AN James Wesley, how do I love thee? Let me number the ways. But in all seriousness this story was a horrible, horrible idea because it just smashed my love for Tony Stark and my love for James Wesley together into an unhealthy pile and I don't know if I'll ever be the same.

Thanks to Bess for helping me edit this!

i.

Wesley prided himself on being a man that could manage any catastrophe. Smear campaigns and leaked sex tapes and threats of corporate espionage were all swept aside with the same unerring surety, carving out deep warning to anyone that attempted to dissemble the Stark empire.

But terrorist attacks left him useless.

Pepper was the one that received the official call from Lt. Colonel Rhodes. She was Tony's executive assistant, the only thing that could have been labeled as 'close' to Tony Stark. Rhodes at least realized that Tony's connection with his assistant was far more candid than that of his mentor, Obadiah Stane. That way, Wesley was informed of the kidnap for personal reasons and not for the purpose of handling the situation.

Pepper looked terrified and distraught as she whispered the news. She didn't seem to mind Wesley bracing himself against the desk and not having anything to say.

The world didn't know what to think. Some flocked together, condemning the gall of the extremists and demanding instant and brutal response, while others gave Stark Industries a pitying pat on the back as they cleaned their hands of a now leaderless company.

Wesley kept things together. He smiled as he charmed supporters, menaced dissenters, and carefully condemned extremist factions and not the states they resided in. He directed every effort to retrieve Tony Stark and offered a comforting arm around Pepper's shoulders when she privately burst into tears, because she had allowed him his moment of grief without comment.

He kept things together because that was his job.

And then, impossibly, Tony appeared in the desert and was scooped up by the US Armed Forces. Pepper actually shrieked in shocked delight and flung the folder she was holding when Rhodes sent word. Wesley let out the pained breath he had dragged in three months prior.

Because, of course, if anyone would have escaped, it would have been him.

Tony looked good when he came off the plane, all things considered. Still, Rhodes stayed close, protective as he helped Tony to the tarmac. He supported all of Tony's weight and pointed out an uneven patch on the ramp. Tony seemed so fragile.

Then he scoffed at the proffered gurney and instantly he was the same willful character as always, sauntering to where Wesley and Pepper were standing. His suit was pressed, face scratched, arm in a sling. His swagger seemed almost brittle.

He stopped before them, almost standoffish in his scrutiny.

"Your eyes are red," he told Pepper. "Few tears for your long lost boss?"

"Tears of joy. I hate job hunting," she said, the slightest smile on her face.

"And you, carved out of stone like always," Tony said, patting Wesley's chest. Wesley allowed a smile of his own as Tony moved past. He noticed the way the touch lingered, like Tony was making sure that he was real.

They were all very good at pretending, the three of them.

Wesley was already tapping in new items on his to do list as they walked to the car. He half listened to Tony and Pepper's conversation after they got in, sifting through the things that had changed in importance now that he had seen Tony.

Proper psych eval (Laurence)

Fly Reina in for housekeeping

Cancel meeting with NBC

Arrange interview with PBS (NPR also acceptable)

He looked up when he heard the words 'press conference'.

"Press conference? What on earth for?" Pepper asked, more than a little alarmed. She cast a look at Wesley, begging him to intervene.

"Mr. Stark, might I ask what exactly you're planning on telling these reporters?" he asked as the car eased away. Tony glanced at him, but didn't seem to have the will for a snarky comment. The exhaustion in his eyes was enough to take Wesley by surprise, but it was the darkness in them that made his stomach tighten.

"There are just some things I need to say to the world, okay?"

Wesley grimaced, already coming up with justifications and excuses for demands for war, insults to Middle Eastern countries, vilifications to the Armed Forced for not keeping Tony safe. But it was the quiet tone Tony used that made Wesley nod. Tony was not seeking permission, but he was asking for help. He didn't do that often. Pepper looked unhappy, but she must have heard the fragility in Tony's voice, too.

Wesley regretted his decision when he heard Tony Stark declare that his company was no longer making weapons. Obadiah immediately leaped up to do damage control while Tony swept off the stage. Wesley worked his jaw, then turned to fall into step behind his employer. Tony must have sensed the steely anger coming from Wesley, because he did not answer any of the questions reporters flung at him.

"Are you mad? You're mad."

