Second Chances

Chapter 2

For all previous disclaimers and author's notes, see the start of Chapter 1. I hate repeating myself, lol.

One extra note: there's a mention of some people from ... let's just say another story about flawed superheroes. But those folks are not quite the same in this universe as they are in the one you may have seen on the big screen in March '09. So it isn't a true crossover. Just wanted that clear at the outset.

But thanks to Alan Moore regardless ...

* * *

"You have your men set up, Chief?" Tony had been back from Dubai for a week, and was back to doing business.

"Ready for anything you can throw at them." The chief of the San Diego police department waved a hand to indicate the eight SDPD members arrayed around a city-block-sized empty lot. All of them were crouching behind obstacles that had been set up earlier that day for the demonstration. They were dressed to look like gang members, and were armed with machine guns and sawed-off shotguns. One even had a couple of Molotov cocktails at the ready.

"All right." Tony Stark turned on a cordless microphone that broadcast to two stacks of speakers set up behind riot barricades across the street. Also behind the barricades were representatives from over fifty major municipal police and county sheriff's departments in the United States and Canada, in town for a police convention that weekend. "How's everyone doing over there?"

A chorus of cheers came from the crowd. The audience was limited to the police representatives and a few local TV stations; Tony and the city had agreed that, while everything was being done to keep things as safe as possible, it couldn't be guaranteed safe. So for the time it took to set up, do the demo and tear down, the area was cordoned off.

"Great," Tony replied, before talking into a smaller mic, this one clipped to his lapel. "Okay, Wally, it's showtime. Come on in."

With the figurative fuse lit, he went back to playing to the crowd. "Now, this is the scenario we've set up here. A local gang is in the midst of a shooting war with police and has actually blocked a city street, at both ends of a block. They're well-armed and very dangerous. The police can't risk bringing in a helicopter because of the close quarters and the potential danger to civilians in the area. To beat these guys, you either need to use overwhelming ground forces – which will put an unreasonable amount of your own personnel at risk. Or you need something small enough to be maneuverable in a tight space, yet powerful enough to take care of business. But where are you going to find something like that?" Silence. "Yep, it's a puzzler." That got a chuckle from the audience.

Tony heard a sound in the distance like a low-flying jet. Better cut to the chase. "Okay, a few years back, I began working on something that might fill that kind of niche. It wasn't originally for that purpose, it was for my own use. You, uh, may have heard of it." More laughter. "In the end, it turned out to be too useful an invention not to share with those who had more need of it than I did – including law enforcement. So we at Stark Industries have been working on streamlining the design, simplifying it and finding ways to mass-produce the component parts, for use by police and sheriff's departments. Something that can give one good officer the ability and strength of ten or twenty."

The noise was getting louder. Tony glanced over his shoulder and saw an object in the sky coming toward them, maybe three blocks away. Perfect timing. He began walking toward the barricades. "So without further ado, I give you the next great breakthrough in the war against crime. Ladies and gentlemen, this ... is Iron Man Blue!"

Now out of harm's way, he turned off his mic and got to hear the gasp as the police reps watched the object resolve into a metal suit, over six feet tall and navy blue with silver highlights. It hovered briefly over the demonstration space before descending into the middle of it. As it came down, the "gang members" began firing their guns at it, but the bullets had no effect even at close range.

With a last flare of repulsor jets, Iron Man Blue landed with a thump and began striding toward a junker station wagon, behind which three of the eight assailants were hiding. They kept firing at it until it got close enough that the ricochets would have put them in danger. Then one of them jumped on the car hood and tried to club the metal man with the stock of his sawed-off.

Bad move. The shotgun didn't damage the suit, or even slow it down. Iron Man Blue yanked the gun out of his hand, snapped it in two over its knee, and then simultaneously grabbed the man and the front door of the car. Ripping the door off its hinges, he dumped the man onto the ground on his back, then dropped the door on him to temporarily hold him in place.

Next, he lifted up the station wagon and set it over to the right on its side, with the hole left by the missing door facing up. The other two shooters had been shocked into immobility by all this, so it was easy work to knock aside their weapons, pick them both up and drop them in the hole like cookies into a jar. Retrieving the first man, Iron Man Blue did the same with him, then in one movement flipped the car over so the hole was on the bottom, and left it there, trapping the three men inside – unharmed but also unarmed.

