Author's Notes:

I gotta admit: I've never been an Iron Man fan in my life - well, not until recently, at least.

The whole thing started with New Avengers and Civil War, not even two years ago. You see, it's a very interesting thing indeed, because, before that, I was convinced I actually hated Iron Man. Being mostly a DC fan, my knowledge of the Marvel Universe barely covered the X-Men (I faithfully read the mutants saga for years before finally giving up on them about five years ago), and I looked at most Marvel heroes- with the honorable exception of Bendis's Daredevil - as just naive concepts that were still trapped in those old, old 60's version of colorful heroes. The whole idea of Iron Man, for example, I considered silly; and it puzzled me that this character survived until now.

Well, summarizing the whole thing, I couldn't care less about Iron Man.

But then... well, then came Civil War, and the New Avengers. I liked guys like Spiderman and Luke Cage (mostly because they've been around one of my favorite Marvel characters of all times, Daredevil), and I thought that a team that had them, plus Wolverine and Spiderwoman, would have to be good. And, well, it was. New Avengers was fun to read, and much less complicated (in a good way) than the JLA, for example. Not so much heavy drama, good stories, good art. I enjoyed the ride. And, as a side effect, I started to pay attention to the character of Tony Stark.

You see, I've always been a big Batman fan - and most definitely still am -, and it would be silly to deny that Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne have much in common. But, you see, if you look at Iron Man in search of a Marvel equivalent of Batman, you'll be disappointed. No, not disappointed: you'll be surprised. Although with much in common - rich, brilliant, bossy, complicated -, they've also developed, in all these years, very differently. Where Batman turned into a very introspective character, Tony Stark became... well, a man of the world.

Not to say that Iron Man isn't a character with many layers; he is. However, and Civil War has the merit of showing it, Tony Stark is a very out there kind of guy, and one that has transcendent his role of masked hero in a very particular way. Not only a symbol, but a man of actions. In or out of his armor, Tony Stark, always with his mind set into the business of saving the world...

Approving his ways or not (and sometimes I don't, but I guess that's just the point), I've come to really like this character - this must have something to do with the good work of writers like Warren Ellis, Charlie and Daniel Knauf, and Brian Michael Bendis -, and I feel that, now more then ever, there are many, many things to be said about him, and many stories to be told. What will Marvel do about it, I don't know, but I felt that it would be fun to write a story featuring Iron Man, and, so far, it has indeed been a good experience.

About this story in particular, I just would like to say that, although it's not terribly original, I hope it can be interesting. Obviously, the story is set years in the future from now - Tony as Director of SHIELD, registration, Maya Hansen... if you read it, you know the deal. This, I hope, will provide a few references that will be interesting for actual fans and readers, but it also gives me freedom to be less worried about storyline, and stuff like that. And it might allow that those people who don't read comics, but like the character, enjoy a story that is not so worried about details from Iron Man's history. I'm hoping, however, I'll be able to be faithful to the vital things that have made Tony Stark, well, Tony Stark.

That's all, I guess. I hope you enjoy the story, and I'm hoping for reviews. Have a good reading!

AliaAtreidesBr

P.S.: If it is not obvious enough, then I'll say it... Characters from Marvel Universe don't belong to me, but to, believe it or not, Marvel! And, of course, they didn't give me permission to use these characters, but, since I make no money of this story, I'm hoping they don't mind me borrowing them.

"If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!"

Rudyard Kipling, in his poem "If"

PART I

Five years old: Iron Man dad

Tony could remember having quite a few tough nights in his life, but, in all honestly, he had never been through one that had demanded so much of him – and still did.

It was almost midnight when all started.

Maya was deeply asleep, her head resting over his chest while they laid on their bed. An ordinary, uneventful Saturday night; something indeed so rare in his daily life that his wife thought he was joking when he suggested they went out for dinner, just the two of them. The shock over, Maya had been more than happy to oblige Tony's invitation, and they spend the following couple hours talking, laughing, eating Thai food and drinking wine – her, not him. They had a great time: he was actually pleasantly surprised to notice that, when they finally left the restaurant, he hadn't thought about work for a single second, even forgetting to connect to the SHIELD's database of vigilance to check on things, like he habitually did every hour.