Wesley continued staring out of the conference room. They hadn't spoken since the interview. He had been too busy trying to think his way out of this mess.

"Look, Wesley, I couldn't let this go on. My weapons were being used on innocent people, and—better everyone know at once."

Wesley couldn't stop himself. He snapped his head around to shoot Tony a filthy look.

"I asked you to tell me what you were going to say. I wanted to avoid something exactly like this."

"You aren't going to change my mind," Tony said quietly. Wesley kept from working his jaw. Barely.

"I could have counseled you on how to present it! My purpose is to prevent situations like this from occurring."

"Wesley, I'm not taking it back. Terrorists had my weapons. They killed the people meant to protect me. They had my weapons. I'm not taking it back." The hard determination in Tony's eyes spoke of much darker days. Wesley didn't look away from him, but he became very aware of the subtle glow from beneath his shirt.

"I would never dream of having you do that, Mr. Stark," he said, just as deadly serious. He gave a polite nod, and fell back a step. "If you'll excuse me, I have a few thousand fires to put out."

"James," Obadiah said, ushering Wesley into his office. Wesley didn't like when Obadiah used his first name. It usually went along with trying to coerce him into doing something. Wesley was the one that coerced. Not the other way around. "Just the person I wanted to see."

"Mr. Stane, how might I be of assistance?"

"Straight to business, no small talk?"

"I have a meeting with PR, then CNN."

"Right. They want the inside scoop on Tony?"

"It didn't help that you alluded to him having some sort of mental trauma from his time captive."

"Clearly he does, though," Stane said gruffly, the charming veneer dropping for a moment. "That stunt he pulled…but it's normal for people to have a backlash after something like that."

Wesley knew that. In addition to punching his way through the media nightmare Tony had created, personally calling Reina (Tony's last nanny), and arranging for her to come tend to Tony while he recovered, and keeping close tabs on Tony, Wesley had read up on responses to traumatic events. He probably knew more than Obadiah acted like he knew.

"But that's why I wanted to talk to you," he said, turning around with a tired smile once again in place. "I need you to talk to Tony. He won't listen to me, no matter what I say. I know this whole thing messed him up, and he's got to be spooked about weapons after those lunatics…anyway, please, James, talk to him. This will pass after a few months, then business as usual for him. Don't let Tony ruin all of this before he evens out."

Wesley's duties were to solve and prevent problems for Tony Stark. Most often, it meant cleaning his image, providing damage control. So far, that had meant protecting the company's interests as well. But as far as Wesley could see, a company with the power and money and influence to switch over from weapons to clean energy was far less pressing than a man struggling and without a single soul to find comfort in.

"Yes, sir," Wesley said, giving Obadiah a smooth smile. "I will talk to Mr. Stark."

The smile dropped from his face before he left the office.

"JARVIS, please pull up Mr. Stark's agenda for the week," Wesley told his phone. He sat in front of his computer, reviewing the files Rhodes had sent him on Tony's rescue, now that they had been cleared by a myriad of government agencies.

"Of course, sir," he responded. Wesley kept his attention on his computer as he waited for the schedule.

Tony had been found in the desert, walking around by himself. They had only discovered him because the area had been flagged for terrorist activity and had lit up for no explanation. The only irregularity was that Tony had been found far outside of the predicted walking distance—

"Sir, it does not seem that Ms. Potts has scheduled anything of importance for the week."

"What?"

Wesley sat back from his computer, frowning as he checked the screen for himself. It was hauntingly bare, consisting only of basic appointments with Tony's physical trainer and Reina's daily check in at the mansion. Pepper's schedule lay beside it, her event tiles a neat orange stack next to Tony's sparse green ones. Hers mirrored Wesley's own schedule; meetings with board members, clients, prestigious (and more importantly, friendly) reporters, heads of departments.

He scrolled down to the next month and found that Tony was tentatively scheduled for a meeting with some government agent. Most of the government agencies had fallen away after the first week of Tony being recovered. Maybe this Agent Coulson was just slow on the uptake. Very, very slow.

"JARVIS, did I receive anything from Ms. Potts or Mr. Stark saying that they were reducing his schedule?"

"Not that I'm aware of, sir."

Wesley considered a moment, then gave a long sigh through his nose.

"JARVIS, please call Ms. Potts."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replied, and in a few moments, Pepper was on the phone.

"He didn't want to do anything," she said after Wesley asked. "I told him what that would mean, but he said…he said that Obadiah advised him to 'lay low'."

"That sounds…most inconvenient."

"Tell me about it," Pepper sighed.

"Is he making a point because we didn't support his motion to stop weapon production?"

"I…don't know. Whenever I stop by, he's busy with something, so I'm hoping it is. Once he's done with the latest project or sulking, which ever happens first, then we'll find out."

"Thank you, Ms. Potts," Wesley said, then hung up. He took off his glasses and tapped one of the arms against his chin.

Tony sulking was not a good thing, for anyone.

Wesley pulled into the driveway of the Stark Mansion, noting Obadiah's Bentley already situated near the front. He walked into the mansion, giving Pepper a nod as she appeared from the kitchen. Obadiah was playing on the piano.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered to Wesley.

"Has he said the results of the meeting?"

"No, but—"

"But he brought pizza," Wesley said, eying the pie on the coffee table. "And Mr. Stark knows he's here?"

"I was just about to tell him."

Wesley nodded, and waited as Pepper disappeared downstairs to tell Tony of his guests. An alarming crash sounded from beneath the floor while Pepper was gone, but she appeared several moments later, reassuring both Wesley and Obadiah that nothing important was broken. Tony appeared shortly after, making everything go from tense to sour.

Wesley's jaw ticked when Obadiah revealed that the board wanted to file an injunction against Tony. Not a word. Not a word had been said to Wesley, and everything passed through him. He narrowed his eyes.

"Mr. Stark, if I might—" he began, walking toward Tony as the man retreated to the stairs.

"Can't, busy," Tony said, mouth full of pizza as he stalked down to his workshop. Wesley stopped at the mouth of the stairway.

"You know, in many ways, Tony's far ahead of the curve," Obadiah sighed, coming to stand next to Wesley. The pizza box in his hand felt like a slap. "But I doubt he'll ever stop being a fussy two-year-old."

Wesley looked at the man, ironing out his distaste before Obadiah turned to him.

"This would be a kick in the teeth for anyone," he said delicately, looking back at the stairs.

"I suppose," Obadiah said, and gave a thin smile.

Tony was not supposed to be at the firefighter's benefit. Wesley had not gotten the details (so frightfully little information reached him, these days), but whether it was because of the board's hardening feelings or if it really was best for Tony's health to stay out of the cameras' way, Tony had not been issued an invitation. Wesley had prepared himself for when Tony found out after the party (there was honestly no way Tony kept track of so much as the day of the week), but he had not expected his employer to sweep into the ballroom with a tuxedo and a confident smile. He should have, though. He really, really should have.

Wesley watched from the other side of the room as he spoke to Agent Coulson, the spook that had been hanging around the company so often these days, and then caught sight of Pepper. Pepper Potts was an attractive woman, and though she had always erred on the side of efficient rather than pretty, her inherent beauty had always been there.

Tony, it seemed, had just noticed.

Wesley sighed, and excused himself from his conversation to go get a scotch.

The two of them danced, drawing all sorts of looks as all of the points tallied against the two of them. Tony's womanizing. Pepper's attractiveness. Tony being her boss. Pepper's dress not having a back. Tony looking half-ready to pounce. Pepper looking like she wasn't entirely sure she'd stop him. Thankfully, the two of them left the dance floor before Wesley had to intervene for everyone's sake.

Wesley finished his scotch, contemplating how he might point out to Tony that his presence was potentially throwing gasoline on a slightly calmed forest fire. He was about to approach Tony when a reporter from Vanity Fair appeared and started stabbing Tony with accusations and a polite smile. At this point, Wesley extricated himself from a group of people, determined to stop this whole thing before it turned very, very bad and very, very public.

Tony stalked to the door, the pretty reporter at her heels. Wesley managed to intercept him before they left the hall.

"Mr. Stark," Wesley called, voice that delicate mix of calm and granite that he had mastered so long ago. Tony didn't respond at first, but then turned abruptly to face Wesley. The reporter hovered for a moment, eager to hear what Wesley had to say, but quickly back away at Wesley's icy glare.

"Wesley," Tony grit out, hand clenched tight around a stack of photos. Wesley counted his breaths, dreading the idea of having to deal with some trashy scandal with everything in upheaval.

"Mr. Stark, I must advise—"

"No, I'm done with people telling me what needs to be done," Tony snapped. Wesley gave a smile for the people around them, and gestured that they leave the ballroom. The reporter hesitantly followed, but retained a respectful distance.

"What did she say?"

"She told me what the hell's really going on here," Tony practically growled. He thrust the pictures at Wesley. They showed slaughtered villagers. Ragtag fighters with heavy weaponry. Stark technology.

He dragged in a breath. Tony had told him. Tony had said it the day he had come back. Terrorists had Stark weapons. But seeing the evidence, seeing the corpses of people and animals and vicious looking men carting around millions of dollars of death…

It was not a pleasant sight, for a number of reasons.

"Did you know about this?" Tony asked, the words a cold whisper. Wesley looked up at Tony, shocked at the accusation.

"No, sir, I didn't."

"Did you?"

"I didn't."

"I need to talk to Obadiah," Tony said, turning around and stalking toward Obadiah, who was still speaking to reporters on the front steps.

"Mr. Stark," Wesley called, ignoring the reporter edge around him to follow Tony. Wesley stood at the top of the stairs, watching Tony demand answers from Obadiah. Obadiah looked annoyed, smiled, took a picture with Tony. Then he walked away, jagged arrogance battling his irritation.

Wesley let out a slow breath as Tony stood still on the stairs, and the reporter slowly returned to the ballroom.

He was supposed to manage any catastrophe. But he hadn't prepared for this.

Pepper sounded strained when she called.

"James, please come to the mansion," she said, clearly fighting for control. In the background, Tony could be heard cursing at Dum-E.

"What is it?" he asked, taking a sharp turn to take the exit to Tony's mansion.

"I can't—it's not—just please come, quickly. I can't...I'm not sure what to do with any of this."

"I understand. I'll be there in ten minutes," he said. Pepper breathed out a thank you, and hung up.

"JARVIS," Wesley said, making his phone light up again.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please, tell me what Mr. Stark's physical condition is."

There was a slight pause as his phone's remote system conferred with the main one. "From what I can gather from the mansion's system, Mr. Stark does not appear to have any intoxicants in his system, nor any injuries to speak of. An abnormal level of adrenaline—"

"Alright, thank you, JARVIS." Wesley sighed through his nose. He had no idea what to expect.

Wesley just stared when he walked into the workshop. The finely shattered glass was the first thing he noticed, but quickly vanished from his mind. He honestly had nothing to say at the sight of a suit of armor perched neatly in the corner. Wesley's stomach curled itself into thorny knots as he combined the strain in Pepper's voice, Tony's penchant for being flamboyantly destructive, and the potential a mechanized suit of armor presented.

Pepper was standing, fidgeting, actually, while Tony was sprawled at his desk, a green smoothie in hand.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here," Pepper breathed, walking toward him.

"Why did you call him, I told you not to call him," Tony said quietly as she walked past. Then he turned and gave Wesley a big smile, clapping his hand together and popping out of his desk.

"Jimaroo, you're here," he said, like he could bullshit his way through this.

"You didn't want Ms. Potts to call me?" Wesley asked, snapping his eyes to Tony's face. Tony gave a one shouldered shrug, while Pepper sighed. Wesley looked back at the suit.

"Ms. Potts, may I please speak to Mr. Stark alone?" he asked, not looking at her. Pepper hesitated, looking at Tony.

"No, Pep, I'd really prefer it if you stayed, you know, play ref," Tony said. He hid his apprehension well, but his typical cockiness pricked at Wesley's skin.

"Please," Wesley ground out. Pepper stepped toward the door.

"I…I should probably call to arrange…something," she said, casting a helpless look at the suit in the corner.

Tony stood quietly, waiting for Wesley's condemnation. The vague nervousness had disappeared, leaving him defiant. Wesley ignored him for a moment, walking to the suit. It looked slightly worn, with scratches on the glossy red and gold plating. Slightly worn with bullet holes. It was beautiful, though. Beautiful and imposing and very, very Tony.

"What does it do?" he said quietly. Tony sighed.

"What do you think."

Wesley's jaw ticked. He stared up at the suit, this perverse creation that defied Tony's edict of peace. It had taken time to create. It had probably been the only thing he had been working on since his return.

"You didn't call me," Wesley said, staring at the intimidating mask.

"What?"

"You didn't call me." Wesley turned to face Tony, now able to keep his voice level.

Tony shrugged again. "I didn't think I needed to. You were busy running the company clearly no one wants me to be a part of, I was just tinkering and—"

"Tinkering," Wesley repeated, broken glass in his words. "Tinkering. This is what you're calling tinkering?"

He flung his hand back at the suit, then checked himself.

"You didn't call me," Wesley said again, making his voice slow, because that was the only thing he could say without losing his mind.

"Why is that so important?!"

"Because you always call me!" he yelled, throwing caution down into the gutter next to Tony's common sense. "Always, without fail, I am your first call. You don't go off and make war machines without at least telling me! Mr. Stark, my function as your lawyer, as your fixer is to keep your image safe. I can't do that when you're running around behind my back with this."

Wesley cast a disgusted look at the used suit. He could barely imagine what it could do, but the only thing Tony knew how to make was extravagant destruction.

"I did call you," Tony said quietly, his eyes turning hard at Wesley's accusations.

"When?"

"When we were attacked," he said, stepping closer to Wesley. "When the escort was attacked, when those terrorists killed all of those people around me. I got out, I had a few seconds before they tried to blow me up with my own damn weapons. I tried to call you."

Wesley stared at him, the blunt, ragged honesty of Tony' swords stealing the indignation from his tongue.

"Mr. Stark, I—"

"I tried, Wesley. I jumped through the hoops everyone laid out for me like normal, and then I was thrown into a cave for three months, with a car battery attached to my chest to keep me from dying. And I didn't have you to tell me what to do. I didn't have you," Tony said, the words coming out as hard punches to Wesley's chest.

"You can't have expected me to be able to—"

"No, I don't! I didn't," he said, and he fell frightfully still. "I never expected you to come find me, not anyone. That's what I'm telling you. The only people I had to rely were myself and—and myself only. I had to get myself out of there, I had to look after me. And I'm not about to go back. I'm taking care of things now, I'm doing what I should have done before everyone I trusted thought it a good idea to sell my weapons to terrorists!" Tony slammed his hand down on his desk, making a few things clatter to the floor. Tony looked ragged and raw and desperate, begging for Wesley to understand, begging for someone to see what he was trying to do.

Wesley watched him for a long moment. And even though he was angry and worried and hatefully in awe of the thing before him, he was keenly aware of one fact. There was no way Tony Stark had said this to anyone. Not with that wild panic staring Wesley in the face.

He stalked past Tony, taking in the totaled sports car, the hole in the ceiling, the evidence of him building all of his frustration and loneliness and fear into something usable.

"You got yourself out," Wesley asked the window. "The suit…you used that? A prototype? You had a reactor for power."

"Yes," he said heavily. "I had a prototype suit."

Wesley worked his jaw, thinking about explosions in the desert and Tony found roaming the dunes alone.

"Do you wish to retain my services?"

"What?"

"Do you have need of me, now that you are accustomed to doing things alone?" He didn't mean for the words to come out with such bite.

Tony paused, glancing at the ground before looking back up. "I don't want you to quit."

Wesley let out a slow breath and turned to leave the workshop.

"You'll need to inform me of everything you've done in the suit, and what it's capable of, and who might have seen you."

"Rhodey knows," Tony called after him. "I had a bit of a run around with the Air Force."

Wesley didn't even try to silence his groan.

"Mr. Stark," Wesley said, pausing in the entry way. Tony was laying on the couch, feet propped up on the armrest.

"Yeah?" he asked, flicking through something on his tablet.

"I will be flying to Chicago for the next week," he said stiffly, taking Tony's acknowledgement as invitation to move closer. Things had been strained since Wesley had discovered the suit. Every time he interacted with Tony, images of suit schematics and off handed accounts of skirmishes in the Middle East kept flickering to the front of his mind.

"Yeah, be in bed by eight and your phone number's on the fridge in case I need to call you."

"Mr. Stark—" Wesley began, a reprimand on his tongue, but then he stopped. He didn't know why, the words just felt…wrong. He didn't know who he was speaking to anymore.

