepper at the restaurant. She didn't expect Happy to show up. She really didn't expect him to bring Tony Stark along.
"Let me see your script." Stark dropped into a chair and held his hand out like it wasn't even a question.
Daisy glanced at Pepper. Pepper gave her an apologetic look. Not exactly classified material — and Stark wasn't about to plagiarize her Jurassic Park concept for a competing film. Daisy pushed down her irritation and handed it over.
As one of the sharpest minds alive, Tony Stark read at a pace that made "speed reading" sound like an understatement. The script wasn't complicated. He was through it in under a minute.
He clearly wanted to say something dismissive, but with Daisy across the table he dialed it back slightly. "Not bad. Passable. Though cloning dinosaurs is fairly rudimentary — if you handed me actual dinosaur DNA, I could pull it off myself. And honestly, even without it, I might be able to reconstruct sequences from avian genomes—"
"The point of this film," Daisy cut in, "is to make people appreciate what they don't fully understand. It's not a tech showcase."
She was quietly terrified of accidentally inspiring Tony Stark to pivot into paleogenetics. That was a timeline she wanted no part of.
Stark ran through the concept again in his head, acknowledged there were several non-trivial challenges, and conceded that biology and genetics weren't his primary domain. He let it go and passed the script to Happy.
Happy took considerably longer. He went through it twice, front to back, before looking up.
"Is this really the right fit for me?" he asked, glancing between Stark and Daisy.
Daisy wanted to say: There are plenty of heavy guys out there, but trustworthy ones are rare. Instead, she ran through his energy on camera, his experience, his personal appeal — all improvised on the spot — and finished by offering him the associate director credit as a sweetener.
While she was closing Happy, Pepper finished reading the script and something changed in her expression. Her eyes brightened.
"Ms. Johnson," she said, a note of excitement in her voice, "you have a real gift. From a business standpoint, this has enormous potential. Done right, this film could spark something much bigger. Are you still looking for additional funding?"