Meanwhile, the "gangbanger" with the Molotov cocktails had snuck up behind the metal suit, with one of his homemade bombs. Quickly he lit it, threw and began running away. Not fast enough, though – Iron Man Blue was unaffected by the miniature blaze, and caught up to the bomb-thrower in seconds. Firing its foot jets, it lofted them both into the air, hauling the fellow up by one ankle and depositing him on top of a streetlight pole to hang on for dear life.

That left four men, who were beginning to have second thoughts about the wisdom of their battle plan. One dropped his gun and tried to make a run for it, but within fifteen seconds he was in the same position as the bomb-thrower (only on a different light pole). Another, who had burned through an entire clip of ammo already to no effect, reloaded his Uzi and kept firing until he ran out of bullets again, whereupon Iron Man Blue removed the gun from him, squashed it into a ball, then tore a wheel off another junker and used it like a paperweight to keep him in place. The last two, smartly, dropped their weapons and surrendered in hysteria.

Tony smirked at the San Diego police chief. "Ready for anything I can throw at them, huh?" he remarked. The chief didn't respond; he was too busy staring, glazed-eyed, at the demonstration area.

With all its enemies neutralized, Iron Man Blue went about bringing its five non-in-"car"-cerated assailants into one place near the station wagon. And then, for the first time, it spoke – loudly. "YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT," it began, and a loud cheer rose up from the crowd as the metal suit – or whoever was in it – read to all of its prisoners their Miranda rights.

After Iron Man Blue released the eight officers (none of whom had suffered anything worse than bumps, bruises and one case of vertigo), Tony turned his mic back on and stepped in front of the barricades. "Okay, you see what we've got here. I'll take questions – one at a time please."

An older man in the back raised his hand, and Tony recognized him. "Now, there is someone in that suit, right? That's not just a remote-controlled device?"

"Good question – yes, there is someone in the suit. Hey, Wally, why don't you step out here and meet your new fans?"

A few seconds passed before they heard a series of hisses, as the backs of the legs, torso, head and left arm of the suit popped open. Then the audience got another shock as a skinny young man of average height, wearing basketball-player-style prescription goggles, stepped out of the metal monster. He looked for all the world like a computer nerd. The young man pulled out of his hip pocket something that looked like the remote for a set of car keys, tapped a button, and Iron Man Blue closed up and shifted to standby mode.

Tony motioned him to come over, then returned his attention to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, my associate, Wally Dreiberg. As you can guess by looking, you don't need unusual size or strength to pilot an Iron Man Blue. But you do need decent stamina. Wally used to run track at Cal State-L.A.."

"5000 and 10,000 meters," Wally told the crowd. "Plus cross-country in high school."

Tony couldn't help but smile. Walter Edward Dreiberg had been one of Pepper's last successes. As an undergrad engineering intern at Stark Industries' new automotive division two years ago, he had already proven himself more than capable to his bosses. But Pepper's research had turned up an interesting factoid: his parents Daniel and Laurie Dreiberg had been masked vigilantes, superhero wannabes, in the New York City area in the late 1970s and early 1980s, before the Bernhard Goetz scandal had driven them and others underground. They'd even named their son after two deceased fellow partners-in-justice, Walter Kovacs and Eddie Blake. The day before Pepper's death, Tony approved Wally's transfer to his own personal staff, with specific responsibilities dealing with any Iron-Man-related developments. After all, if anyone could understand the concept of Iron Man, or the pressure involved in being him, it would be the Dreibergs' kid.

Tony took a breath and did his best to block any Pepper-related developments from his mind. Stick with the business at hand. "So if you want to put someone in the suit, you may need then to spend a little quality time with a treadmill first." A few laughs from the gallery. "But there's nothing stopping a five-foot-one, hundred-pound female officer from piloting one, as long as she's trained. We'll build each one custom-sized for the officer who'll pilot it, whether they look like a ladies' figure skater or an NFL defensive tackle."

