I do not own IronMan.

I do not own Happy.

You Play It

You play that.

Buncha snotty British aristocrats whining about their lives or whatever.

That one lady from Harry Potter.

You play that shit on a loop.

I'll buy the syndicate and play it on a loop.

If he likes it, we'll play it forever and turn it up.

Tony Stark, Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist Super Hero, stared at his chauffeur, his personal assistant.

At at his friend.

Harold Joseph Hogan.

'Happy', okay?

So named by his employer himself.

"Come on, man, be happy, jeez, you're killin' my groove here-"

At some point in the early days of their acquaintanceship.

When Harold . . .

"Mr. Stark, honestly, I can't stress this enough-"

. . . ahem, Mr. Hogan, had not been all that impressed with Tony's carefree, devil-may-care attitude.

"Tony. So, what's it gonna be, man? Happy or miserable? You know what, don't answer. You're Happy. That's your name now. Happy Hogan. Welcome to the new you. Enjoy the ride-"

"Mr. Stark-"

"No, seriously, we're going for a ride, get in the car."

"Mr. Stark-"

All the time and all the things that had transpired over so many years.

Now they were here.

And Happy was . . . Happy was . . .

Tony clenched his jaw, blinked hard against the moisture threatening to flood his eyes.

Then he covered and smart-mouthed and rambled.

And he basically . . .

Some of us just have certain talents, that's all I'm saying-

. . . kept going.

And his, after all, among the many, was talking.

Misdirection.

Taking charge.

Getting stuff done.

But screw all that.

His friend, his Happy, was hurt.

Trussed all up and down in that bed. Bandages and tubes and leads stuck to him and in him.

Breathing apparatus shoved down his throat.

Beaten completely to hell.

All because of Tony and his hubris.

This is my fault.

He could die.

He could live and be a vegetable.

He could wake up and be just fine.

Back to stiff upper lip and never quit taking all of Tony's crap, not entirely.

And if that happened, well, first he was going to wake up to the refined, elegant sounds of British Victorian first world problems.

If it was the last thing Tony Stark . . .

You play that.

. . . did.

You play it all.

Then Tony Stark had another thought.

". . . more thing. Make sure everyone wears their badges, wouldja?"

I'm not taking any more chances.

And, you know, Happy likes people have their badges.

Just a little ramble thanks to Pinterest.

And yes, I know Happy originally got his nickname when he was a boxer.

But I changed it because, well, me.

Hope you don't mind.

And hope you enjoyed Tony Stark and his heart on display.

Oh and Endgame is in four days. Didja know?

*screams internally*

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