The wine did wonders for Maya's humor and disposition, and she barely waited for Tony to close the apartment's door before sliding out of her dress and pulling him to bed. He didn't need an invitation, and gladly accepted the way she took over the situation – he was so tired of always being the man in charge in just about everything else in his life. Disposed of his clothes, he closed his eyes and relaxed, doing his best to focus in nothing but his wife's tender kisses over the skin of his chest and stomach, her gentle, skillful fingers caressing his thighs, her soft body over his.

So relaxed and focused he was that he missed the first signs.

It was only then, with Maya sleeping, that he reconnected with the database… and found out it was a mess.

"Tony?" She sat on the bed, the silk sheet doing a poor job in covering her nudity. "Are you going out?"

He was already in his armor, and the wide open window that lead to the terrace was an obvious sign of what was about to follow. Still, he did his best to sound calm and secure, hoping that the reassurance in his voice would keep him from betraying his true feelings.

"Yes." He sighed, but the armor played its part by concealing it. "There's an emergency… a situation."

"Situation? What sort of…?"

"Nothing to worry about, I hope." That was a lie, plain and simple, but he was pretty sure that the truth wouldn't be very helpful either – if anything, it would only be a source of preoccupation for her. "Look, we have problems in the Helicarrier, and I have to see about that…"

"Now?"

"I'm afraid so."

She looked down to her own naked body, so disappointed and frustrated that Tony wished he could just let go of everything to simply remain there and console her. Things weren't so simple, though.

"Do you think you'll be back soon?" She stared straight at his mask, searching for his eyes. "I was hoping we could talk about… well…"

"About what?"

"It doesn't matter. We talk when you get back."

"Alright." He examined her features, thinking of how much she differed from the woman that, half an hour ago, he was, over that very same bed, making love to; that woman, he recalled, was passionate in her gestures, secure of herself, her eyes darting in desire, her skin flushing under his touch. This woman… this woman was naked in every sense; her body and her eyes, windows to her inner thoughts, to the musings that rolled in her mind. Before, she had given herself unrestrictedly. Now, she retreated to a place he always felt it was so hard for him to reach. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Good."

"Yes." Clearing his throat, he faked a casual tone to say what he had been planning to ever since the conversation began. "I'm leaving you and Stevie under surveillance…"

"Surveillance?"

"SHIELD Agents. Nothing to worry about…"

"Bodyguards? Tony, what's going on?!?"

"Look", he wished to hold her hand between his, but, considering he was wearing a thick armor of cold metal, he didn't much see the point; "it's a precaution, that's all."

She didn't answer; her eyes glanced coldly at him, a look he knew too well: a silent disapproval, and anger flashing behind her eyes. She thinks I'm lying, he realized.

"Honestly, Maya; I don't know what's happening, and I will only know more if I get to the Helicarrier. You know that, you've worked in SHIELD... and you know you'll be in good hands."

"I know, Tony." Her tone was dry and harsh, but she at least didn't seem to disagree.

"Okay." Already hovering a few inches over the floor, he still hesitated. He needed, he desperately needed to leave, but something anchored him there; not a specific thing, but a whole bunch of small things. Images clanged to his mind: to kiss Maya's front, to caress Stevie's head. How long since he had done that?

"Go, Tony." There wasn't anger in her voice; there was conformation, and her attempt of showing, in the best way she could under the circumstances, support. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Always", he said before turning around and leaving through the window.

Mom said he was a good boy for being so patient, but Stevie knew that was just one of those things she would say to keep him calm.

"You're such a brave boy, Stevie...! Such a brave boy...!" She held him close to her body, her arms tight around him as she carried him through the elaborated net of subterranean tunnels that would take them away from home. "Daddy will be so proud..."

Stevie said nothing, aware that his mother's words were not meant to be a topic of conversation, but rather something to distract them from the frightfulness of the situation. In truth, Stevie wasn't sure about what was going on - it was bad, he knew this much -, and so he retreated to a state of mute observation.

Just minutes ago he was soundly asleep, safe and secure in his own bed; he was even dreaming, dreaming about strange things: a man with red eyes, and another one that wore a very unusual metal mask. In his dream, the boy remembered, the men were talking... talking about something big, about something bad. They planned to do bad things - things that would hurt many people, that would destroy many places, that would harm familiar faces... even his dad.

