Part Two: Tony Stark is home safe, and as his first order of business, he shuts down the Weapons Production aspect of his family business. While the press roast him alive, and Obadiah Stane vows to make the rest of the company fall in line with Tony's new direction, the billionaire designer himself becomes a virtual recluse in his home and workshop, obsessed with his newest invention, even as Raza, his former captor, manages to find the remnants of the Mark I Iron Man Armor, and begins making plans of his own...

The list of people that Pepper wanted to set on fire was steadily growing.

The latest to be added was the host of 'Mad Money', who had made Tony Stark his personal punching bag. Having to hear it was bad. Having to hear it in Tony Stark's own home was worse. Hearing it with sound effects was painful.

"Stark Industries!" he was yelling, a bit too loudly. "Here's my advice," he played a sound effect. "Sell!Sell!Sell!"

Pepper rolled her eyes.

"Abandon ship!" The host yelled. "Does the Hindenburg ring any bells?"

An animation of an attacking cougar and Pepper looked for something to throw at the screen. If the screen wasn't a projection on the glass window she would have.

"Here's Tony Stark's new business plan," He picked up a baseball bat and smashed a coffee cup with a Stark logo on it.

Pepper was disgusted. She didn't need this, and Tony sure didn't. He had barely come out of his workshop since getting back. He hadn't slept at all. Pepper was as worried about him as Rhodes was, and had largely moved in again to keep an eye on him. Aside from thanking her for coffee, she had been more or less ignored. Still, there were about a thousand press requests, and most of them had gone to Tony's private line. Stane could handle the official requests. Pepper could handle the personal ones, but in the absence of an interview, the press didn't let go of the story.

"Hey look!" The host crowed melodramatically. "There's a weapons company that doesn't make weapons!"

Pepper had heard enough and started plotting vengeance. Issuing a statement would be ignored. Arguing the point would seem petty. Calling the show producers would work if she could sufficiently worry them. Buying the station would not be cost effective. Hiring a hit man and having him shot would be overreacting.

Tony's voice came over the intercom. "How big are your hands?"

O.K., that was unexpected. Pepper turned down the volume. "What?"

"Your hands. How big are your hands?"

"I don't understand."

"Just get down here, I need you."

Pepper switched off the TV and hurried to the staircase.

She let herself into his workshop, and saw him over toward the computer workstations. His shirt was off, and he was stretched out on what looked a lot like a dentist's chair.

Pepper couldn't help it. She was staring. Not that the boss looked anything less than stunning bare-chested under any circumstances, but it was the first time she had ever seen the Arc Reactor that Rhodes had warned her about.

"Hey," Tony said cheerfully. "Let's see'em, show me your hands."

Pepper walked over to him slowly, holding her hands up, eyes fixed on the glowing circle in his chest.

"Oh wow," he said. "They are small, Very petite. I just need you to help me with something here."

"Is that the thing keeping you alive?" Pepper said in quiet awe. She thought it would be bigger.

"It was," Tony told her. "It is now an antique," He reached over to a tray, yet another dentist chair similarity, and picked up a small round generator, glowing brightly in his hand. "This is what will be keeping me alive for the foreseeable future. I'm swapping it out for an upgrade, I just ran into a little speed bump."

"Speed bump?" She was still staring at his chest, wondering idly what the usual bimbos would have made of it. "What do you mean Speed bump?"

"It's nothing, there's an exposed…wire… under this device and it's kind of…" While he explained patiently to her, he turned the circular machine in his chest counter-clockwise, and was rewarded with a few mechanical clicking noises, before the Arc Reactor jumped out of his chest, into Tony's hand, connected into the metal socket by a short cable. "It's touching the socket wall and causing a bit of a short," With that, he yanked the Arc Reactor clean out, taking the cable with it.

Pepper felt her own heart accelerating, as the heart rate monitors around Tony started to speed up slowly. "W-What do you want me to do?"

He handed her the reactor and she took it gingerly. "Just put that over there, don't need it anymore."

Pepper turned and set it down on the workbench, as Tony gave her new instructions. "I just want you to reach in, and gently lift the wire out."

He said it so matter-of-factly that Pepper was waiting for the punch line. "Is…is it safe?"

"Yeah," Tony was clearly in a bit of pain. "It's like Operation; just don't let it touch the socket wall."

"What's Operation?"

Tony rolled his eyes as though Pepper had just proved a long held belief about her ever having fun. "It's a game, doesn't matter. Just gently lift the wire, O.K.?"

Keep it professional, Pepper. She started to reach into the socket, and lost her nerve. There was simply no professional way of reaching into the boss' chest. "Tony, I don't know. I don't think that I'm qualified to do this…"

"No, no," Tony waved that off like she was just being modest. "It'll be fine; you are the most capable, qualified, trustworthy person I've ever met. You're gonna do great."

Is he even aware he's doing it? Pepper wondered, feeling invincible suddenly. "O.K."

She took a deep breath, and slipped her hand slowly into Tony's Chest Socket.

There was no way the other PA's on Wall Street would believe this one. She was reaching into Tony's chest. There was something perversely intimate about the exercise, and Pepper fought an insanely strong desire to both turn around and run far away, or to burst into hysterical giggles.

Instead she squeezed her eyes shut as her hand touched something wet and squishy. "EW! Ewewew!" I haven't said 'ew' since kindergarten. Pepper thought distantly. "Oh, gross, there's pus…"

"It's not pus, it's a plasmic discharge. It's from the device, not from my body."

Slimy is slimy. Pepper, still feeling about six years old, squeezed her eyes shut. "Smells."

Tony's nose wrinkled too. "Yeah it does. O.K., now it's the copper wire."

Pepper was inside his body up to her wrist, and she felt the loose wire between two fingers. She started to pull it out. "O.K., I got it."

"You got it? Great, now just don't let it touch…"

Pepper heard an electrical buzz, saw the heart monitors go crazy for an instant and Tony howled. "AGH! The sides! Don't let it touch the sides…ugh, when it's coming out."

Pepper felt sweat break out all over her body as she fought to keep her hand still. "Sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry," She pulled on the dripping wire till it extended about two feet from his body.

"It's O.K.; now make sure that when it comes out you don't pull out…"

There was a sound like an electrical plug being yanked, and suddenly the wire came much easier, dragging a small metal ring on the end.

"Argh!" Tony grunted. "...the end of it, like you just did."

Pepper felt her eyes bulge out as his heart rate monitors all flat lined for a second, then started going triple time. "Oh god! Oh god! What do I do?" She started to lower the metal ring back into the socket.

"No! Don't put it back!" Tony stopped her quickly, growing pain etched on his face.

Pepper was horrified. "What's wrong?"

Tony would have shrugged if he was standing, she was sure of it. "Nothing, I'm just going into cardiac arrest, because you just yanked out…"

"WHAT?" Pepper screeched. "You said this was safe!"

Tony was so calm that it was starting to make Pepper sweat. "It is, it is; now we gotta hurry," He handed her the second Reactor. "Now, take this, take this, we've gotta switch it out really quickly,"

I'm going to fix this. I have not just killed the boss after waiting for him for three months. Pepper commanded herself. "O.K., O.K."

She took the reactor in one hand, the cable hanging from it with the other, and took a second to lean in close to him, putting as much reassurance into her voice as she could. "Tony, it's going to be O.K.! I'm gonna make it O.K.," I'm not losing you. Not after all this. Not because I screwed up. "I'm going to make this better, I promise."

Tony's face was twisting in pain. "O.K."

Pepper, without any hesitation this time, started threading the second cable into him, toward the only bit of machinery she could see, where the first on had been plugged in.

"Now," Tony said slowly. "You're going to attach that to the base plate, where the first one was…"

Pepper felt something fit into place and Tony yelled.

"YAAAAA-ow!" He yelped as the heart monitors all returned sharply to normal, and he grinned lightly at her. "Now was that so hard? That was fun right?"

Pepper was trying madly to gulp oxygen as she fed the cable in and slid the second reactor into its socket firmly, where it attached with a click.

"Nice," Tony said approvingly.

"Are you O.K.?" Pepper was in shock, sweating, hyperventilating, with two slimy hands held out in front of her motionlessly.

"Yeah, I feel great," Tony took one look at up her face and burst out laughing.

Pepper almost smiled, seeing he was O.K. "Don't you ever, ever, EVER, ask me to do that, ever again," She said, calming down.

"I don't have anyone else but you," Tony said blithely.

Pregnant pause. Both of them stared at each other during the unexpected moment of honesty.

Tony broke the awkwardness by standing up, and Pepper turned away from him trying to shake her hands off in disgust, when she noticed the bright glow on the worktable. "Oh, um...what do you want me to do with this?" She held up the first Arc Reactor.

"That?" Tony barely looked at it as he pulled on a shirt. "Destroy it. Incinerate it."

"You don't want to keep it?" Pepper asked him in surprise. Granted, Tony hadn't ever been particularly sentimental, but this thing had kept him alive. It had a place near to his heart, literally, for how long?

"I have been called many things, Pepper," Tony responded. "Nostalgic is not one of them."

Pepper couldn't help the wave of sympathy that came over her. "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"That'll be all, Miss Potts," Stark returned equally professionally, already back on his feet.

Pepper headed back toward the stairs, looking into the glowing reactor in her hands as she walked. It was beautiful. She glanced back at him. He was already off on the next project, telling his robot helpers what needed to be cleared away. She looked back at the generator and kept walking.

Always knew some girl would be able yank your heart out with her bare hands and toss it in an incinerator sooner or later, Tony. Pepper said silently. Never dreamed it would be me.

Tony was not eager to repeat the old mistakes. Not when there we so many new ones he could make. But with each glance at the 3D schematic, he knew that he needed to risk it. This thing he was seeing evolve with each new idea had surprising destructive potential. The state of his skull when he was done flying around was proof of that. Everything he had seen screamed at him that he couldn't put this invention into production. He had the right to keep it quiet. The Arc Reactor was one example, Jarvis another...there were any number of things that the US Government didn't want to pick up the tab for.

But this was different. Stane were right. They were Iron Mongers by profession, but Stark knew better now. He knew firsthand where that would lead them. Nobody was going to get this invention. Men like Yinsen would see the value; men like Stane would see the profit. If it went into production, it would pass through a dozen hands and eventually fall to a man like Raza. Nobody was going to use this invention but him.

Tony was not a fool. He knew he wasn't objective, he knew that this whole endeavor was unprecedented, and he knew that the runaway boot jets in the Mark I could have killed him with the first use. If he got killed trying this new exosuit, then a lot more people than him would pay the price.

He also knew that this was the most original experimental aircraft/combat platform ever invented.

He was not some mad scientist, trying out the secret formula on himself. That was how the bad headlines got written.

He needed a test pilot. A good one. One that he could trust not to steal it, or use it on people like Yinsen's family.

There was only one name on the list.

One of Rhodes' regular duties was indoctrination. At Edward's Air Force Base, he led the newest group of Trainee pilots through on of their main hangers, demonstrating some of the latest UAV drones and remote operated vehicles, courtesy of Stark Industries. He also took the chance to explain to them some of the proud history that the pilots of the world had provided. The world was growing smaller, the machines were growing smarter, and more and more were humans being rendered obsolete. But as a career member of the Air Force, and witness to some of the most advanced technology, most of which hadn't even been put into production yet, Rhodes was in a unique position to speak on the subject of what a computer could do, compared to a living human being, and the Air Force was quick to make him their point man on the subject, not just for the new recruits, but for anyone who asked if pilots were soon to be replaced.

And so, as ten young men in uniforms followed him past the scout drones and UAV's, he started making the point. "The future of air combat," He explained to them. "Is it manned or unmanned? In my experience, no unmanned vehicle will ever trump a pilot's training, a pilot's experience, a pilot's instinct, a pilot's insight, and especially a pilot's judgment. That ability to look inside a situation beyond the obvious and discern the outcome-"

"How about a pilot without a plane?" Quipped a voice.

Rhodes recognized the voice immediately and turned. Sure enough, in his usual dark shades and expensive leather jacket, was Tony Stark, making his way toward them. "Look who fell out the sky. Tony Stark, everyone."

The class was appropriately impressed. A few shook his hand, one or two saluted.