The questions came thick and fast. Was it really bulletproof? "Chief, were your men using real bullets? (Nod from the police chief.) There you go." Could anything knock that suit down? "Oh, sure – surface-to-air missile, tank shell, mortar round ... (Laughter.) But I can tell you we hit one with two RPGs simultaneously, and it stayed upright." How much training was required to operate one? "Sixty to eighty hours, minimum. And training for the pilot is included in the purchase price." How much did it weigh? What was its top traveling speed? How many miles to the gallon? "Okay, my assistant should be here ..." Tony turned and saw a limousine pulling up by one of the Jersey rails blocking the street. "... oh, good, she just arrived. She's got information packets that will include all the specs, as well as a DVD of a previous demo. But I can tell you that it doesn't run by 'the gallon' – it's powered by Stark Industries' patented arc reactor technology, and will only need recharging every ... mmm, twelve years or so, given normal estimated usage. Hi, Pauline – can you start passing out those packets? Who wants one?" Everyone in the crowd seemed to have a hand up.

As the muscular black woman began putting brochures in eager hands, Wally leaned toward his boss. "I guess we have a success, sir."

"I guess so. Looks like you earned your salary many times over today." Which was true – Stark Industries was setting the price of an Iron Man Blue as low as they could while still clearing a worthwhile profit. They didn't want to rip off law enforcement, after all. But that still put the cost of one about $80,000, roughly that of three police squad cars.

Nonetheless, by noon they had taken tentative orders (contingent on approval by the various municipalities) for over a dozen, and handed out seventy-five packets. Soon enough, Stark Industries would benefit from a new revenue source – and some cities and counties would have a new tool to push back the criminal element.

* * *

The Iron Man Blue suit, empty, weighed over a quarter-ton, so the easiest way to transport it back to Stark HQ was to simply fly it back. Which Wally did, while Tony and Pauline returned to Los Angeles in the limo – after a quick stop to pick up lunch.

"Mm-hmm," Pauline Collins commented around another bite. "Maybe the best thing about moving to California – In 'N Out Burger."

"Really? Number one is a hamburger place?" Tony replied. "Where do I rank?"

"Oh, somewhere in the top ten, sir," she answered before taking the next bit.

Tony grinned. After Pepper's death, he had been forced to become more organized or lose control of his company completely. He'd succeeded to an admirable extent, but that didn't preclude the need for a personal assistant. Pauline had been a U.S. Army company clerk at Fort Benning who was looking to get out of the service after twenty years, and Rhodey had recommended her to Tony. She wasn't quite as omnicompetent as Pepper, or as omnipresent – for one, she insisted on more reasonable working hours. But she was almost as good in most areas, and even better at deflating his ego when it needed it. She was also a help when he tinkered with the Iron Man suit, since she was roughly the same size as Tony and could thus stand in when he needed a body double.

"Well, I'll have to see what I can do to work into the top five. How's the schedule look for the rest of today? I've been so keyed up for this demo, I haven't thought much about afterward." It being a Saturday, he didn't expect much.

Pauline set down her burger and picked up her Blackberry. "Nothing much, sir. You said you wanted to call Ronny Blankenship to let him know how the demo went today." Ronny was the vice-chairman of the Stark board, a white-haired Alabaman who before his retirement had been of the big wheels at Lockheed Martin. He'd been invaluable in stabilizing the company's fortunes after Tony's return from Afghanistan, and especially after Obadiah Stane's death and the revelation of his various schemes. (In fact, it had been Ronny's advice five years before to "above all, tell the truth" that convinced Tony to skip S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ludicrous cover story and come clean about what had happened to the Stark Industries arc reactor, plus his own role as Iron Man.) "I think he also has a few suggestions for the Iron Man Green project." Iron Man Green was similar to Blue, but for the U.S. military and thus more heavily armed.

"Well, I don't even have to wait until I get back to do that – I'll call him while we're on the way home. What else?"

"Let's see ... Nick Fury has left three messages in the last forty-eight hours wanting to speak with you ..."

Tony suggested Nick Fury do something obscene, that if attempted would cause the S.H.I.E.L.D. director severe internal injuries.

Pauline didn't turn a hair. "Physically impossible, but knowing Mr. Fury, it wouldn't entirely shock me. