Crossover with Ironman. Tony Stark meets an interesting young man at an MIT convention. That young man is none other than...Edward Elric
A/n – I started this fic years ago, and just recently returned to it. I honestly never expected to return here on , but after a long (looooong) hiatus, and a subsequent falling-back-in-love with this work, here I am! This is an Ironman/Fullmetal Alchemist crossover (and my baby). It starts out in Tony's POV and will be switching back and forth. Later chapters are mostly Ed. Please enjoy!
Something out of Contact
Prelude
The trouble with being a gunslinger-turned philanthropist was that things generally came back to bite you in the ass. It made you wonder if there would ever be a time when the past didn't come back to haunt you. But that was the funny thing about time—people had a tendency to hold onto it even when it was long overdue…
"Please, Mr. Stark. We need you there."
Tony Stark could imagine the slightly robust, middle-aged, red-haired woman adjust her glasses in that nervous fashion he remembered from when she was merely a professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It was a habit he had always disliked—a habit that led him to believe that perhaps Marilee Jones wasn't as qualified as the faculty at MIT cared to think. But, he mused, she wasn't his dean and so he didn't really care. He just wanted to be through with this call as quickly as possible—he had better things to be doing than negotiating his appearance at the MIT Time Traveler's Convention.
"Really. We? Who needs me exactly?" The woman on the other line sighed.
"Half the university—along with half the world—thinks this convention is a waste of time. Child's play. Like something out of Contact. But if the famous Tony Stark was there…"
"Marilee, I have a million things on my plate. Attending the Time Traveler Convention is last on the list. There's a reason everyone thinks it's a load of crap."
"Mr. Stark, please." The woman was growing desperate, Tony could tell. She would huff and puff for a bit, in which he would antagonize her, and then she would mention the MIT Commencement Speech he had missed last June. And he would give in, because that's just who he had become. Soft. Tony Stark had gone soft. Mentally, he sighed—ah, well, might as well save a few precious minutes. The new render for his suit was nearly complete and like a magnetic pull in the back of his mind—very distracting, very hard to resist—like a new toy on Christmas Day.
"Alright, Marilee. I'll go. But if there's going to be media, expect sunglasses and a wig. I don't want the world thinking I'm into that sci-fi crack."
"I'll try and keep the cameras off you."
"You do that. Or Hogan will, in which case they'll need medical treatment."
He hung up, letting out the sigh he'd kept bottled up before. He rolled his head back, stretching first one side of his neck, than the other. A few minor cracks and he straightened, shrugging his shoulders. Marilee Jones, black cloud of the morning (and on the upcoming 7th of May), had successfully been pushed to the back of his mind. Now, about that new suit…