Tony turned helpfully to the listening class. "Speaking of manned vs. unmanned, remember to get him to tell you about Spring Break his senior year, when he guessed wrong,"

Rhodes was sending him dirty looks. "Don't do that, do not do that,"

The class was grinning like idiots, enjoying the turn this had taken.

"Spring Break, '87," Stark sent Rhodes a questioning look. "That lovely lady you woke up with. What was her name? Ivan?"

"Take five, everyone," Rhodes said finally. He could act angry all he wanted, but the second his subordinates were gone, Rhodes grinned, glad to see Stark acting like his old self. "Look at you man. Good to see you walking around."

Stark gave a conspiratorial grin, the likes of which was only seen when he was immensely proud of himself. "Doing a little better than walking."

"Yeah?"

"I'm onto something big, and I want you to be part of it."

Rhodes could hardly contain himself. That was going to be good. "You are about to make a whole lot of people feel a whole lot better. You really rattled some cages with that Press Conference."

"This one isn't for the military."

Rhodes felt his face fall. He had seen this before. Tony was a weapons man, he was the best there'd ever been.

"Listen to me," He said firmly. "You need to get some rest, and get your head on straight again, and get back to work."

Rhodes had been hearing rumors that the top Brass were freaking out to have the best weapons designer in an enemy camp for three months. The fact that he had escaped under his own power was unheard of. The fact that the first thing he had done was shut down the US Military's source of advanced weapon technology was enough to make some of the Top brass think he had been turned during his captivity, a very real concern for soldiers and civilian's alike, and some suggested they should bring him in for de-programming.

Rhodes was convinced that it was simpler than that. PTSD made people reassess their lives and make dramatic changes without thinking. Rhodes had gone almost to the ends of the earth to find his friend; and he knew: The best way to protect his friend and help him recover from the trauma was to get everything back to business as usual.

Tony's eyes dulled slightly. Rhodes hated to see it, but it was necessary.

"Maybe I do need some time. Talk to you in a few days? We'll do lunch."

Tony held no malice toward Rhodes. The man was a soldier. A career soldier, with all that brought with it. His job was soldier, but his purpose was to liaison with Stark personally, and to see to it that the weapons he made went to no other buyer.

Rhodes was worried about the changes Tony had gone through, but even more worried about what those changes meant for him and his masters.

Tony held no malice toward his friend. Rhodey always took his responsibilities, his duty, and his discipline too seriously. He was a part of the War Machine.

A machine Tony wasn't part of any more.

So...that left Stark with the question of who could test the prototype.

Find a pilot; we have many of them on payroll. Someone you can trust. Work on autonomic function if you have to. There are plenty of qualified people who could do it, without giving them the secrets of construction, power, design...

It's a relatively simple process to find someone who can wear a suit and keep his head for a few minutes. Stark told himself firmly, before letting himself smile, just a little bit. But on the other hand...nah.

Tony had the designs for the entire suit in his head, but there was only one aspect of it that he wanted to try before designing the exoskeleton.

Flight. The thought alone made him salivate.

Designing the actual apparatus had been easy enough. The Mark I jets had been cobbled together as the result of using disarmed munitions. Not enough to actually give him flight, quite so much as a massive kick in the butt to throw him upward.

But just for a second...He had been airborne.

He was hoping to do better than just a second with his revised prototype.

The Jericho missile system had provided him a chance to use his repulsor technology in a weapons system. The repulsors had guided the periphery missiles to their targets. Others had tried something similar, but the ejectors had always thrown the primary missile off target. Repulsors had made that a much smoother event. No solid propellant. Another intellectual patent exclusive to Stark Enterprises.

Fitting them into boots was just as easy. The hard part was making the boots wearable. The Mark I had been hard to walk in, and when he was forced to his knees by the AA gun he nearly broke his ankle. The ankle joints were no good. Finally, Stark had pulled out a copy of Grays Anatomy and made a study of the human foot. It was considerable eye-opener. A human foot was more complex than Tony gave it credit for. A shoe could get away with it because it was pliable. Making a suit of armor boot that could copy that, and still hold the repulsors in them was a mean feat.

Finally, he settled on a grid pattern, laying the gears over the foot, and around the heel and up the shin for stability, giving him something of a metal boot, without skin at this point, but each hydraulic 'tendon' worked back and forth, giving him the mobility of an actual foot. It was tedious work, and he longed for Yinsen's steady hands. His two identical household robots, 'Dummy' and 'Butterfingers' simply didn't have the skill that Yinsen's human hands did, and Tony largely took care of the soldering jobs himself.

He had spent hours with a soldering hour trying to make the grid properly spaced. Getting into it was going to be tricky. The solid base was going to take more than a shoehorn, so Stark had redesigned it to open from the ankle to the shin.

Putting on his new boots, he made his way to the far end of the workshop, where his cars were parked near enough for him to tinker with them. Walking in the boots was tricky since they made him about five inches taller. He found a good clear spot in the middle of the floor and threaded a pair of power cables up from the repulsors in his boots through to the Arc Reactor in his chest.

I am the heart of the machine. Tony told himself. As it should be.

"Jarvis," He said aloud. "Begin recording."

He woke up three hours later, in absolute agony, clutching at his head.

"I asked Dummy to bring you some ice, sir."

"Thank you Jarvis. And speak quietly," Stark croaked, as he accepted the icepack. "What happened?"

"If you would direct your attention to the monitor sir."

Stark dragged his body, heavy boots and all, from behind the Rolls Royce and looked at the screen.

He glanced over at the monitor, and saw himself from the perspective of one of his helper-bots, outfitted with a video camera.

"O.K.," He said on the screen. "First test. Monitors are recording, for lack of a better option, I have dummy on standby with the fire extinguisher."

The machine, affectionately dubbed 'Dummy' nodded it's arm up and down cheerfully. Tony had designed the software for it, and still didn't have a clue what went through it's brain sometimes.

"O.K., we're going to take this slowly," He spread his feet slightly. "First test at Ten percent only."

One moment he was on the screen, the next there was a flash of blue from under his boots and he was hurled from the ground, into the ceiling of the garage so fast the he couldn't follow the movement.

A moment later Dummy sprayed him with the fire extinguisher.

The screen went to black finally.

"Jarvis," Tony moaned, lying down carefully on the floor. "We need a new gameplan."

Tony spent most of his time in his lab, and found after the first three weeks that there were no humans that could keep up with him. Well, that wasn't true. Plenty could keep up, but very few were willing to go without sleep. That was why Stark had adapted Jarvis to work all the house machines. That included the holographic projectors. Jarvis was the only one in the house that could actually influence his designs. A few months after that, Stark got impatient, and had Jarvis hardwired to the fabrication machines. This made his home into a one man laboratory/workshop/factory floor/Construction centre.

This was unquestionably, the most upscale machine that Stark had ever fabricated in his home.

The idea of the flight stabilizer came when Stark made the connection between the boot jets and the pose that his body had been in the seconds before being flung against the ceiling. He had been in a half crouch that most people got into when surfing or rollerblading.

The idea of surfing had fixed in Tony's mind. He had tried surfing once and found that it took some time to not look like an amateur. He wasn't going to practice that on a beach in front of people so he had built an indoor artificial wave machine that could keep him in a permanent pipe.

He studied the footage of that machine's test briefly and found he wasn't imagining the similarities in stance. He had his knees bent, head forward, and arms out.

Having the power under his feet alone was going to be impossible to control.

With that in mind, Tony went back to his holographic drawing board and designed a repulsor that fit into the palm of his hand.

Holding his hand in the holographic image so that he could picture the results properly, he knew that wasn't going to work. The repulsor would be strong enough to point his hand in every direction at once from the wrist down. So he went back to his touch screen drawing board, and designed a support frame for it.

Jarvis scanned the drawing on his touch screen and projected a three dimensional image of the 'sleeve' over the holopad. Stark had turned the projection end on, and slid his hand into it, making the projection something of a ghostly visualization.

Another few days, and that vision had become reality.

He heard the keypad on his workshop door beep a few times. He looked up but he didn't need to. He had given only one person that code in his entire life.

Pepper came in a moment later, with a large box wrapped in brown paper in one hand, and a coffee cup balanced on top of it. "I've been buzzing you on the intercom for the last five minutes," She reported as she set them both down on a workbench. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Everything's fine-" Tony started to answer before he caught up with what she was actually saying. "What's up?"

"Obadiah's upstairs, he needs to talk to you."

"Be right up," Tony promised.

Pepper stepped closer and saw the new invention her boss was wearing around his arm. A grid-like frame threaded with numerous wires which ran from the shoulder to the wrist, with a glowing circular disc strapped into the palm of his hand; plugged into the Arc Reactor in his chest. The thing looked like a sci-fi movie ray-gun. "I thought you were finished making weapons," She drawled.

"I am. This is a flight stabilizer," He told Pepper, pointing one arm out toward the far side of the room. "It is perfectly harmless," To demonstrate, he hit a button on his workbench to complete the circuit.

A second later the repulsor in the hand piece activated, and a pulse blast fired out, so strong and focused that Tony could actually see it moving away from him like a projectile. Pepper yelled in shock as the blast picked up everything lighter than a brick and hurled it all across the room.

The recoil flung Tony against the wall behind him. Pepper was looking down at him a moment later, aghast. "I didn't expect that," He said blithely.

She all but threw herself down next to him, but he was already getting up, and he grinned at her brilliantly. "O.K. Obadiah was upstairs did you say?"

"Yeah," Pepper squeaked nervously as he shook his arm out of the framework.

On his way out, Stark glanced over his lab. The entire left half of the room opposite the door had been trashed.

He sent a glance back at his arm piece as he went out to the stairs. The repulsors had more kick than he gave them credit for; and not just the ones in his boots.

As Tony came upstairs, Pepper fussing behind him, he heard a slightly mangled version of classical music being played. When he got to the living room, he found the older man at the piano. "How'd it go?" Tony asked, already having a pretty good idea, when he noticed a Pizza Box on the table. "Oh. That bad huh?"

"Just because I brought Pizza back from New York doesn't mean it went bad," Stane said, but his voice made the meaning clear. It had gone badly. "Would have gone a lot better if you'd been there."

"Ha!" Tony said, opening the pizza box. "You told me to lay low."

"Well yeah, from the press, this was a Board of Directors Meeting."

Tony looked stunned, and sent a glance at Pepper. "This was a Board of Directors Meeting?" he said in a shocked voice. Stane rolled his eyes, and Tony smirked reassuringly. "Look, just because the stock opened down 40 points-"

"56 and a half," Pepper put in from the couch.

Stark sent her an irritated glance. How is that helpful, Jiminy Cricket? "We were expecting that. The Board is just going to have to-"

"I'm just saying, they don't like this new direction you're…"

"Being responsible is a new…?"

"Tony," Stane interrupted. "They've filed an injunction against you. They say you're suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and they want control of the company."

Tony was stunned and somehow not at all surprised in exactly the same moment. "They can't do that."

"Well they can, they're the Board, their opinions matter..."

Stark wasn't worried. "Well, we own the majority of the company anyway, so what can they do?"

"Tony, you've gotta let me give them something," Stane gestured at Tony's chest. "Why don't you let our engineers take a look at that, take it apart and see how it works."

Tony understood the reasoning easily. Give the board a show and tell, make it seem like less than an impulse move by the brat-king and let them obsess over cornering the energy market instead of the weapons market. But images of Arc powered Hand grenades were unappealing to say the least. Tony wasn't about to trust this one to anybody till he knew where it led. "Nope. For now this stays with me."

Obadiah was clearly disappointed. "Oh, yeah?" He said darkly, picking up the pizza box. "Then this stays with me."

Tony put on a hurt look.

Stane opened the box. "Take a slice and go."

Tony dutifully did so, heading back for his workshop.

"Can I come down there, see what you're working on?"

"Good night, Stane!"

If he had stayed it would have seen Stane give Pepper a pointed look.

She just looked right back.

Stane sighed. No help there either.

The next full scale test took a while to work around to. There were many minor components that needed testing and completion before they could be put together for the overall purpose. But finally, wearing his new metal and wire frame 'sleeves', Tony turned back to the camera. "Day 11, Test 37, Configuration 2.0. For lack of a better option, Dummy is still on fire safety."