He woke up willing to cry and call for his mother, but there was no time: he opened his eyes to a world of fire and destruction.

Through the curtains of his bedroom's window he saw red shadows of the burning city outside; flames and smoke curling around his father's building, and sudden explosions that flashed outside like fireworks in the Fourth of July. The walls trembled. The floor trembled. There were only distant sounds: glass and walls in his dad's building were soundproof, he knew that much. This is the safest place in the world, dad used to say. Nothing can hurt you in our home. I promise.

Stevie left his bed and approached the window; the night shone, so much fire and light that he had to protect his eyes from the brightness outside. Planes flew. Jets, he knew, S.H.I.E.L.D. Jets like he had seen so many times when he visited dad's office; they flew so low, so close, so near his window that he figured... with the window open, he could even reach his arm and touch them.

He touched the glass instead, feeling the usual warmth of the controlled temperature environment. Things down there, in the city, looked messy, chaotic - his father hated when the city was like that, and Stevie could even picture him right now: stern, serious, frowning and dictating orders in a whirlpool of words.

The boy, however, couldn't help but to think that it was a beautiful, beautiful night.

Reaching for the electronic lock, he did the same thing he had, in secret, done so many times before. His hand over the hidden circuit, he could easily picture it in his mind, much like he had pictured his dad seconds ago, or dreamed about those strange people. It was simple; so simple, and yet, so special. He knew, he knew for sure that people would make a big deal out of it, and he knew his parents would worry. He had seen - on TV, on the newspapers, in the conversations mom and dad had when they thought he wasn't listening - how ordinary people felt about special people, and he wasn't very anxious to see it happening to himself.

He knew he shouldn't do it, but the city outside... he felt attracted to it. He wanted more than just see it: he wanted to feel it. Listen, smell it, touch it.

He had to.

Click, sang the lock.

And the window's glass, at the slightest touch, slid open in perfect complicity.

A brutal wave of hot air invaded the room, the distinct smell of burning fire and dense smoke, befuddling, high-pitched, turbulent sounds, an indistinct commotion; light and brightness, an abrupt conflagration... and a jet. One of the jets, the roaring voice of its engine, so close, so close, so fast, a continuous, gorgeous lightning and its inseparable thunder.

He was pushed back a few steps, his eyes suddenly forced shut; too much, it was too much...! Noises, feelings, lights: his mind was overwhelmed by an uninterrupted flow of images, faces, voices. Pain and torment, panic, fear... there was so much of it outside, and, now, there was so much of it inside - inside his home, inside his room, and within himself.

"Mom!", he screamed.

Raising his eyes to the window again, he saw the purple sky turning red; there were flashes and explosions all around, and, down bellow, the affliction of some. Red, red, the sky turned red, a crimson night, and the walls and floor shook like they had never before.

And he saw the jet, a huge, real-life jet, a wing cracked like it was made of paper, the plane spinning and falling, and it could be nothing but a giant toy tossed away by a very angry child - and yet, it wasn't.

The aircraft swung out of control, in what seemed an endless collection of flips; it got closer, closer, closer, so near, so perfectly aimed to his bedroom's window that the boy couldn't help wondering if it wasn't on purpose. It was coming that way, he realized, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

Stevie closed his eyes, and waited for that final moment.

He woke up in the darkness, all so silent and calm that he again wondered if it wasn't all a dream - dreams within dreams, it had happened to him before.

"Hi, baby...!"

His mother's voice was a sobbing whisper, his words said in a mellow, beholden tone. She held him near her chest, his head resting on her forearm, much like she would do when he was no more than a toddler. Her face was wet, her eyes teary beyond what the darkness could conceal.

"You're okay, honey... you're okay..." Lowering her head to kiss her son's forehead, she allowed herself a moment of release: sobs grew in her chest, and she freed those incarcerated emotions out of her. The sobs evolved into a persistent, spasmodic cry, and she convulsively grasped the child in her arms, her face pressed against his, cold sweat and warm tears between mother and son.

"Mrs. Stark", said a grave, masculine voice coming from somewhere in the darkness. "We need to keep moving, madam."

