Hey guys! Ala here... I've had a little practice at writing some fanfics, and I thought I'd try and do one with chapters this time! I've got a whole story planned out, and I'm really excited to get it going... So let me know if you want more! :D

And a few reviews wouldn't hurt either... Let me know how I'm doing, how I can improve, yeah?

Oh, and Tony Stark and the rest of these guys don't belong to me. They're Marvel's awesome creations.

A Stark Realization

Chapter One: Broken Boots and Missed Calls

"Might I suggest altering your situation, sir?"

"Working on it, Jarvis."

"You might want to work faster."

"I know, just shut up."

"I'm just doing what I'm programmed to do, sir."

"Oh shi-"

Tony Stark was having a bad day. 'Day,' of course, was a relative term. Back home, in Malibu, it was just after midnight. Here, it was getting close to noon. But the bright sun and warm, dry air were less than comforting. Especially because currently, there was a blur of red and gold careening out of control through the too-blue sky surrounded by anti-aircraft shots exploding in the air.

The Iron Man suit had lost power to the jet situated in the left boot, courtesy of the first shot that had been fired. And unfortunately for Mr. Stark, he was currently inside said suit, and having a bad case of too many G's. Needless to say, he probably should have thought things through before pulling such a stunt. Planning was important – especially planning to expect the unexpected. Yes, even when the unexpected was a hail of ammo he hadn't seen since his father had told him about the weaponry he'd helped develop for World War II.

While his systems worked on righting his flight pattern, Tony had time to wonder just how the hell the terrorists had gotten their hands on not one, but twelve ("Acht-Achts," as the Germans referred to them, he recalled) German 88 mm FlaK guns. He thought about his trajectory and what would happen if he continued on it unchanged. And then Stark calculated just how much it'd hurt when he stopped, courtesy of the ground. The numbers didn't look good. He then decided such things didn't matter, because they weren't his weapons in the wrong hands, and he had more important things to think about than old war relics and vast amounts of pain.

The gyros built into the suit did their thing, and in mere seconds after the initial hit, he was back on course, albeit with only one boot-jet working. His speed had been significantly reduced, and it was taking a lot of work to simply remain in control of his flight. "This… Is a problem."

"Indeed, sir," Jarvis agreed. "You also have a phone call. Shall I take a voice message?"

"Uh. Yeah." Tony said flatly. "And while you're at it? Initiate calculation of probable escape strategies and turn on some Black Sabbath."

"You always have your priorities straight, Mr. Stark," Jarvis replied in his British tone, running a series of scenarios on the Heads-Up Display. Tony focused on the HUD, quickly ran a few numbers through his head, and started humming along to the heavy rock music, twisting and turning and dodging in the air. There was something about flying for your life to the edgy beats of one of your favorite bands that was inexplicably exhilarating.

It wasn't as much a problem of getting away as it was figuring out how he was going to get home. The armor had taken worse hits, and though he managed to escape the heavy barrage of large bullets, Stark had barely enough power to destroy the guns and land somewhere safe.

"This place isn't safe, sir," Jarvis quipped over the helmet's loudspeaker in an effort to bring to Tony's attention a number of potential enemies in the surrounding area. "Seven bogeys are moving around your current location, and the probability of them finding you before the repairs have been made are—"

"I don't need to know, Jarvis. We'll be up in running in just a few minutes, so let it go, alright?" Tony muttered, not taking the time to look up from his boot to give his discarded helmet a glare.

Jarvis, ' voice remained silent, as Tony assumed it would. When programming that computer, he put a bit of his own sardonic edge into the code, and often times he wondered why. Probably because I thought it'd be funny. Right. Funny. Ha-ha.

Not too long after his fight with Obadiah, Tony came to realize that a series of robotic arms being necessary to don the suit was less than efficient. So, he'd crafted a new model in a way that it would be somewhat collapsible. The result was that the suit would fit like puzzle pieces into an attaché case. In addition to that, he practiced putting the suit on with no outside help. The result? It became a lot easier to move around as Iron Man and fix problems on the fly. Both were necessary, because the 'bad guys' were getting smarter.

That being said, Tony had shed his helmet and gauntlets, as well as the broken boot. A million different ways to fix problems he kept finding with the suit came to mind as he worked, and each one was filed neatly away into his subconscious until he had a better time to think about them. Do something about the dexterity; having to remove half the suit for a repair wasn't the best idea in enemy territory. And if a few bullets could fracture the casings around the repulsor tech that powered the jets, then something needed to be tweaked.

Tony wiped at his forehead, only managing to push sweat and grime around instead of wipe it off. The skin-tight, black under armor he was wearing wasn't exactly Egyptian cotton. It didn't breathe at all. And in the unforgiving temperature of the desert and the beating down of the sun, the man was rapidly overheating. Time to rework the under-armor, genius. If you don't pass out from heat exhaustion and end up being captured by German wannabes who think a few old guns'll take out the Iron Man suit, that is. Because guess what? You pass out, and their thinking'll be right.