Dummy waved its fire extinguisher cheerily at the camera.

"You douse me again and I'm not on fire, I'm donating you to a city college!" Stark warned.

Dummy lowered his arm in apparent embarrassment.

Stark took a deep breath. "O.K. I'm going to start out real slow here. One percent thrust."

One percent was pretty cautious for him, but he had gotten massive blows to the skull from every component of his new flight apparatus, to the point where he had the power cables for his arms and boots encased in a bandolier that went around his Arc Reactor; for fear of the repulsors getting loose and tearing his pacemaker clean out.

The repulsors glowed, and...

Holy of holies.

Tony was airborne.

He was a good four feet off the ground, hovering on a cushion of air. It was the most awkward position he had ever been in. At least when surfing he could find a balance on his feet. It was like trying to walk all over again.

Come on Tony, figure it out. What are you doing wrong?

Tony raised his hand further to lower his body, thumbed the power controls and hit the floor feet first, fighting to balance.

Dummy had wheeled significantly closer, aiming the extinguisher at him, point blank range. Tony waved him back harshly. "Please! Don't follow me around with it either. I feel like I'm going to catch fire spontaneously."

Stark studied his hands as Dummy obediently wheeled back.

Tony, with a lot of work; you stopped yourself from a face-plant. If you can't do that by instinct, the way you walk and run, then you don't belong in the air.

One major plus, he finally had a handle on what the power levels would do.

"O.K.," Tony said. "Let's bring it up to 2.5 percent."

He took off again. The takeoff was much smoother with the added power, turns were cleaner, if still unintentional. This time, he brought his knees up higher, tilted his hands up at give him lateral thrust.

A little too much lateral thrust.

Tony tilted his feet at the ankle like he was trying to find his footing on an incline, then suddenly found himself moving forward toward the wall.

Tony pointed both hands forward, checking his forward movement, and suddenly he was coasting backwards, frictionless on the repulsor wave.

Tony craned his neck to see behind him. He was in the far corner of the garage. "O.K., this isn't where I wanna be!"

Pay attention Tony! He commanded himself. Your feet and legs don't give you balance. Your hands do!

Left hand tilted down to keep him upright, right hand titled out to move him back to the centre of the room. Steering was not working, and he hovered his jets straight over the Hot Rod.

"No! Not the car! Not the car!" Tony willed himself to move faster across the car; swearing he didn't smell burning paint. Past the cars; to the workbenches lining his test area. Pens and paper flew in every direction.

Tony felt himself going into a gentle spin, and moved on instinct. He brought his feet together, straightened, and brought his hands in close. A vertical hover. For just a moment, it was smooth, it was instinctive, and it was easy. He caught a glimpse of himself on the monitors. Tony Stark: The Man, The Myth, The Legend!

He lowered the thrust as smoothly as he could, came to a foot above the floor, and cut the power. Almost spiked the landing; but there were no judges to tell him how awesome he was.

Except for Dummy, inching forward again.

"Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah!" Tony barked, and the machine settled.

Experiment over.

Tony was jazzed. His father had always told him never to let the other guy see your expression in moments of high emotion. It was a rule he had adopted as his personal motto. If it was blowing five million at the craps table or sitting across from the Bloodthirsty Board in business meetings, or charming some 21-year-old heiress out of her dress, his poker face never shifted once, not even a little bit.

But he hadn't felt this charged since the Mark I. The flight stabilizers weren't even necessary; Tony could almost feel electricity flying from every limb.

His face didn't shift even a little bit. But something had to be said to mark the occasion.

"Yeah," He said blithely. "I can fly."

After that, the rest was simple. Giving the sleeves and boots a proper skin was relatively easy. Remembering the way he had come down headfirst in Afghanistan he had extended the skin to protective full body armor again, this time with Plexiglas eyepieces. Immediately tossing that idea, he redesigned it to use Diamond-iod coated tech-lenses, which could project a real-time image over the interior of any surface. A technical marvel used for concealable cameras and gun-cameras on the newest fighter jets, patented by Stark Industries.

Tony knew that for high-speed flight he'd need more control methods than throwing his hands around, and redesigned the skin again to include air flaps that could open and close under computer control. The more control the suit had automatically, the more the pilot could focus on the actual flights.

Designing a computer architecture would have taken him years, but fortunately, he had a highly adaptable AI on hand. "Jarvis, load yourself into the HUD. Import preferences from the home unit."

Jarvis loaded his AI program into the suit's circuitry, bringing up the necessary information on the Heads Up Display. After a moment the HUD lit up with much more information. Jarvis checked the imported preferences and began reading Tony's eye movements, allowing the suit's eyes to focus on whatever Tony focused on and gave him useful information.

Testing the interface, Tony scanned his garage. Focusing his vision on the workbench made the suit focus on it, scanning each tool for details and projecting a blueprint on the display. Focusing on the cars brought up the vehicle specs and diagrams.

"Test air flaps and maneuvering thrusters."

Tony could feel each air flap open and close, testing ease of movement, his new skin coming alive and stretching its muscles.

"Sir, the suit test is complete."

O.K. Tony told himself. His suit was airtight. The joins all fit precisely. The air flaps worked. The moving parts were durable...

Tony studied the readouts. Internal temp. External Temp, heart rate, respiration, gyroscopes, power usages…the uplink to his computers said that they had a great deal of data to work with.

"Beginning shutdown," Jarvis intoned.

Shutdown. Tony thought, just for a second. Turn off the machine, get out of the suit, study the data methodically, go a little further tomorrow.

Yep. That's how experimental programs work, that's exactly what you do… Tony told himself. But on the other hand...nah.

"Tell ya what," His voice still hadn't lost that unimpressed quality, and Tony was even more amazed at himself than usual. "Do a weather and ATC check, start listening in on ground control."

"Sir, there are still a number of-"

"Jarvis," Stark said sharply. "Sometimes, you have to run before you can walk."

Jarvis gave no further argument, and the display before his eyes changed, projecting a few new readouts. The horizon line, aircraft locations...

Stark fired up his stabilizers first, the energy lifting his hands again. He brought them close to his metal skin, spreading his palms down, and deliberately tilting his body too far forward.

The stabilizers caught him on a wall of pure thrust and the boot jets picked up to roar like a wild animal unleashed at last.

The acceleration was unreal. It didn't feel like getting kicked from behind like in a fighter jet. Tony knew. He had been in a fighter jet. This was different, like his body was being stretched, like he was in a roadrunner cartoon.

Wile E. Coyote, Tony thought as his field of vision hurled itself toward the garage ramp. I salute your fine example to experimental test pilots everywhere!

Yelling, Tony jerked to tilt his legs to the left, rolling his stabilizers with him, and suddenly he was turning up the ramp.

Just enough.

His left boot scraped slightly on the edge of the garage entrance, and suddenly there was nothing but sky above.

And Tony was more than eager to get to it.

Tony had designed and piloted most modes of transport, everything from cars to planes to racing boats, but this was electrifying. He could feel the air rushing over his face, even through the mask, he could feel the power flowing through his hands and feet keeping him going ever higher, ever faster.

O.K., let's go left. He told himself, and suddenly he was spinning, almost out of control. The horizon level spun, as did the view.

Ack! Tony reminded himself just how he flew this thing, and put his hands out a little further, learning to steer the living missile he had become.

He pushed the jets just a little further, purely to see how fast he could go.

The acceleration snapped his head back, and his neck pressed against the inside of his suit by the G-forces. His feet were starting to go numb from the vibrations.

Already he was making revisions for the final product. He needed better vibration dampeners in the boot jets, he needed to adjust how the pitch and yaw worked, if he was going to do anything in the suit he couldn't get bogged down in the details of controlling this thing. The interior of the suit would have to be changed too. The G Forces were shoving him against edges he didn't know the suit interior had, and he'd built it.

The eyepiece lenses were not at all effected by the speeds involved, Jarvis cleaning up the digital image in real-time, giving him a crystal clear image of things almost a kilometer below. Tony idly wondered what the kids on that Ferris Wheel would make of him.

Tony had picked the moon as a reference point, and made a quick bet with himself on how close he could get to it. "Jarvis, what's the SR-71 Altitude Record?"

A picture of the SR-71 Blackbird popped up on his HUD. "85,000 Feet sir."

"Records are made to be broken."

He heard a creaking noise. His readouts were glazing over, and Stark woke up to the fact that he couldn't feel temperature real well. It was ice.

Just ice. Harmless. I am invincible in this armor. Ice can't get me.

"Sir, the ice buildup on the exterior is getting serious."

Intellectually of course, Stark knew that too much ice on the outside of any aircraft could screw with any number of systems. Fluids could freeze, coolant could freeze, electronics could short out, vent and intakes could seal over solidify...

Just a little higher. Tony urged his new skin silently, when suddenly his HUD went blank.

Up was suddenly a good bit harder than it had appeared.

Down, however, was easy.

Tony threw his hands out to try and stabilize his flight, but he was in a flat spin. He had to get this ice off fast.

"Jarvis! Deploy flaps!"

Jarvis gave no answer. The HUD was still blank.

Stark started hitting at his suit, breaking off some of the ice. He was below the city skyline now.

Had it taken this long to go up? "Come on Jarvis answer me!"

The HUD lit up, and his air flaps all activated. The spin worsened across three axis at once, and the flaps shattered the ice layer from underneath.

More out of luck than anything else, he managed to point his head down. The move put him into a dive, and only had to control the spin. Turning one hand over, he was able to produce enough counterthrust to make the world stop spinning.

But far too late. He was in a powered dive, straight for the freeway...

Oh great, bug on a windshield! The fall of the great Tony Splat! He thought. I promised Pepper an open casket! Please god, spare my beautiful face!

Tony reared his head back, and the Mark II didn't have enough give across the spine, and Tony was suddenly bent pointing upwards again.

The suit jets had power enough make him pull out of the dive, a whole millisecond before hitting the road. Cars and trucks saw the living missile he had become and jerked left and right to try and dodge.

Six inches before I hit? Tony saw from the readouts, screaming back for the sky. Ha! Bags of room.

But the point had been made. There was more to flying this thing than the power in the jets and the stabilizers in the gloves. The ice was a problem too.

And Tony was already reworking the designs in his head. Surface skin, internal padding, pitch and yaw controls...

Why the Hell am I flying around in this piece of junk? Stark suddenly asked himself. This thing needs an upgrade badly.

Thus resolved, Tony angled himself back toward the house, swooped down over behind the air conditioner, and brought himself upright for a landing. Just as during the opening test, he brought himself to a foot and a half above the surface, then cut the power to all his jets and dropped.

The ceiling caved under the weight of his suit instantly.

Tony went through the roof of his home, through the interior ceiling, through the floor again, and Tony couldn't be certain, but it sounded like he went through the piano too. An instant later he was back in the garage.

For the third time in recent memory, Tony had to stop and wait for a few seconds to make sure he was still alive.

When he discovered he had folded the Mercedes almost in half he actually felt like crying.

His body had been pummeled against inside the suit by the flight, then the impact, but the Mark II hadn't been breached. Hadn't even been dented.

Man alive I know how to build things. He whooped victoriously.

The robot doused him with the fire extinguisher, which took a little something from the moment.

Out of the suit, Tony made his way back to the computer workstation in his workshop; with an icepack wrapped around his upper forearm. On the way to his coffee cup, he noticed the box that Pepper had brought down, still untouched from two days before.

Hm. Now what would Pepper be giving me that needs to be sent in a plain brown wrapper? Tony quipped to himself.

He unwrapped the package. It was a glass box, about a foot on each side, and inside, mounted prominently, was the Mark I Arc Reactor, glowing brightly, which it would for 50 lifetimes.

And etched around the circular outer frame, were the words "Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart."

Tony couldn't help but smile, and gave the gift a place of importance, next to the picture of his parents.

Pepper yanked my heart out, mounted it and sent it back. Tony laughed silently as he got back to work. How...appropriate.

Raza fingered his huge ring and studied the horizon. His plans were coming together slowly. His Master had dispatched him to be leader to one arm of the Ten Rings. His master was not one to take incompetence lightly, a trait that he passed on to his own subordinates.

But he was merciful too. Some in his place would command executions for letting Tony Stark escape, but Raza had taken part in the fight himself, and knew that his soldiers were outclassed. He had allowed his men to live, but made it clear that there was work to do.

The weapons that could make one man outclass an army was something worth spending time on.

It would not be the first Stark Industries weapon that Raza had managed to get hold of, but he knew that this would not be a weapon available on the market for a while.

Having moved what was left of his supplies to open desert, he was able to see a long way in many directions. There was little fortification, but if the Americans had not struck back after three months, odds were they weren't going to.

Against that was another concern. If Stark did intend to sell suits like this, it was only a matter of time before Raza would have to face Iron soldiers in battle.

To that end, he needed something to bargain with. The original suit or armor had been scavenged, and Raza's men were busily trying to piece it together like a jigsaw, using Stark's original schematics.

He would also need a better base. His people could see an attack coming, but there was still little to keep them protected. He had sent his decoy and second in command to a local village, and commanded him to get a new base set up. The people there would be cleared out; and nobody with the force would have the will to intervene.

Americans were always so squeamish when CNN was watching.

Another two hours after his test flight, and Tony was preparing his final prototype, making notes on what he'd learned from the Mark II.

"The suit is not rated for high altitude," Tony said, as though struck by revelation. "Possibly due to icing,"

"Very astute sir," Jarvis said.

Did I program this thing to be sarcastic? Tony wondered, turning the problem over in his head. That's Pepper's job.

"Use the gold titanium alloy from the Seraphim Tactical Satellite. It should maintain integrity to fifty thousand feet and maintain power to weight ratio."

"Shall I render using proposed specifications?" Intoned Jarvis.

"Wow me," He said to Jarvis as he shook up the Martini shaker.

The screen lit up with a concept sketch. The design hadn't changed too much, except for the outer skin alloys, and extrapolating that was an easy enough process for Jarvis. Tony looked at the screen. It looked like the Mark II, done over in gold.

Completely in gold. "Little ostentatious isn't it?"

"What was I thinking? You're usually so discreet," Jarvis retorted.

Ugh. No. Way too Threepio. Tony thought. Anything worth doing is worth doing with style. He scanned the room for inspiration and his attention went to the Hot Rod, and the red and gold flames decals emblazoned on the hood.

"Tell ya what," He suggested as he poured. "Throw a little Hot Rod red in there."

"Oh yes, that should let you keep a low profile," Jarvis mocked. Jarvis was silent a moment as he worked. In such moments, Stark wondered idly if Jarvis was laughing at him.

The revised concept sketch came up on screen. It looked sleek, looked dangerous, looked majestic...It was the sum total of every thought he had go through his head since getting captured by Raza.

And Tony wasn't even looking at it.

Instead, he looked over his martini glass at the Flat screen Plasma TV mounted on the wall. Had that thing always been on?

The woman on the screen was familiar. She was a society reporter for one of those celebrity watch programs. Tony had met her once or twice a year or more back. He couldn't remember her name, but remembered she wasn't a real brunette. The scrawl at the bottom of the screen provided her name obligingly and confirmed the building behind her. It was the Disney Hall.

"Tonight's red-hot Red Carpet is at the Walt Disney Hall for the third annual Stark benefit for the Firefighters' Family Fund has been the go-to Charity gala on LA's high society calendar."

The Fireman's gala? Pepper didn't tell me anything about that, did she? "Jarvis, did we get an invitation to that?"

"Not that I know of sir," Jarvis responded. "Shall I machine the needed components sir?"

"Machine away," Tony said, still looking at the screen.

The TV had been programmed to run on idle, but would activate monitors whenever certain phrases were picked up. 'Tony Stark' was one of them.

"But though his name is on the gold-embossed invitations, Tony Stark has once again been a no-show. The billionaire hasn't been seen since his controversial press conference three months ago," The personality continued.

Three months?

"Feeding rumors that he is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; and is confined to a bed. Whatever the truth, nobody expects an appearance."

In your dreams sister! Tony thought. But the TV had a point. He had been missing everything going on. In fact, the more he thought about it, he suddenly realized that the usual people who would be ringing him up and demanding to know when the next party was, and where they could collect their complementary perfume models were not calling. Where were they all?

It suddenly struck Tony that he hadn't seen anybody since getting back. In fact, with the exception of the Press Conference, and going to see Rhodey, he hadn't ever left the house, and only Obadiah and Pepper had come to see him...

In fact, Tony suddenly realized. Pepper had all but moved in when he got back. How had he not realized that? She was there every day. After thinking that though for a second, he realized he was hungry. He hadn't been hungry since getting back. Pepper had brought him three squares a day; not counting coffee.

It explained why nobody had contacted him. Pepper had been taking his messages. Odds were the ones he had been ignoring were only the one in ten that she had been willing to deliver as far as the workshop.

He glanced over at the Mark I generator, mounted in glass and engraved with his name.

Tony felt a wave of guilt. He had originally fought despair in Raza's camp by telling himself that Pepper wouldn't give up on him even if she had to steal his credit cars and buy the US military to keep up the search. And yet since his return, he had thrown himself into this suit; and never even thanked her. Pepper's been hovering like an overprotective mother-hen for months, worrying I've lost my marbles while I was away, and except for asking her to yank my heart out of my chest, I haven't even talked to her. Where is she tonight?

It was his third wakeup call of the year. He was getting obsessed with this suit. He needed to be seen. He needed to be out turning heads again. Whatever else he was, he was still Tony Stark.

The room came to life as his machines got to work. "Sir the rendering process should take five hours."

Good. Tony thought. Time enough to have a night on the town.

Now. Which car do I take? The Mark II is too showy for a black tie event.

"Don't wait up for me," Tony called to Jarvis.

Then he noticed that the black t-shirt and ice-pack corsage he was wearing wasn't really appropriate either, and headed upstairs to change.

After all, Tony couldn't help but think ironically. The clothes maketh the man.

The Silver Audi screamed up to the end of the red carpet, and Tony Stark, in full tuxedo, dressed to the nines, stepped out and tossed his keys to the valet without looking.

The camera flashed grew in intensity at his arrival, as was expected of them. Tony knew that the party was inside. The Red Carpet's real function was to show off for the press. The A-List were all here, but the ones that stayed outside were doing interviews and photo ops, and Stark wasn't here to be seen by cameras. Not primarily anyway. They would have their fill with his entrance.

One such member of the A-list, a beautiful woman whom he must have known once and likely only once, turned to meet him at the red carpet. "Hey, remember me?" She asked him playfully.

Stark didn't even slow his stride. "Sure don't," He made his way up toward the entrance, giving Hugh Hefner a wave as he walked.

And there, holding court at the door with a small group of reporters; was Obadiah. "Weapons are only one small part of what Stark Industries..."

The reporters lost interest instantly as Tony came up the steps to the door.

The reporters moved fast. Obadiah moved faster. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"What's the world coming to when you have to crash your own party?" Tony quipped. "See you inside."

"Take it slow," Stane warned him. "I've got the Board right where I want them..."

Tony nodded obligingly. He understood. No interviews, no impromptu soapbox speeches, just here to be seen.

Tony breezed in, many of the guests turned to him instantly, paying due tribute to their host. It was easy to find his footing among them again. Everyone who should be in this room was here; everyone who did not belong was safely out of sight. The air smelled of power and money, and rightfully so. Eveningwear, dance floor, expensive dining, socialites...

Music played cheerfully, the drinks flowed smoothly, and the lights were warm and motivated the idle wealthy to donate freely.

Tony drank it in. He'd almost forgotten how much he fit in here. The people in this room were elite, and he was the top of the chart. The people in this room were powerful. They had no idea the power he really had.

Swaying into step with the rhythm of this place, he made his way to the bar of course, and the bartender recognized him instantly. Tony waved him over. "Scotch please, I'm starving."

"Mr. Stark."

Tony turned around and found himself face to face with somebody he didn't recognize. "Yeah?"

The man held out his hand and Tony shook it. "Agent Coulson."

The name took a few seconds to track. He briefly remembered something about an incomprehensible company name. "Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, the guy from the..."

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. " Coulson finished. He was clearly used to people forgetting the name.

That was it. Names don't come more incomprehensible than that. "Whew!" he said aloud. "God, you really need a new name for that."

Tony noticed someone across the room. She was getting some attention, and Tony could see why. Dark lavender dress, stunning without being less than classy. The dress was backless, showing a very well constructed back made of smooth creamy skin, offset by the bright red hair.

Tony knew he had to get a closer look. A much closer look.

"Yeah, I hear that a lot," Coulson commiserated; unaware that Stark was a million miles away.

Tony continued the conversation without looking away from the dress, and the woman wearing it.

Then she turned around.

Holy god! Tony's famous indifference shattered. That's Pepper! Pepper's hot! Agh!

"Tell you what, Agent Coulson," He heard his voice saying. "I see my assistant over there, how about I go over and...make a date."

"Thank you," Coulson was apparently satisfied with that.

Tony meanwhile, busily fought down the instinct to put his eyes out. He had found Pepper to be attractive. Very attractive in fact. That couldn't be right.

Tony fought for his usual cool. Get a grip Tony. He smirked. Good idea; the music's starting. Waist or hips?

Tony smacked that thought away. This isn't some girl; this isn't some model, or a one night stand. This is Pepper. This is your Pepper. You can't see her as hot. She's too...too Pepper.

Somehow, this internal screaming match didn't even slow him down from walking straight up to her. "Excuse me Miss Potts, can I get five minutes?"

She turned and the deer-in-headlights look she gave him was adorable. Adorable? When did Pepper become hot and adorable?

Pepper had been enjoying the party a fair bit. She had finally found an excuse to wear the dress she'd bought herself months before; and she knew she looked great in it. She had resolved to enjoy the night, and let her hair down for once, literally as it turned out.

It was the first time she'd ever done so. After seven years cleaning up after hurricane Stark, she finally realized that the only thing to combat those persistent rumors that followed her around whenever Tony's former assistants appeared in the tabloids; was the fact that she hadn't been fired yet. When Tony had returned, and she'd all but moved into his house again like she had during his captivity, she found herself identifying far too much with some of the characters in 'The Devil Wears Prada'.

Not that Tony would ever be deliberately cruel. Or even indirectly cruel. Not with her at least.

It was this sort of thought progression that had led her to buy the damn dress in the first place. She knew when she bought it that it was a rebellion to her entire lifestyle. This dress was made to be seen, and she was getting more than a few long looks for it.

In fact, she was pretty proud of herself for the way it had turned out.

So why did she suddenly feel like she'd been caught out doing something wrong when she heard Tony's voice?

"Hey!" She chirped before she could help herself. "What are you doing here?"

"I hardly recognized you. Where'd you get that dress?"

Pepper was well familiar with his voice when speaking to women at parties. He wasn't being lecherous, his tone was frankly admiring. In fact, a lot of people at this party had been checking her out, and until now she was feeling pretty good about it.

But she suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. "It was a birthday present...from you, actually."

Tony grinned in realization. "I got great taste, don't I?"

You do when I do your shopping. Pepper thought. It was an old joke between them.

"You wanna dance?" Tony quizzed.

Yes! No! Keep it Professional, Pepper! "Oh, no, thank you," She said politely.

Tony grinned, as though he'd heard what he wanted to, which was probably the case, and he started leading her to the dance floor. "All right, come on."

Pepper wasn't quite sure what was going on. He wasn't dragging her, her feet were moving along quite willingly. He wasn't insisting, and he wasn't pressuring her since he was her employer...in fact she felt as though she was doing him a favor since he'd asked...But somehow Pepper was terrified and thrilled at the same time. She was telling her feet to take her off the dance floor, and yet it was like the dance was already underway, and Tony's was leading the waltz.

They reached the centre of the dance floor, he gave her a little twirl, and suddenly she was dancing.

With Tony.

I am dancing with Tony. I am wearing a very elegant very sexy dress that I feel good in, at the place to be seen among the A-List, at the top party of the year and I am slow dancing with Tony Stark. I hope everyone is watching. For a microsecond she let herself feel intoxicated in the moment, when suddenly it hit her. Oh hell! Everybody must be watching! What the Hell am I thinking wearing this dress? I must be so obvious! Everybody's watching me dance with Tony Stark!

