"You know, this isn't the worst kidnapping attempt I've been through," I said consolingly to the man trying his hardest to put me up for ransom. Not that it would work, of course. Even now, helicopters and trucks filled with agents would be pulling up around the building, ready to come in with guns blazing the second that they knew I wasn't going to be hit in the crossfire.
"Shut up!" the man with the gun barked back. Instead of doing the probably-smart thing- which would be to listen to the man with the automatic weapon- I, the unarmed teenaged girl that I am, rolled my eyes in contempt.
"Please. You should have realized that this was a bad idea from the start." And that wasn't because of the agents ready to pour in through the cracks in the woodwork. That was because, in my family, genius was hereditary. I was putting together computers smarter than this guy at age seven. I'd been overseeing research and development in the company for almost two years now because no one could do it better. And, to put a cherry on top of that, I'd been taking martial arts classes since I was eight.
"I told you to-"
Time seemed to slow down as the armed man took one of his hands off of his gun so that he could strike at me. That wasn't his first mistake- that would probably be standing so close to me- but it was one of his biggest yet. I dropped lower to the floor, dodging the slap with ease, and swept my leg out to catch the back of his knees before he could realize that I was moving. As soon as he went down, I had grabbed the knife from his belt and had it pressed against his throat, the gun sliding away from his clawing hand.
"If it makes you feel better, this still isn't the worst kidnapping attempt." I couldn't hold back the smirk but I didn't care anymore. I tossed my hair over my shoulder, careful to keep his hands pinned, as I raised my voice. "Any day now, Happy!"
The doors burst open and, as I predicted, a dozen armed guards came pouring in through the doors. The only one to come in barring any serious armor, though, was the only one I cared to look for. Happy, dressed in his usual suit, had his gun leveled and eyes piercing the dark warehouse looking for any threat but the seriousness in his eyes faded into irritation when he spotted me with my wannabe assailant.
"Took you long enough. I was about to ask this man if he wanted to play Chinese checkers," I said with more than a little mirth as guards took over in pinning down the man. "If you didn't catch the others, don't bother. Mr. Mastermind over here had them try to clear an exit but they probably rabbitted as soon as they heard the choppers. Hey Jim. Chuck! Eric, how's the wife? Is Jamie still teething?"
Happy grabbed me by the arm, leading me through the body guards. I greeted each one that I recognized- which wasn't very many considering the riot get up- and invented names for a number that I didn't. None of them seemed to mind, though, already used to my antics.
As soon as we had cleared the guards, Happy pulled me aside roughly.
"You can't keep doing this, Stevie."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Next time I'll make sure to put any future kidnapping attempts on your calendar." The grip on my arm tightened but not enough to be painful. "Look, I didn't tell the idiot to try his luck. Can't we all just celebrate that I not only managed to tell you exactly where they were taking me, but also that I disarmed my opponent with little trouble and was in a position to walk out of there myself?"
"Stephanie." Damn, it must be serious if he was willing to call me that.
It was no big secret that I hated my name. It was one of the only things I had from my mother, a woman who only used me to get what she wanted: her fifteen minutes of fame and quite a bit of money from dear old dad. My dad's side of the family wasn't exactly a close bunch, but to feel abandoned like that? I was four when she left, never looking back and never to come again. Granted, I doubted that she wanted a kid from a one-night stand. Dad didn't either but he at least knew what it was like for a kid to grow up with absentee parents. He didn't exactly want me, but he always tried to make me feel wanted. I think I've grown on him, though, especially as I've gotten older. Dad called me Stevie.
Not that that matters much now.
"Happiness." That wasn't his real name, of course, but it was the only straight answer I could give without letting him win the name game.
"There is too much riding on you right now for you to just let yourself go like this! What would your father say?"
"He'd let me do what I want. But no one seems to be follow his wishes, otherwise all of you guys wouldn't be storming a deserted warehouse, you'd be combing through caves looking for him!"
"It's been a month."
"Don't act like he's already dead. He's not."
"Stevie-"
"He's not." I was certain. After all, there would be a lot of notoriety to be gained from killing my father. Whoever has him, they haven't killed Tony Stark just yet.
James Rhodes, my Uncle Jamie, came back just over a month ago with news of the attack. Out of all of his men, only he and two others made it home alive from the ambush that took Dad away. But even though I went to the military funerals out of respect for my dad's protection detail, I couldn't help but stare at the families left behind and feel empty.