Tony looked around at Wesley's unfinished sentence. He watched him for a long moment, seeming on the verge of saying something himself as he sat upright on the couch. But then he shrugged.

"Phone call couldn't suffice?"

"I had some things that needed your signature," Wesley said. He moved forward and set a folder onto the coffee table. Tony glanced at the folder, but didn't open it. "They're standard documents. For the company."

"I'm still a part of that?"

"Your name is still on the building." Tony scoffed out a laugh at that, but stayed quiet.

Wesley hesitated a moment, then said, "If anything comes up…"

"I know, call you," Tony said, looking back down at his tablet.

"I'm available."

Tony kept swiping through screens. He didn't say anything as Wesley walked away.

"Wesley! Finally, I was worried I'd never reach you," Pepper gasped into the phone.

"I just returned from Chicago," Wesley said, his annoyance at having to fly publicly lost in the face of Pepper's fear. "What's wrong?"

"Please, you've got to get down to the company!" Pepper gasped into the phone. "Obadiah, he-he-he hired those terrorists to kill Tony!"

"What?"

"He's recreated Tony's suit and I think he's fighting Tony, but Tony's not responding—"

"Are you safe?" Wesley demanded, silently cursing the traffic. He couldn't tell what the road block was, it was after nine, there was no way the dregs of rush hour could be holding onto the city. There weren't any police lights indicating a crash—

An explosion appeared farther down on the highway. Wesley rolled down his windows to hear the grinding ripping scraping of metal on metal and people yelling. Men. Tony—

"I'm on the highway," he said shortly, maneuvering his way to the exit. Horns screamed at him as he scraped between the creep vehicles, crunching fenders and grinding off paint. "Tony and Obadiah are on the highway, they've stopped traffic."

"Oh no," she breathed, sounding on the verge of tears. "Tony—all those people—is there anything you can do?" she asked someone near her, then remembered Wesley on the phone. "Agent Coulson, he's here with a team, they're keeping me safe, but—"

"Stay with them," Wesley told her, speed edging closer and closer to ninety. "Do they have backup coming?"

"Uh, yes, and a clean up crew, but Wesley—"

"Pepper, it'll be fine. I'll be there in a few minutes—"

"Wesley, what about Tony?"

"It'll be fine," he promised her, smoothing his voice out as he recalled blueprints of the suit, flares and palm cannons and missiles and foot rockets. "Tony will be fine. Contact Lt. Colonel Rhodes and make sure the Air Force doesn't get involved. Ask Agent Coulson about their damage control. I'll be there soon. It'll be fine."

Wesley could see a trail of light and smoke as two things took off from the highway and sailed into the sky.

"Mr. Stark, I must insist you follow Agent Coulson's alibi."

"Yeah, but a body guard? Honestly, why would I give the suit to Joe Schmoe when I could wear it? The Bugle's gonna have this apart in seconds."

"No one important reads rags," Wesley said, consulting his phone. His schedule promised that the following week would be composed of lots of coffee and headaches.

"Pepper, talk to the man—"

"Tony," she said, but she had half a smile in her voice as she helped him with his suit jacket. Wesley cast a look at the two of them smiling at each other, and gave them three seconds.

"Mr. Stark," he said, locking his phone and stowing it in his suit, "please. The company cannot take any more media strain, and you…solitary cruises can't take place during media storms."

Tony looked at Pepper as she adjusted his pocket square. He murmured something Wesley couldn't hear, which earned a soft-eyed look from Pepper. She responded in an equally low voice, but Wesley distinctly caught the words 'we went up onto the roof' and 'you left me there'. Tony's expression of vaguely mortified panic was almost too much for Wesley's cool professionalism to bear.

"Mr. Stark, they're ready for you," some nameless agent said, and Tony quickly saw himself out of the room.

Wesley went to stand by Pepper to watch the address. Tony stepped up to the podium with his shoulders back and his head high, like nothing in the world bothered him.

"Do you think he'll do it?" Pepper asked, nerves making her voice a little higher. Wesley didn't respond, just narrowed his eyes as he watched Tony speak. His voice hitched and he stammered. Not good.

Rhodes leaned over to whisper something in his ear and Tony seemed to compose himself. He consulted his notes.

"Truth is…I am Iron Man."

For fuck's sake.