Tony could clearly sense her growing panic attack and started distracting her. He was good at that. Even better at using the distraction to relax her. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Pepper started to babble. "Oh, no...I always forget to put on deodorant and wear a backless dress and dance with my boss in front of everybody."

Babbling was a nervous habit for her, one that only ever came up with Tony, and even then, only when he gave her that look. The look he was giving her right now. The one that said 'who are you, where did you come from and what saintly thing did I do in a previous life to deserve you?'

"Well, you look great," Tony remarked and Pepper could feel her face blushing as red as her hair. "You smell great," he continued and she could feel her blush going down her neck, and her bare back; "And if it'll take the edge off, I could always fire you."

Ah. Now that was a shot she could get a grip on. "I don't think you could tie your shoes without me."

"I'd last a week," Tony murmured.

Pepper smiled smugly. "What's your social security number?"

Long silence. Pepper didn't notice her movements becoming smooth and relaxed as they moved together in a gentle circle. "Um...Five," he said finally.

There was a gentle sway between them as she relaxed into it and they got closer. "You're missing a few digits actually..."

"I've got you for the other eight," Tony smirked. He had an adorable look of...whoa, down girl! She caught herself. When did Tony become 'adorable'? And when did Mr. Stark become 'Tony'?

He was giving her that look again. They were almost nose to nose, and he was looking at her like she was...

Tony noticed her nerves returning. "Want some air?"

"Yes. I want air," Pepper said instantly.

Tony gave her that look again and led the way out.

She hadn't stopped babbling since they'd got to the roof balcony. She knew he found her babbling to be cute. It was why they had such a good dynamic, with him trying to fluster her; and her being more unflappable than anybody he'd ever met.

"That was totally weird," Pepper said for the seventh time.

"Totally harmless," Tony told her for the eighth time.

"It was totally, not harmless," She countered, hearing her voice go off on a tangent again. "In front of… you know; everybody…No! And you know why?"

"I think you've lost objectivity here," Tony was trying to calm her down. "We just danced."

Bless him, She thought. Always making the lady feel comfortable. Stop it! That's the point you twit!

"No!" Pepper would have shouted if she wasn't whispering. "It was not just a dance, you don't understand because, you're you, and… everybody knows you, and exactly how you are with girls, and all of that, which is completely fine," She could feel her brain screaming 'Shut up!' at her mouth, but her mouth wasn't listening. "But then, y'know, me, I'm me, and you're my boss, and I'm dancing-"

"I really think you're making too much of it..." Tony said soothingly.

"Makes me look like the one that's trying to…"

"I just think you're overreacting a little bit-"

Pepper was still babbling. "And we're here, and I'm…" She licked her lips, finally running out of breath slowly. "Wearing this ridiculous dress, and then… we were dancing, like that…"

Like what? She asked herself. Like a date?

She was staring at him, wondering briefly exactly what she was worried about. What if he was right, what if this was just a harmless casual, meaningless dance with one of the few people that Tony had in his life for more than ten minutes?

Her brain started screaming warning signals again, realizing just how close they were standing to each other.

Tony was giving her that look again. He was waiting for her to make some kind of a point, maybe define what the problem was…

After a fraction of a second, Pepper decided she had to know one way or another. She leaned forward, lips parted, a clear invitation.

And Tony leaned in to meet her halfway.

Whoa! Pepper told herself. BACK WOMAN BACK!

Pepper stopped herself at exactly the last second before their lips touched. And to her horror, she realized the he was drawing back slightly with an identical look.

There was an incredibly intense moment as they stared at each other like total strangers. Somehow she was very short of breath, as was he.

Pepper wasn't sure what was more horrifying. That she had almost kissed Tony, or that she hadn't actually kissed Tony.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

Oh so now you want to think about what you're doing, do you?

Say something. Anything.

"I would like a drink," Pepper heard her voice say slowly.

"Got it," Tony said instantly. He seemed grateful for something to break the moment too.

Tony headed back for the door inside.

Ah Hell with it, the moment is over and he's paying. "I would like a-a vodka martini please," She drawled, sounding absolutely exhausted. "Very dry with olives, lots of olives; like at least three olives."

Pepper. She begged herself. Please. Just. Stop. TALKING!

Pepper almost sagged with relief as he left the roof and she could think again.

Thank merciful heaven she had managed to pull back when she did. If she had actually kissed him they'd probably be halfway to his place by now.

What the Hell were you thinking Tony? You can't just...kiss her. This isn't just some girl. This is Pepper. This is your Pepper. Tony repeated the Mantra as he headed for the bar. He just repeated the Mantra, over and over. This isn't just some girl. This is Pepper. This is your Pepper.

He made it to the bar and stuck a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar. "Two Vodka martini's extra dry extra olives, extra fast. Make one of them dirty will ya?"

The bartender saw the size of the tip and actually scurried to obey.

It wasn't as if Tony was unaware that Pepper was an attractive woman. She was beautiful. He knew it the first time he met her. The moment he hired her in fact. Somehow...He had forgotten to look at her that way over the years...

And it wasn't that they had to work together. Professional distance hadn't exactly been a deal-breaker for him with other co-workers...So why had this come as such a thunderbolt?

Pepper is different. The answer came. She's special. She's too...Pepper.

Tony smirked. He was the one that had given her that nickname; when he hired her on as his personal assistant. She hated hearing it at first, but he said she would get used to it.

And she had.

Tony came out of the memory and wondered briefly if she remembered threatening to use that Pepper Spray all those years ago...

He recited his mantra as the bartender came back with two martini glasses. This isn't some girl. This isn't some model, or a one night stand.

As if the fates had heard him, he turned around and saw a familiar blonde coming toward him like a laser guided missile. Oh help! I forgot her name! Is there nowhere I can go where I won't run into some hot blonde whose name I should remember? Other than Afghanistan that is?

He turned back to the bar and ducked his head as she closed in. He wasn't supposed to be here, maybe she hadn't noticed him.

"Well, Tony Stark!" She said, as if amused to see him.

Tony remembered what his father had told him about such situations. Never smile at a crocodile.

Tony searched for a nametag or a necklace with her name engraved into it. No such luck. He scrambled like crazy. Dig, dig…

"Carrie," He guessed.

"Christine," She said in the exact same moment, and finally Tony's memory of the night before leaving for Afghanistan came crashing back to him.

Christine Everheart. The predatory one with the fangs and claws.

Raza was your punishment for Violence, Tony. Everheart is your punishment for Vice.

Tony finally turned to face her fully and she put those sub-zero eyes right in his face. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here tonight. Can I at least get a reaction from you?"

"Panic? How's that?"

"I was referring to your company's involvement in this latest atrocity-"

"Hey, they just put my name on the invitations..." Glib wasn't working and he knew it.

"Y'know, for just a second there, I actually almost bought it, hook line and sinker," Everheart almost growled. He had heard her growling before, this was much less fun.

Tony was fed up. Everheart had hated his guts the whole time. Was she really expecting a second date? "I was out of town for a couple of months, in case you didn't hear?"

"Is this what you call accountability?" Everheart demanded, and handed him a sleeve of photos.

Relieved she was talking about something else; he took a look at the photos and went dead. Cold and hard. Iron and steel. He almost wished he had his armor with him. It would have suited his mood perfectly. "When were these taken?" He could almost convince himself it was months ago.

"Yesterday. In a village called Gulmira. Heard of it?' her tone said she was expecting him not to. But he had. Yinsen...oh no...

Each photo was another damning condemnation. They were Raza's men. Tony knew all their faces, and even if he didn't those thrice-damned Ten Rings Insignia would have been a giveaway. Raza's men, carrying Stark weapons. Undamaged, unburnt, Stark weapons, using them to march people to a wall full of blood and bullet holes...

Everheart was still talking. Tony almost didn't hear her. He was too busy staring at the 8 X 10 in his hand. Right there, front and centre, surrounded by a wrecked village, was a Jericho Missile system, fresh off the assembly line. Freshly fired too apparently.

Tony looked up from the photos, and suddenly noticed where he was. This was still Disney Hall wasn't it? It didn't look right. Who are all these people standing around?

"I didn't approve this shipment," Tony told her honestly.

"Someone in your company did," Everheart was merciless.

Tony wasn't feeling particularly merciful himself. Someone highly placed in his company was playing dirty, and there was a body count rising as a result.

"Well I'm not my company."

Obadiah. Tony thought coldly. He's your lion-tamer on the board. Find him, put the screws to him, he finds the traitor, and then you can feed him to a shark. Tony Shark. That has a nice ring to it.

"Come with me," He told Everheart.

Stane hadn't moved from the Red Carpet when Tony had all but bullied him into taking a break from his interviews and facing up to what Tony was showing him.

"Did you see these photos?" Stark pressed him; horrified that Stane was being so calm. If Stane was being calm about this, it meant he already knew. "What's going on?"

"Tony, you can't afford to be this naïve."

Tony was suddenly blazing with intensity. "You know what? I was naïve before, when somebody said to me 'Here's a line, we don't cross it. This is how we do business.' If we're double-dealing under the table… Are we?"

Stane looked at Tony and apparently realized that the younger man wasn't going to be forced off this subject.

Another camera bulb flashed, with the two men glaring electrically at each other.

"Let's take a picture," Stane said finally, and the two men turned to the ever-present photographers, putting their public faces on. "Picture time!"

Obadiah had commanded him not to cause a scene. Tony was agreeable to that, ten minutes ago. Now there was just a suffocating anger. It was a pounding noise through his head, like a heavy rock beat, played by a vengeful god, howling for blood.

"Tony," Obadiah said quietly, still smiling to the flashing cameras. "Who do you think locked you out? I'm the one that's filing the injunction against you."

Stark felt his head explode. There was simply no other way to describe it. His head was exploding, right here in front of everyone.

"It was the only way to protect you."

Protect me? The Paradigm Shift was painful. Obadiah was the one squeezing him out. With the stock his father had left to them both, he might actually have enough for a majority if he could wrangle the Board. The bastard had muscled him out of the company with his Name on the side of the building. With his Father's name on the side of the building. He fought to keep his expression even as he glared at his former friend. You thief. Were you just waiting for your chance even with my father? Did I throw a wrench in your plans when I turned Twenty One? Were you waiting for the right moment all this time?

The bastard had brought him a pizza. A New York pizza. Tony loved New York Pizzas. Like a friend. Like a pal. And it was a good pizza too!

Stane walked off back down the red carpet, toward his car.

Tony kept his poker face. It was the only thing he could bring any willpower to bear on; and only then because going ballistic in front of the cameras would be all Stane would need to have him committed. He certainly wasn't going to give the thief the satisfaction.

And somehow, all he could focus on was the photos that Everheart had given him.

Someone was double-dealing weapons under the table to Raza. To Raza! And he had thought it was one of the Bloodthirsty Board. And he had gone running to his old friend Obadiah, to help him identify the rotten apple, only to find...

Tony knew the second he had seen the pictures of the weapons. Whoever had filed the injunction was the one dealing weapons, because the injunction had been filed immediately after Tony had shifted the company away from weapon production.

Obadiah had filed the injunction.

Tony felt like going back inside and screaming at everybody there. What is the matter with these people? People like Yinsen are dying, and you guys are in here fiddling while Rome burns! Let them eat cake! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL?!

The exact same thing that was wrong with you six months ago. Tony knew.

He wanted his armor. The Mark III should be getting close to ready by now.

Tony nearly ran home.

He had forgotten Pepper completely.

Shut down Stane, Tony. He ordered himself. Stane is dealing weapons behind your back. If you can prove it, you can get control of your weapons back. If you can prove it, you can put Stane in jail, and stop the shipments.

He looked back at the picture of the Jericho. There was a serial number on the side. He could trace that.

There was a family sobbing over a body in the background of the picture.

Tony almost crushed the photo in his fist, feeling the frustrated rage boiling over him again. He needed something.

His father had noticed Tony's interest in engineering, and had personally taught him about the tools they had use of. His first lesson was a pencil and paper. Howard Stark had told his son to draw his own hands.