I didn't cry, knowing at that point that I'd probably be burying my own dad soon. I didn't feel overwhelming sadness or defeat. If I felt anything at all, it was frustration that someone had dared touched one of the only people in the world who truly gave a damn for me. Sure, the newspapers and the magazines liked a pretty face to put on their covers. I was the 21st century Rosie the Riveter. But they didn't care what happened to me, just my name.
I was frustrated because everyone acted like it was a done deal. The terrorists had him so we were all supposed to go home and act like it was too late. Even Obadiah closed the book on Tony Stark. At the one month mark with no word from Dad, we had a glaringly public memorial service. At it, dozens of people spoke about how much the world will miss Tony Stark. Hardly anyone spoke about how they would miss him, or how he was more than just a genius who designed weapons of mass destruction.
"Good morning, Miss Stark."
I'm not sure exactly how I 'inherited' my dad's assistant, but I didn't fight it. I figured that it helped her more than it helped me to be kept busy fulfilling childish demands so I kept them coming.
"Morning, Ginny." Another nickname I never quite got rid of. She started working for my dad when I was ten- old enough to recognize her as another girl in my dad's life and a young enough to still be looking for that mother figure. Once I realized that I was still Dad's number one, things got a lot smoother between us and now, almost eight years later, we were friends despite the fact that she was an employee of the company.
"I have papers for you to sign. People Magazine called, looking to do a spread on your position in the conflict in the Middle East." She continued listing what was required of me for the day as she passed me my drink of choice, a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a double shot of espresso. I accepted the mug from her, nodding slowly.
"Bring the papers to my lab in twenty minutes. I'll sign them there. Call People, tell them that I'll do a spread only if they agree to allow me to read the article before it's printed. Tell Girl Scouts that I'm not interested in a sponsorship, and that I haven't been since I was five and a half. If Happy seriously tries to get me a personal bodyguard again, I'm going to personally handcuff him to a chair and the babysitter. And if you see Obadiah in Dad's office, could you kindly remind him that until I say he's so, that office is property of Tony Stark? No touchy-touchy?"
"I'll see to that," Pepper said with an amused half-smile.
"Great." I took another sip of the near-scalding liquid.
Time to get to work.
It was weird to wander around Stark Industries now because I wasn't just the office brat anymore, not that I had been one for long. I used to follow at Dad's heels as he took me around, introducing me to the top scientists and theorists of the day. They were my biggest teachers, not the professors at any of the fancy prep schools I'd gotten myself in and out of as soon as possible.
I hadn't followed anyone around for years at this point and now, with Dad all but gone in the eyes of the company, I was the boss. It was strange seeing so many people I'd known since childhood, who already generally deferred to my intelligence, now deferring to my leadership. It was like the company was already mine.
"Stephanie." The voice sounded surprised but I knew its owner was probably watching me on the cameras for the past ten minutes. I turned, putting a smile on my face.
"Uncle Obie," I greeted. He was the one person that could get away with calling me by my full name, even if it did leave a bad taste in my mouth. He was one of Grandpa's friends, and therefore had exclusive rights to not use nicknames.
"What are you doing here? I thought you would have been at Cornell by now."
"I rescheduled the date of the lecture to next month. There are some things I want to get finalized here first."
"Like what?" Obadiah was always so interested in my personal projects. Sometimes it was nice to feel that recognition, but I hadn't felt a need to make Uncle Obie proud in quite some time. He's made some decisions, especially since Dad's been gone, that I don't agree with. We just don't see eye to eye anymore.
"Just a few personal projects. Nothing world changing." I actually hoped it would be. Recently I had stepped the focus of my designs away from renewable energy and revitalizing deadened biomes. It had become a point of interest in the tabloids that one Stark destroyed while the other created. At the moment, I was already putting new varieties of photovoltaic films and redesigning vertical-axis wind turbines for dorm and apartment buildings. In areas with a high population density such as colleges and cities, having a space efficient way to gain and moderate energy use was invaluable.
I wasn't just gears and sprockets, though; now I was focusing more attention on medicine. I had written and read so many thesis papers on the theory behind cellular growth, especially as it applies to leukemic cancers, that I was hoping to isolate the malformed cells for individual study. I wasn't exactly looking to cure cancer at this point, but I was looking to breaking down an isolated cell to study the specific abnormalities with each malformed cell to cross examine leukemic cancers for similarities or patterns of degeneration.
"Maybe I'll come down later." I hoped he wouldn't.
"Maybe. I've got to go, Ginny's waiting for me in the lab. See you around!"
"Yes... I'll see you later."