She didn't immediately respond to that statement, but her sobbing gradually slowed down; caressing her son's cheek, her physiognomy still bearing a peculiar combination of gratitude and consternation, she nodded in agreement:

"I know, agent." There was exasperation in her tone. "But my son has just been returned from the dead...! You do understand if I take a moment to appreciate it, don't you?!?"

The sound of steps and the pale luminescence of a flashlight revealed more about the place: a dark tunnel, it seemed, of solid steel and narrow space. Mother sat on the cold floor, tenaciously embracing him, and now looked up to the people around them; half a dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents, who stared at the boy with expressions that could be described as something between amazement and shock.

"Ma'am", the Agent insisted, now offering a hand as support, "please, we must go!"

She accepted the assistance, permitting the Agent to firmly grab her by the arms and help her to stand on her feet. An almost inaudible groan escaped through her lips, and the boy didn't miss it; he lifted his eyes to exam his mother's features, noticing the small, but numerous lacerations on the right side of her face. There was blood, dry blood through her dark hair, and much of it on her clothes and hands. She breathed heavily, and her steps faltered, occasionally stumbling, as she struggled to keep up with the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents sturdy pace.

"Mom", he said, adjusting himself in her arms as he circled his arms around her neck and his legs around her waist. He spoke near her right ear, the unpleasant smell of blood clinging on his nostrils:

"You'rehurt!"

His words carried both amazement and apprehension, feelings born from the fact that he had never seen his mother injured or sick. She was in pain, he knew that much; her heart pounded in hurry and fury, and he could feel it perfectly while resting his head against her chest. She was tired, tired and scared, and that, the boy found out, would scare him too.

"Baby, I'm fine..." She kissed him again. "I'm fine, okay? I promise..."

"Mrs. Stark, ma'am", a young agent that walked side by side with mother and child suddenly spoke, "if you wish, I can carry the boy, ma'am; we'll get there faster if..."

"No", she stated, not even giving herself time to consider the offer.

"Please, Mrs. Stark." Now it was another agent speaking, the one that had helped her stand up. "We should hurry. It seems that things are pretty ugly outside, and the Director is anxiously waiting..."

"Screwthe Director!" His dad was the Director, Stevie knew; and mom seemed to be really mad with him. "The hell with him, if he can't be here for us now...!"

There was a moment of solemn and uncomfortable silence, and nothing could be heard but the heavy steps on the metallic floor.

"I'm sure he wanted to be here, ma'am", it was the younger Agent talking again, now in hesitant, timid words; they also carried, however, a subtle undertone that denounced his outrage. "But Director Stark has many things to look over, and the situation..."

"You silly kid", mother simply said.

"Ma'am?"

"You don't know Tony, agent... you think he doesn't know what's happening here? Or anywhere else in this godforsaken town?!?"

The young agent seemed puzzled, but he was alone in his confusion; all the others just quietly marched, offering him no support or consolation.

"He knows, Agent. He knows what's happening... he knows what happened to Stevie... to our son." She took a deep breath, her lips lightly brushing the soft skin of her son's cheek. Her words were a faint whisper: "And yet, he didn't come."

"Yes, but..." He wasn't ready to give up the argument, but was forced to silence by a gesture of his commander.

"What's wrong?" Mother nervously glanced around, the Agents surrounding them in a protective circle, their guns armed and ready, the flashlights turned off.

Darkness.

Stevie felt his own heart racing, and his body was suddenly taken by unexplainable tremors; somewhere in the shadows, he knew, someone was watching.

"It's all right, Mrs. Stark." The commander lowered his nigh vision goggles, and risked two steps out of the circle. "We had a strange reading, that's all; the radar points to a source of heat here, but there's noth..."

A hollow sound, a sudden burst of light, and the agent fell to the ground, his body disturbingly silent and stiff.

"Oh, God...", Stevie heard from his mother; the clasp of her arms around him got tighter, her fingers tensely pressing the skin of his back. "What's happening...?!?"

Bright flashes of gunshots illuminated the tunnels, a confusion of sounds as the plasma projectiles hit the iron walls in loud bangs. "Captain!", screamed one of the agents.

"There! There!" One of the bodyguards shot at what seemed to be just an empty space in the darkness.