It had taken Tony weeks to figure out how. The more he worked at it, the more complex his hands had become.

"Engineers are dreamers with tools," His father had said. "And your hands are the first tools given to you. If you can't make them work, none of your other tools will do the job you want them to do right."

His father had taught him that weapons were tools too. His hands were the first tools given him, and he had learned their use well.

They were not equal to the task once; and he needed Pepper's hands to take up the slack. He wanted to get the gloves right above all others. If the gauntlet/gloves did not work correctly, then neither would the flight stabilizers, and neither would anything else.

Make a fist. The Armor. The Mark III glove might need adjustment. That would clear his head.

No such luck. The TV News had picked up the minor genocide going on in Yinsen's home village. And an hour later he was in cargo pants and white singlet, opening and closing his gauntleted fist. The red glove was hooked up to his Arc Reactor, the movements were smooth and precise, but they could be better.

"Recent violence has been attributed to a group of foreign fighters referred to by locals at the 'Ten Rings'," The report continued.

Tony didn't react. He just kept opening and closing his fist, making adjustments with a six inch screwdriver.

Find the proof, stop Obadiah, get control of your company back, get the shipments stopped, find where the last ones went, and shut them down.

"As you can see, these men are well armed, and on a mission," Footage of the Jericho missile appeared on screen. "A mission that could prove fatal to anyone that stands in their way."

And in the meantime, the killing goes on. Tony was boiling, but he just opened and closed his gauntleted fist again; made an adjustment.

Tony remembered his escape. He could have fired those jets sooner. Down on his knees, his armor getting ripped apart around him, he kept firing, but not at his enemies. He kept firing at the weapons. The Stark Industries weapons. He could see Yinsen's lifeless eyes staring back at him and roared. Yinsen had been killed by a bullet with a Stark logo on it.

Not my weapons. Stark growled. Not my legacy.

"With no political will or international pressure, there's very little hope for these refugees," the reporter continued. "Around me, a woman begging for news on her husband, who was kidnapped by insurgents. And nowhere to be seen is anyone who can answer a child's simple question 'Where are my mother and father?'"

Tony remembered that first repulsor blast. He pictured what did to his lab. He pictured what it would do to a man like Raza.

As if to make sure he hadn't imagined it, he stood, slowly walked away from the TV like he was sleepwalking. Stark turned to face something at random, and lifted his bright red gauntlet.

I should be dead already. Unless it was for a reason. I just finally know what I have to do.

Tony remembered the recoil from last time and planted his feet hard.

"There's very little hope for these refugees. Refugees who wonder: Who, if anyone, can help?"

He opened his hand and triggered the repulsor, ripping one of the fluorescent lights clean off the ceiling; the recoil throwing his hand back over his shoulder.

A long moment as Stark considered the result with satisfaction. Then he turned and looked for something else to destroy.

Tony blasted the glass door to his workshop. It shattered most agreeably. Tony's fury blazed and he fired again at the glass wall panel next to it, and again, then once more, he moved with the recoil and spun like a gunfighter; till there was nothing left of glass in the room to smash.

The lab looked like a disaster area. Like Raza's camp. Like Yinsen's home town.

Cut off the head Tony. Cut off the supply line, cut off Obadiah. That's how you do this. It's the law. And your armor aside, you aren't a soldier. Tony told himself firmly. On the other hand…nah.

You've been a weapon-eer all your life Stark. An Iron Monger, a Death Dealer. He told himself angrily. It's about time you deigned to get your hands dirty.

Tony had used his garage to upgrade his cars since he was eighteen. In his house was all the necessary apparatus to fabricate design and construct a car from the ground up if he wanted to.

Once, while purchasing and outfitting an ATV factory, he had noticed the speed with which an automated machine assembly line could churn out a dozen cars.

Realizing the potential, he had a private assembly system set up on his garage. A move that needed some serious renovations to his home, but he was convinced it was worth it. The cars and their engines were his hobby. Something obsessive really, and getting his own assembly room had made Pepper happy as it helped him finish with his toys faster.

But now, with Jarvis at the helm of these machines, the assembly room had a different purpose.

Not so different. Tony reflected. This suit is an All Terrain Vehicle. It's a transport, an armored car...

'You've been called the DaVinci of out times, what do you say to that?'

Tony stood in between the machines that framed him; and spread his limbs, standing in a perfect spread eagle.

I say, that DaVinci designed the Vitruvian man...Tony thought as the machines moved in to construct him. A human raised to perfect specifications, made greater than normal. Human made superhuman.

The assembly machines worked fast and methodical. They fitted him with his torso. The chest piece was fitted into place, then the back, both halves screwed together into a seamless piece by the motorized equipment. The limbs of the suit were brought to him like personal tailors making him a new jacket. His arms slid into the sleeves, as smoothly as a dream. While his arms were being fitted, the machines raised him off the ground and locked the lower pieces of the armor into place from waist to toes.

The gloves came to him, the most familiar part of his new self. He was proud of the gloves more than any other part. They didn't restrict his movement at all. As it should be. Now his every tool had been upgraded by what he had created.

The machines released him from their protective hold and he dropped to his own freshly-armored feet. He checked his reflection in the windshield of the nearby hot Rod. He was still Tony Stark. From the neck down he was the machine. But he was Still Tony Stark. Still his face, and all that it brought with it.

The last of the machine arms fulfilled their purpose, fitting his neck into place, and the faceplate came with it. It was the most difficult decision to make, designing the head. Giving the Mark III a face was too 'Metropolis.' Making it a mask that pulled on from above was too 'Batman'. Finally, he settled on having the faceplate on a pivot, and it came down over his face like powerful metal jaws.

The construction was efficient, the result was perfection. His skin gleamed, his stance straight and casual in its power. Massive power. Dynamic power.

Red boots and gloves, golden limbs and face, over a hot-rod red torso.

I am the Vitruvian man...Tony exulted.

The mask closed over his face. It wasn't an exo-suit. It was armor. No other word applied. Stane was right. They were iron mongers by profession. The 21st century equivalent of a blacksmith, commissioned by the king to make their swords and shields. Nobody had worn a suit of armor in over a century. But he was wearing something elite. King Arthur would have handed over Excalibur in a heartbeat when faced with the Iron Knight he was.

Gold, and red. Colors of power and wealth.

He was wrong. Mark III was not a name for this. Mark III was cold, clinical, and totally wrong for how this felt. This was elemental. He was elemental. He had to think of something to call this.

Metallo? Taken.

Titanium Man? Too James Bond.

Gold Knight? Too 'Power Rangers'.

The Armored Man? Oh, Hell no!

Focus Tony! He ordered himself. People are dying. And you're going to protect them.

The Guardian? Maybe.

Tony leveled out as he flew, high enough to see the curve of the earth beneath him, and poured the power on. His altitude would keep him from being tracked or seen, and cut down his travel time considerably. Just up and over everything to his goal.

Birds can't fly this high. Planes would have to work for it.

The cold didn't hamper him any longer. Nothing did. Gravity, air, temperature, distance...those were other people's problems. Not him. Not what he had become. Not what he had made himself.

Tony was so entranced by the view, that after a while he had Jarvis take full control and rolled over to fly on his back, and looked up. The moon, the stars, the black between worlds.

The Iron Man was above it all, and beneath everything else. Whoever said getting there was half the fun knew what he was talking about.

He lost all perception of how long he had been flying. It would have been so easy never to land. He wanted his armor when Everheart had confronted him. Things were so much simpler within his armor. Much simpler than when on the ground.

Nothing for his earthbound self but old debts, incurred in blood.

Debts to be repaid.

God? He prayed as he flew. I know that this is a bit hypocritical given the way I've been...well, roughly since birth. But I've never asked You for anything before. Not when my dad died, not when I took over the company, not even when I was being held prisoner in that cave, watching Yinsen die. But now I'm asking.

Please God, let Raza be there personally.

The man that Stark had dubbed Kid-Khan was having a difficult time of it. The people of Gulmira were not warriors, but had lived in a near constant warzone for most of their lives. Most of them had hiding places and hidden supplies prepared for a day just such as this.

Kid-Khan had needed to do some serious groveling to save his life once Stark had escaped. The fact that the Americans had discovered the Ten Ring's base camp as a direct result of Stark's hugely destructive getaway meant that a new stronghold had to be found.

If there was any hope of moving everything that had survived, and hiding the arrival of replacement supplies and weapons, the local populations had to be cleared out.

But though they were incapable of putting up much of a fight, the villagers were making it hard for him, darting in and out of houses like ghosts.

So followed the exhaustive process of methodically kicking in every door, and gunning down those who were hiding. This resulted in flushing out most of the others, who then needed to be captured.

Raza had given specific instructions on this point. The young men, and fathers were likely to be the higher risks, and they were to be executed immediately. The demoralizing effect would quickly motivate the women and children to obey.

One young boy had apparently missed the point, and broken free of his guards to run toward his father, who was on his knees waiting to be killed.

Kid-Khan couldn't stand for that. Raza was on his way and expected the matter to be closed by his arrival. With his patience gone, Kid-Khan shoved the screaming boy away and started taking out his frustrations on the father, kicking him as hard as he could.

Iron Man struck.

Kid-Khan looked up in shock as a sonic-boom filled the air. The American's had been staying out of the village because there were civilian hostages there, but something was clearly coming fast from the sky, and it was heading straight for them.

It flared its limbs out in the last moment before impact and came down with a clang, like a steel drum on stone...

And everybody stared blankly at it.

'It' was the correct term. It was not a 'He'.

It smelled of ozone and power as it rose from a deadly crouch to stand at over two-meters tall. Its body was polished gold and blood red. Its eyes flashed with white-blue fire from behind a faceless gold mask.

There was an electric silence, and the Army of the Ten Rings came back for round two, against the Invincible Iron Man.

Gunfire rang out, and sparks glanced off his skin. It was possible there were scuffs on the paint job, but nobody could get close enough to be sure.

The iron man stood there and let it happen for a few seconds, before pouncing forward with an uppercut that sent one gunman up, onto the roof of the house behind him.

Inside the suit, cool as ice, Stark surveyed the battle.

His HUD had painted all the targets

Kid-Khan clearly had a flash of Deja Vu. It was the second time he had faced a bullet-proof death machine coming for him.

The tactic worked the first time, so he apparently did it again. He sent his soldiers to fight and ran the other way.

Iron Man was content to let him run. There was nowhere to go.

Bullets glanced off his armor. For the most part, they were harmless. The skin of this suit was made from a gold-titanium alloy reserved for the Seraphim satellite, designed to survive impacts with space junk, micro meteorites...small arms fire meant nothing.

Iron Man raised an open palm toward the second man. A half-second whine of power gathering, and a repulsor blast sent him flying. A half turn toward his left and a second blast sent the next one head over heels. Two steps, and both hands fired a concentrated blast into the third, trying to throw him in two directions at the same time.

Iron Man spun again, both hands raised...

And froze.

His opponents had done the math. He had the power. He had the superior firepower, and they reacted in the time honored custom of terrorists presented with superior forces: They hid themselves behind human shields.

About half a dozen of the Ten Rings soldiers had hostages. The women and children were being held down on their knees, each of them with a gun to their heads.

Iron Man held his hands out to the sides, and made a show of letting the glowing power sources in his palms fade to nothing.

But invisible to them, Stark started marking everyone in front of him carefully.

Classified Target: 8-12 Civilian.

Code Name: Hostages

Classified Target: 1-7: Hostile.

Code Name: Terrorists.

Micro-Missiles: Online.

The iron man's shoulders seemed to raise themselves, and in the same second, exploded into movement as two dozen missiles the size of low caliber bullets sought their prey.

In the blink of an eye it was over; and each gunman dropped to the ground, all of them with a look of surprise.

One or two of the women covered their eyes, or those of their children.

The boy broke away from her and ran over to his father, who met him halfway emotionally.

Iron Man saw them looking at him, thanking him...

He was already moving.

Kid-Khan had retreated past the end of the street, and had doubled back to hide behind a stone wall.

He was almost positive that it was Stark, back for revenge, and if the armor was any indication, he was better prepared this time. The speed with which this armor moved had made it clear that there was no outrunning him this time. His best bet was to stay hidden and hope that Stark hadn't counted his opponents too closely.