"Jarvis, remind me to redesign the under armor."

"The weather a little too warm for your tastes?"

"You could say that."

Despite the sand and overbearing heat, Tony had managed to repair the boot jet enough for it to regain most of its function. He'd initially thought it might not have been able to be done, and had to hand it to himself for thinking of putting a miniature tool kit into the armor. His hands ached, but at least he'd make it home. Stark checked his watch and groaned. Oh, he'd make it home alright, and just in time to be an hour late for work.

With the ease of hours of practice, Tony once more strapped himself into the remaining pieces of the Iron Man suit, ran a few necessary diagnostics, and wasn't happy with the results. There was no way he'd be flying straight to Malibu. He just didn't have the tools he needed to fix the suit for that extended period of flight. Instead, he'd have to stop at his mansion in Dubai, pack the suit up there, and fly back on one of his planes. That added another two or three hours to his ETA.

Pepper wasn't going to be happy.

Then again, with a private plane, at least he'd have time to sleep a little and get a very much-needed shower. And a drink. A very stiff drink. Maybe two.

It wasn't until Tony was sitting in his plane, showered and refreshed, with a tumbler of Scotch in his hand, did he remember the call he'd received in the middle of his plight. "Jarvis?"

"Sir?" The computer's suave voice sounded from the speakers integrated into the private jet's systems. Jarvis' upload had been an after-thought. The speakers were originally meant to blast a good beat, and lead those women he'd employed as stewardesses into 'loosening up' as Tony had so lightly put it in the past. Sadly, this trip he was making alone.

"Who called me?"

"Colonel James Rhodes."

Tony sighed, "Rhodey? I wonder what he wanted…" He raised his half-empty tumbler and sipped at the amber liquid. He hadn't talked to Rhodey in quite a while. They might have been friends as far as the definition went, but rarely did they contact each other. Tony was too busy with his own agenda – running his companies, re-engineering the armor, playing super-hero. Of course, he did a fine job of avoiding Nick Fury's constant badgering about his methods and certain choices – it cut into his leisure time. Parties and appearances were important too. Good publicity was a must. The action figures were just a bonus.

Colonel James Rhodes – Jim, or Rhodey to his circle of friends, also had his share of things to do. The man was, after all, a Colonel, and on top of that, he was on the Weapons Development roster with the US Air Force. In addition to his normal duties, he always seemed to be taking extra assignments, as he quite obviously missed the field. A soldier at heart, the man couldn't turn down a chance at some front-line action. That attitude had no doubt been what saved Stark's life those so many months earlier - a life that, as far as those who knew Tony personally, had taken a turn for the better.

Between the two schedules, it was a wonder that either of them had time to see each other at all. It used to be they would have "business meetings" which by definition of one Tony Stark, always meant briefly mentioning his newest improvements to current weaponry and a few hours thereafter of alcohol, music, and making Rhodey 'loosen up.' Often, Stark's stewardesses helped with the endeavor. They'd had practice.

With the removal of Stark Industries' weapons manufacturing, Rhodey and Tony had even less reason to make time for each other. No more business relationships meant no more business meetings. Even if the severe lack in military funding and contracts was doing less than good for his company. Pepper had convinced Tony to let him at least finish the contracts he currently had, and he in turn made her keep a very, very close eye on where his weapons were being shipped. It was an uneasy compromise at best, but one necessary to keep Stark Industries afloat.

It was tough going.

"Shall I play the message for you?" Jarvis asked after a while.

Stark rolled his eyes, "No, I just want it to sit there. Let the suspense build."

"And you said I had problems with sarcasm," the computer's British voice drawled, his tone somewhat amused.

"Tone? Hey, it's Rhodey. I really wish you'd answer your phone sometimes. I don't know what you're doing now, but I really need to talk to you." There was a pause and a little burst of static. Rhodes had put his hand over the receiver of the phone, and by the muffled sounds that had recorded, it seemed he was talking to someone else who was there. More static. "Look, it's about this project I'm on. Tony, it's important. Call me back. Sooner than later." The message ended.

In the silence that followed, Stark raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and gave a little "Huh." That had been a strange message. Either Rhodey was trying to contact him when he wasn't supposed to, or the man was really, really busy. Either scenario would be a decent reason for the Colonel to not have tried to reach him again. "Jarvis, make a note to have Pepper remind me to call Rhodey when we get in."

"You always choose the most simple solution, don't you?" The computer replied with a digitized sigh.

Stark simply grinned and raised his glass. "You bet."

Alright! That's the end of chapter one! Look forward to chapter two pretty soon... That is, if you guys end up liking this. XD;; Here's to hoping!