"Stop it! Calm down, Hyker! You'll end up shooting your own foot... or worst." A female agent kneeled next to the unconscious body of the Captain, one hand on her gun, the other on the man's neck. "He's still alive... but looks like he was hit on his head... hard!"

The boy firmly enlaced his mother's neck with both arms, holding on her in sturdy determination. "Mom...", he whispered, "we have to go!"

"Stevie... baby..." Tears were again coming down her cheeks, and she blinked repeatedly while trying to make anything of the darkness around them. "Listen: if something happens to me..."

"No!" Closing his eyes, he sheltered his face on the curve of his mother's neck.

"Yes, baby. I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Stevie... but if mom can't protect you, you'll just have to keep running, okay?"

"Lieutenant", the agent named Hyker called, "Lieutenant, I'm getting something!"

The Lieutenant - precisely the female agent that was checking on the Captain's vitals - quickly stood up, rifle ready, the scanner she took from the blacked out superior officer now connected to her own goggles. She carefully looked around, slowly, attentively, never leaving the tight circle the bodyguards had formed around Stevie and his mother; then, with a cautious hand gesture, she signed orders to the others.

"What...? What's going on...?" The officers approached the boy and his mother.

"Please, Mrs. Stark", said a now resolute, pale young agent, whose eyes shone and sparkled with a silver light. His following words, Stevie realized, were not spoken, but silently projected in his mind. "Don't worry, kid; we'll take you out of here, and you'll be with your dad soon."

There was a noise, now obvious to all, the sound of steps - so very close to them. "Now!", screamed the Lieutenant, and she shot at the thing that none of them could actually see. One of the agents grabbed Stevie's mother by the arm, pulling her away from the others: "Let's go, ma'am", he said just as he forced her to run, one hand on her back, a worried, yet concentrated expression as he looked over his shoulder. "They'll cover our escape", whispered the agent, more hopeful than actually certain.

Shots burst and cracked, and they covered the sounds of their steps as they ran away. "Left! Left!" It was the Lieutenants's voice; "It's invisible, Lieutenant, it's invi..." That was Hyker, and he was suddenly silenced. "There's a force field, we can't..."

They ran, and the screams and shots were left behind.

But not the danger, Stevie knew.

"What the hell is happening...?" Mom's voice was a tired, horrified murmur.

"I don't know, ma'am." The agent slowed his pace, putting himself a few steps behind mother and son; his rifle armed, he used the flashlight on it to search the path behind them. There was nothing there - still, Stevie felt a cold shiver run up his spine.

"Mom", his voice muffled as he spoke with his face still enshroud on her collar-bone, "don't let her take me..."

She moved her head as to look directly at her son. "Honey, what' you talking about?"

Sighing, he shifted on her arms, brushing his face on her shoulder and turning his glance away from her. "I'm tired", he simply stated, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I know, baby. I know." Kissing the back of his neck, she took a moment to rest her bruised, wet cheek on her son's warm, soft skin. "It will be alright... Just a little longer... you have to hang on just for a bit longer, okay?"

"And dad will come." His tone was definitive.

"And dad will come." She took a deep breath, and suffocated a groan of pain; more and more she limped, and didn't seem able to keep running. "You've been so brave... Do you know that? You're such a brave boy, Stevie...! Such a brave boy...! Daddy will be so proud..."

"Mrs. Stark?" The agent watched her with an intrigued expression. "Are you all right?"

Her words came choked and hard:

"I think you'll have to take him, Agent."

"I'll be glad to, ma'am." He put his gun to rest, and stretched an arm in Stevie's direction.

"Mom..." The boy was about to protest, his arms firmly clasped around his mother's neck, when a transparent, almost indiscernible surface was suddenly put between them; impossibly hard, unexpected, and an expression of pure energy, it's presence violently repealed both the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent and the boy's mother, the first being abruptly thrown against the wall behind him, while Mrs. Stark was pushed back and down, falling to the floor with such impact that she even let escape a painful cry.

Stevie, however, saw himself hovering five feet above the floor, invisible walls entrapping him in a tight, uncomfortable cage. His heart jumped inside his chest, and his body trembled out of control; for as extraordinary as the situation was, force fields and light manipulation were just too familiar for him to ignore what was about to come.

His mother - her nose bleeding profusely, her left shoulder insinuating itself in a disturbing angle towards her body - was the first to say it out loud:

"Sue...?", she asked in a tone that evidentiated her disbelief; her eyes focused on the slender figure that now stood a few feet from them, a blond, gorgeous woman in a black and blue outfit, an insignia that had a very distinctive number four on her chest. "My God... Sue, was that you...? All along...?"

That was Aunt Susan - how Stevie used to call her - and yet, it wasn't. The same appearance, same powers, all the same... except for what was inside.

Except for who was in charge.

"Why' you doing this, Sue?" Mother forced herself to move, gasping in pain just for raising her upper body. Her question, words struggling to come out, was however made in a strong, audible tone, her voice echoing in the unending net of tunnels.

Still, Susan didn't answer; in fact, she didn't even seem to have listened.

A brief hand gesture moved Stevie's prison closer to Sue, the cold walls pressuring the boy into a small space, restricting his movements to the point where he could do nothing but to curl up and remain immobile. Unable to think of anything he could do, and feeling completely helpless, the boy simply cried.

And indistinct moan came from the corner where the fallen agent laid; now awaken, and precariously standing on his feet, the man had his gun pointed at an inexpressive, aphasic Susan.

"Let the boy go, freak!" Though his body trembled, his rifle was perfectly steady as it aimed for the blond woman. "Release him, or, swear to God, I will shoot!"

Sue slowly turned her head at his direction, vaguely acknowledging him. Mom, who had now managed to seat on the floor, her back leaning on the tunnel wall - and tears just ran down her cheek, her left arm strangely pending from her body, a lifeless limb that simply didn't seem to belong to her anymore -, watched the scene in profound confusion and disbelief, her eyes displaying a striking terror. Her voice a weak murmur, she pled:

"Please, Sue... Please, don't take my son...!"

The agent's voice raised above that:

"Let him go now! It's my final warning!"

Susan stared at the agent, a blank expression in her face. For the man, it was enough:

"Monster..." He pressed the trigger, and a continuous bust of shots flew at Sue. Sound and light filled the tunnel, and, in his prison, Stevie shut his eyes; there was a very strange, confusing world out there, he thought, and it would be so much better if he would never have to face it again.

"No!", mom screamed.

"Be quiet", said Aunt Susie's hollow, cold voice. Then, the sound of someone coughing, soon followed by nervous, agonizing gasps of someone struggling to breath. Mom!, Stevie anxiously thought, now forcing his eyes wide open, despite all the fear; he searched for her, and found his mother still in the same spot, teeth clenched, an horrified look in her eyes. "Mom", he called, his own voice smothered by the force prison - and behind him, the choking sounds turned into low, painful moans, accompanied by the disturbing noises of something cracking.

And then, silence.

"Stevie, don't look!"

He didn't have to look to know what had just happened, but he obediently closed his eyes.

"Sue", he heard mother say, her voice overflowing with despair and supplication, "I'm begging you: don't take Stevie! Please, please, Sue...! This... this is not you...!"

There was no answer.

"You're Susan Storm", mom proceeded, and now there was a tactful insinuation of hope in her tone. "You have children too, do you remember? Franklin... and Valeria. Your children... that you love very much..."

Sue remained mute and immobile, apparently affected by the speech Stevie's mother was carefully delivering.

"Franklin and Valeria... you wouldn't want to see them harmed, would you? I... I don't want my son hurt, Sue, that's all. So, if you need to take someone... take me. I'll go with you."

"Must take the boy", Susan said, her voice as mechanical as any of the many A.I.s daddy had in their home.

"No, you don't. You don't, Sue; really. You can take me... and let him be. They will hurt him, Sue. You know that, don't you?" The urge in her tone was pure anguish. "Please, Susan! Please! You can't do that... you are a hero...!"

That last word was a mistake, and Stevie could sense it even during that second of silence that preceded Susan's reaction. "Mom, run!", he yelled, but it was already too late; she was hurt, and she had no way of protecting herself - not to mention, she would never be able to leave him.

"Be quiet", Sue simply ordered.

And Stevie closed his eyes, hoping that all could just be over soon.

One way or the other.