No such luck. A blood-red glove smashed through the solid concrete wall behind him, caught him by the scruff of the neck, and pulled him straight through the wall, throwing him back into the middle of the wrecked town.

The man was rolling on the ground in agony, feeling his bones broken from going through the wall, and saw the death Machine glaring down at him.

Kid-Khan closed his eyes and waited for the end to come as his enemy's bright red gloves flared to a bright light.

But the final blow never came, and the air seemed to shake apart around him. He opened his eyes and saw their iron attacker lifting off.

"He's all yours," The man said as he started to fly away.

Lying on the ground, the last terrorist looked up weakly as his unchained prey started to close in on him.

Iron Man flew like the guided missile he was, moving in on the primary targets. His eyes found the Jericho Missile in the distance, his HUD put up the schematics helpfully.

Jericho Missiles. Tony thought savagely. Every major disaster of the last year has been because of these damn missiles. Let me show you what Stark Technology can really do.

As if to answer him, something hit him hard enough to pound his armor into the back of his body, bent inwardly against his spine.

The impact spun him hard and fast into the ground, powerfully enough to crater the ground.

Really annoyed now, Tony put a hand at the edge of the crater, and levered himself back to standing position on solid ground.

At the end of the street was a Tank, aiming a turret at him.

Stark Industries motion trackers. The design jumped up on his HUD. Able to predict flight trajectories to varying degrees of accuracy; making it possible to hit one missile with another given the right circumstances.

Classified Target: Hostile.

Code Name: Combat Tank.

Cobra-Missiles: Online.

INCOMING. AUTOMATIC EVASIVE ENGAGED.

The tank fired again, and Iron Man swiveled his upper body instantly. The shell missed him easily.

Iron Man lifted an arm. A small missile raised itself from his forearm, and took off, spearing down the street, straight down the Tank's Main Turret with a metallic clunk.

Iron Man didn't even bother to watch, turning toward the Jericho while the Tank erupted from within behind him.

Oh I've gotta get a superhero name and patent it. Tony exulted. There's gotta be movies, action figures, comic books, video games...but first...

Another five or six terrorists were protecting the missile launcher, and opened fire as he got closer. Tony didn't bother. He had just knocked down a tank without even looking. The small caliber bullets were nothing.

Iron Man launched himself to a hover; about fifteen feet up, and aimed his gauntlets at the missile launcher.

Unseen by the preoccupied Iron Man, Raza was approaching the village with two trucks worth of reinforcements; when the site of his future base-camp exploded.

And, as before, from the burst of cloud came a single straight line of fire and light, led by a humanoid figure in a metal suit. Only this time, it paused in midair, hovered over the battlefield, then hovered over to the village itself. Apparently satisfied with what it saw, the flying machine turned for the sky and took off with the speed of a jet fighter.

Stark. Raza thought darkly. Not one to let things go, are you?

The United States, even when not actively at war, was engaged in military action in various locations around the word. The air and oceans of the world needed to be patrolled and protected, and thanks to satellite technology and advanced secure communications, decisions could be made and active combat areas could be monitored around the globe in real time. Edwards Air Force base was the Air Combat Command Centre.

And on the screen, the small village of Gulmira, under surveillance, was suddenly hidden underneath a birds-eye view of a massive explosion. Colonel Sheppard, the officer of the watch was the first one on his feet.

"What the Hell was that?" Sheppard demanded. "Were we cleared to go in there?"

"No sir. We got word they were using human shields. We never got the green light."

Colonel Sheppard ran through the checklist, trying to decide which of the US military factions had decided to play without telling the other children. "Call State, they're gonna be all over this."

His men were working the checklist too. "Wasn't Navy."

Sheppard took that in without flinching. "Somebody get CIA on the line."

His second in command immediately turned. "I've got Langley now; they want to know if it's us."

"And it wasn't Air Force."

"Wasn't Marines."

"People, we need answers, can I please get eyes on target?!"

Another rapid burst of activity and the view screen lit up with Spy Satellite footage, showing a remarkably small, but Mach Speed aircraft, heading toward the ocean.

Nobody had a clue what it was.

With the checklist a dead end, and the bogey not matching anything on file, there was one option left. "Get me Colonel Rhodes from Weapons Development down here now!"

It took Rhodes less than two minutes to get to the Command Centre, during which time everyone confirmed what they already knew. This was not any aircraft that had been seen before.

"We ran an ID check, cross-referenced with all known databases, we got nothing," Sheppard briefed Rhodes; who immediately got to work.

"Any high altitude surveillance in the region?"

"Got an AWAC and a Global Hawk in the area."

Rhodes checked the recorded images. "This thing just appeared out of nowhere? How come it didn't show up on radar?"

It was a general question to the floor but the Radar operator answered him. "It's got a minimal Radar cross-section sir."

"Is it Stealth?"

"No sir, it's tiny. We think it's an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle."

A UAV? Rhodes studied the screen, and noticed the GPS. The attack had come less than five miles from where Tony had been held captive. Tony Stark had come to him a few months before saying he was working on something big. He said it wasn't for the military too. And now his captors or their allies were being blown up without permission or the knowledge of anyone in the Armed Services.

Tony, what the Hell are you doing?

Rhodes felt his face harden. "Let me make a call."

Iron Man was in the zone, feeling the wind rushing past him, feeling indestructible, especially given that he'd just been in a dustup with twenty guns and a tank, when of all things he got a phone call on his cell phone.

Damn things never let you finish a thought do they? He snaked to himself, and answered it. "Hello?" Somebody answered him but he couldn't tell what they were saying. "Who is this?" Stark called, a little louder. Jarvis obligingly checked the caller ID and put Rhodes' picture up on the HUD. Tony winced. He'd wondered if anyone would notice his arrival or his attack. If they had, there were very few people who could explain what was likely to be attacking, and it would only be a matter of time before somebody came to him.

Rhodes' said something. Tony could barely make him out. "Speak up please!"

Jarvis obligingly turned up the volume on the incoming call.

"What the Hell is that noise?" Rhodes asked.

Tony thought fast. "I'm driving with the top down."

"Well, I need your help right now."

"Funny how that works, huh?"

"Yeah. Speaking of funny, we got a weapons depot that was just blown up a few klicks from where you were being held."

Tony winced again. This was happening a lot faster than he'd anticipated. "Well, I'd say that's a hot spot. Sounds..." he sucked in a breath, tired from the slowly draining adrenaline, and the pain in his side from the tank's blast. "...like someone stepped in and did your job for you."

Rhodes suddenly sounded suspicious. "Why do you sound out of breath, Tony?"

"I'm not. I was just jogging through the canyon."

"I thought you were driving."

Oops. "Right, I was driving...to the canyon...where I'm going for a jog," Sure, Tony thought sarcastically. He'll buy that. It's not like an Air Force colonel is smart or anything.

"You sure you don't have any tech in that area I should know about?" Rhodes's tone was clear as crystal.

He knows. Maybe not that it's me, but at least that I'm the one behind it. Bluff it out Tony. "Nope."

"Good, because we got a lock on something in the No Fly and we're about to blow it to kingdom come,"

No Fly?

As if on cue, a pair of F-22's came cruising up behind him in the air. Iron Man glanced over his shoulder at them.

"That's my exit!" Stark said brightly and disconnected the call, before spinning off axis in a desperate evasive maneuver.

Both jets broke formation and pursued.

Iron Man flared his repulsors and took off, taking advantage of his smaller size and speed to spin in a short hard loop and blow past the pilots before they could react.

No such luck. They had read that move almost before he had made it. These were trained experienced pilots. Tony had only just taught himself to fly.

The two jets were cutting him off in classic pincer tactics, aware he could dodge, they parted, one above, one below, shifting left and right to cover every movement backward he could make, herding him forward into their gun sights.

"This is Whiplash One, I have the Bogey in my sights."

The bogey was small and fast on the screen. Nobody in the Air Command Centre had a clue what to make of it.

"Whiplash One, What is it?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you have radio contact?"

"Negative, completely non-responsive."

"You are clear to engage."

Rhodes watched the screen, feeling his adrenaline flow. There wasn't a combat pilot alive that didn't love the hunt, even if it was only on a screen; it was hardwired into their brains.

But this bogey was a new prey.

"Bogey just went supersonic!" Hollered Whiplash One.

The gun-camera blurred slightly as the fighter jet carrying it raced to catch up.

"I've got a lock! Fox Two."

A missile screamed away from the gun-camera, toward the small red target, which suddenly burst into a swarm of fireflies, and a massive explosion clouded everything, the wall of flame closing in on the camera. The pilot reacted, sending his plane into a fast looping swerve. "Bogey deployed flares!"

The lead jet was in too close to his own blast, and the ACC controller switched to the camera of the second plane, showing a clear shot of the bogey and the lead jet evading in opposite reverse spins.

The bogey was small but clearly in a freefall for several seconds, before its engines flared back to life and the chase was on again.

But the drop had cost it distance. The jets were right on it's tail now; the pursuing jets were in too close for missile lock. This worked fine for the pilots. Knocking down a target with tracer fire and cannons was much easier. Less room for the target to dodge.

The jet opened fire, cannons blazing across the sky. The target was nimble and slippery, but eventually, one of the massive bullets clearly slammed into it from behind and sent it spinning. That too was unusual. This target was too small to be punctured by the impact, its light frame being sent spinning by the blast.

Nobody wanted to say what they were all seeing on the screen. Whatever it was, it was shaped like a human being, wearing bright red and gold armor.

At that second, the human shaped aircraft spread its limbs and suddenly blasted off the screen, faster than anyone could follow.

"I lost it! Where'd it go?" One of the pilots shouted over the radio.

"Bogey just dropped off Radar sir!"

"Sat Visual has been lost!" Answered another technician.

The pilots radioed in what everyone watching had figured out themselves. "No way that's a UAV."

"Whatever it was, it just bought the farm."

Look, up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's...What is it? Rhodes asked himself.

A pilot without a plane.

Right on cue, Rhodes' cell phone rang. He answered it. "Tony."

"Listen, about that thing in the sky you're chasing-"

Rhodes was about ready to reach through the phone and strangle the man. PTSD was bad enough without arming your own personal forces of revenge. "This is not a game! You do not do this, Tony," He told Stark firmly. "You do not send experimental civilian equipment into my active warzone."

"It's not a piece of equipment! It's a suit! I'm wearing it! It's me!"

"Rhodey you got anything for me?" Sheppard demanded.

Rhodes almost swallowed his tongue. What should he do?

"Whiplash Two! On your belly! It's looks like a…"

Rhodes turned to look at the screen in disbelief. The chase jet was following his lead as they started the return to base, and there, for all of them to see, was their missing target, clearly a human in red and old armor, clinging to the underside of the F-22.

Well there's something a jet can't do. Rhodes admitted to himself.

"You got a passenger! Roll! Roll!" The other pilot shouted to his wingman.

Tony inwardly reflected that it was a good thing he was an adrenaline junkie. If Pepper had been in this suit she would have puked by now.

The horizon line was spinning in his HUD again, and after a few seconds, he couldn't hold his grip on the plane, and went spinning off.

He felt an impact across his stomach, and heard a crunching noise.

It took another few seconds to get control of his flight, and saw that the jets had forgotten him completely.

Once he had been tossed off the lead jet, he had been hurled, out of control, straight into the wing of his wingman, which had been torn off, and now the fighter jet had been knocked out of the sky.

Through the open phone connection, Stark could almost hear the pilots shouting at each other. "I'm Hit! I'm Hit!"

The doomed pilot couldn't stop the flat spin and ejected, but there was no chute. Tony scanned the sky and found the pilot and ejector seat, in horrifying freefall, and the HUD enhanced the image. The pilot was yanking on the chute lever constantly, getting nothing in return.

Iron Man didn't hesitate, he dove after him.

"Whiplash One Down!" Stark heard the conversation through the remixed phone line.

"Whiplash Two do you see a chute?"

"Negative!" The pilot reported. "I have a visual on the bogey!"

Crap! Tony thought. Come on!

"Whiplash Two Re-engage, if you get a clear shot, take it!"

"Major we don't even know what we're shooting at!" Rhodey protested quickly. "Call off the Raptors."

"That thing just took out an F-22 inside a legal No Fly Zone. Whiplash Two, if you get a clear shot take it!"

Tony turned down the volume gain on the phone call and directed more power to his jets as he forced himself to outrun gravity. If the other jet fired at him, he might hit his buddy, probably invisible behind the suits trails…

My weapons killed American Soldiers who were protecting me. I owe Rhodey and his people this one. Stark countered.

"The other jet is re-engaging," Jarvis reported.

"Keep going!" Tony yelled.

He closed in on the falling pilot, still in his ejector seat.

Jarvis was making precision adjustments to the suit's posture, giving him all the control of a laser guided missile, far more perfect than Tony could do alone as he closed in on a small falling target, the speed involved making the attempt at intercept difficult at best.

There was no way to fly while carrying someone; he knew that. With his flight stabilizers in his hands, he couldn't carry anything. He powered straight down after the falling pilot anyway.

The pilot was still yanking on the chute lever, getting nothing in return.

Ejector seats! That's something I could have the company build...Tony thought distantly as he air-braked and caught the man neatly.

He slammed an armored fist straight into the chair's jammed lever mechanism and pulled.

A shock of air and movement!

Tony pushed off from his passenger as the parachute opened, and he powered away; keeping the chute between him and the second jet. By the time anyone found him again, he'd be far enough away.

Tony tasked his suit to fly below radar level till they were out of the hot zone. He threaded his way into a narrow canyon, too tight for the jet's to follow, and he headed for home, and suddenly realized that he'd been flying for close to twenty hours, and needed to go to the bathroom.

"Tony, you still there?"

A moment later there was a light crackle of static and the sound of deep breathing. "Hey. Thanks."

Rhodes was trying to contain himself for the benefit of those listening to his side of the conversation. "You're insane you know that. And you owe me a plane."

"Yeah, well technically, he hit me," Tony protested cheerfully. "You gonna come by, see what I'm working on now?"

Rhodes glanced over at the radar operator. The bogey had disappeared off all their screens. The CO was demanding information and promising painful death to those who lied. "No, the less I know the better right now. In the meantime, I've got to explain this. What am I supposed to say?"

"Just call it a training exercise, isn't that the usual BS?"

"A training exercise? Are you kidding me? Nobody's gonna believe that!"

"An unfortunate training exercise involving an F 22 Raptor occurred yesterday. I am pleased to report that the pilot was not injured," Rhodes addressed the Press Conference early the next morning. "As for the unexpected turn of events on the ground in Gulmira, it is still unclear who or what intervened. But I can assure you that the United States Government was not involved."

Stane watched the Conference on his TV screen with growing disquiet. Rhodes was lying. Not about the US Government being uninvolved, but about the 'accident' and the intervention in Gulmira.

He didn't believe the reports that had come in from his sources about a metal man liberating Gulmira from the Ten Rings. He barely believed the reports about Tony's escape, but a cover story regarding the loss of a US Air Force fighter jet in the same combat zone at the same time couldn't be ignored.

The story was too fantastic to be believed.

But as Stane had always said, "Seeing is Believing."

Pepper felt bad about how she had stammered her way through her quasi-pick up date with Tony at the gala. Felt even worse when she found herself almost kissing him. Felt even worse still when she realized he was gone without even bringing back the martini.

The next day, she got a private phone call from her friend Roz in the New York legal department. Roz was quietly letting her know that the injunction against Tony Stark was going through, and that Obadiah Stane's name was on the top of the memo. Pepper was suddenly a lot more forgiving when she saw a picture of Stark and Stane in the society pages. The look on his face was painful to look at. No wonder he took off without warning. She was stung, but she had forgiven worse from the man.

Pepper was professional. Trained and true. One had to be when presented with things like Maxim girls once a month.

So the professional thing to do would be to resolve this situation with Mr. Stark. And it is Mr. Stark! She reminded herself. For now anyway.

It was the 'for now' that put a silly grin on her face from time to time.

She would settle the issue with her boss, and let him know that she had a can of gasoline with Obadiah's name on it.

And so, Pepper had spent most of the ride over to the Stark beach house rehearsing what she was going to say.

When she let herself into the workshop however, it all flew out of her head in a second. The piano had been demolished. There were splinters all over the place, and no sign of Tony anywhere.

On her way downstairs she felt her stomach drop. The workshop door, and the entire glass wall next to the stairs for that matter had been shattered completely, there was glass everywhere.

Tony! Pepper thought in horror, but relaxed when she heard his voice.

"Ow. Hey, be gentle will ya?" Tony was saying. "This is my first time."

"Sir the more you struggle, the longer this will take," Jarvis answered.

"I designed this suit to come off!"

Pepper decided it couldn't be what it sounded like and came further into the workshop, where it met the garage, and got a look for the first time. Tony; dressed in...something made of red and gold metal...was standing balanced on one leg, on a box, while his mechanical helpers tried to pull the...whatever it was...off his leg.

There was a helmet made from the same colors next to him.

Wake up Pepper, just wake up now...

"What's going on here?"

Was that her voice? It must have been. It was her question.

"O.K.," Tony said; his usual unfazed self. "Let's face it, this is not the worst thing you've ever caught me doing."

Pepper felt herself go buggy-eyed as she took in the suit. "Are those...bullet holes?"

Tony shook his head. "No. That's where the Tank hit me."

"The TANK?!"

"Those are bullet-holes," Tony corrected, jerking his head over at the back of his shoulders.

Pepper turned and walked very purposefully out of the room.

"Pepper! Pepper wait!" Tony called after her.

And for once, she ignored him.

There were bullet-holes in her Tony. Big ones.

The sight had made her turn and run upstairs, pick up the phone, put it down, pick up the largest bottle from the wet bar, put it down, pick up the next one that wasn't seltzer, and pour herself a double.

Tony...She mourned silently. I lived and died with every news update, every phone call while you were over there, wondering when word would reach me about whether you were alive of dead; and the first thing you do...the only thing you do when you get back is go rushing out to get shot at again!

So. Pepper tried for rational. He built himself a powerful robot suit and has gone out fighting evil doers everywhere in it without telling anyone. Yeah. So much for rational. He's gone nuts. He's getting himself shot at. Holy...Tony was shot today! Why didn't you see this Pepper?! You're supposed to be the one indispensable person in his life and you didn't see this?! Holy...Tony was shot today! And he doesn't care. Why doesn't he care? why doesn't he care that he got shot? Oh hell, Rhodes was right. Tony is suffering from PTSD. His behavior is reckless, even suicidal...

Pepper felt herself getting choked up. He's going to kill himself. He's going to kill himself. He's going to kill himself and he doesn't care. Holy...Tony was shot today!

Pepper threw back the drink hard. Stop fixating on that dammit! What do you do Pepper? What are you going to do?

Call Rhodes.

No. He was a friend but he was a soldier, tasked with the job of getting Stark weapons patents for the US military. He'd want the suit, and worry about Tony second. Tony had to be the priority here. Besides, if he knew he's tell someone, and god only knew how many laws Tony had broken to get those bullet holes in his chest.

Call Obadiah.

Very much no. Obadiah was the one trying to squeeze Tony out. Telling him about this would be just the silver bullet the rat-traitor would need; and Pepper was damned if she was going to be the one to hand it to him.

Call a doctor. A lawyer. A shrink even.

No. Sooner or later, with all the rumors of Tony going nuts flying around, that would leak out. And who knew which Doctor would be on Stane's payroll anyway?

No. This had to be kept a secret for now. The only people who could help were the only people who had to be absolutely kept out of the loop.

Tony...she mourned silently. You're going to kill yourself, and so help me, I'm helping you do it!

The small tent city was nothing compared to the camp that Raza had seven months before, but apparently was the last option left to him. A fact that he clearly did not like, and it showed in the scowl on his heavily scarred face.

When the convoy of four black SUV's rolled into camp, his mood did little to improve, as Stane stepped out, impeccably dressed in a three piece suit; and his personal security force followed, armed and masked.

Raza knew that the wealthy man was in the superior bargaining position, but someone who wore a Ring such as Raza did, was not one who let weakness show; and he had one card to play. With that in mind, he approached Stane and smiled. "Welcome."

Stane took a half step to the left and saw the scars covering Raza's face a little more clearly.

"Compliments of Tony Stark," Raza muttered.

Stane had the audacity to look smug. "If you killed him when you were supposed to you might still have a face."

"You paid us trinkets to kill a prince," Raza retorted.

With barbs exchanged, Stane got to the point. "Show me the weapon."

"Come," Raza agreed. "Leave your guards outside."

Stane signaled his personal security, and they obligingly stayed near the cars until Raza and Stane entered the largest of the tents.

Inside the tent was a more comfortable set up. Well stuffed pillows, a pair of lounge chairs, and a table with a small kettle boiling on a camp stove. The room was functional too. The table was well lit and had the schematics for the armor spread over it. The Mark I armor itself, dented and torn though it was, had been mounted to the side, stood upright like a samurai armor on display. Stane went straight to it and stared into the eyes of the mask, as though taking it apart with his mind.

Raza let him look, and went over to the table. "His escape bore unexpected fruit."

Stane couldn't help the glimmer of pride. He had watched Stark grow up, seen his inventiveness firsthand, but he never could have pictured something like this. "So this is how he did it."

Raza nodded, brewing the tea. "And this is only his first crude effort. Stark has perfected his design. He has made a masterpiece of death. A man with a dozen of these could rule all of Asia." He glanced back at Stane, who was circling the armor carefully; taking in everything.

Raza was under no illusions. He knew Stane had no particular loyalties to the Ten Rings. But the wealthy American did fear Raza's master. And as long as Raza wore His Ring, that would be enough to make their relationship businesslike. "And you dream of Stark's Throne."

Stane flinched and finally turned to look at him.

"We have a common enemy," Raza finished his warm-up and got to the bargain. "We are still in business. I will give you these designs as a gift." He poured two fine china cups full of tea. "And in return, I hope you'll repay me with a gift of Iron Soldiers."

Stane considered that, smiled cheerfully, and put an arm on Raza's shoulder. A moment later, Raza noticed that Stane's ears were glowing light blue.

There was a millisecond of confusion as he suddenly realized he couldn't move. The pain hit him a moment later. He could feel his ears exploding, he could feel every vein under his skin growing outward, like his head was trying to explode.

He tried to jerk away from the hand on his shoulder, but he couldn't move his body at all.

"This is the only gift you will receive," Stane responded in Raza's native tongue. He stepped back and Raza was finally able to see the small device, glowing red and giving a low electronic while, concealed in the wealthy man's hand.

Stane stood up and took the protective ear buds out of his ears. Raza stayed on the couch, frozen and helpless. "Technology. It's always been your Achilles heel in this part of the world," Stane told him thoughtfully. "Don't worry; it'll only last for fifteen minutes. That's the least of your problems."

Stane collected the blueprints off the table. On his way out, he glanced at the huge jeweled ring on Raza's hand and shivered; moving quickly from the tent. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt like someone had walked over his grave.

The feeling passed as soon as he got outside. His security team had quickly and silently disarmed and detained all of Raza's men, who now kneeled on the ground with their hands behind their heads.

"Gather it up, the armor, all of it," He ordered. "Let's finish up."

His guards nodded and turned to their prisoners.

Stane got into the car, and pulled out his cell phone as the gunfire rang out briefly. He dialed home. "Set up Sector Sixteen underneath the Arc Reactor. Recruit our top engineers, I want a prototype right away."

Stane was not a fool. He had tipped his hand to Tony, and the man was already fighting a one man war against Stane's private customers, armed with this new weapon. But he was doing it alone in his house. Paranoia about his weapons had handicapped his production speed. Stark got there first, but Stane could get there faster.

It's the immortal arms race, Tony. You started it, but I'm gonna win it.

All Stane needed to do was to match Tony's new weapon with his own. With that in his pocket, and the board of directors' loyalty to get him a majority ownership of the company, Tony would be neutralized, and the company could get back the business of keeping the balance of power where it belonged.

For a moderate fee, of course.

End of Part Two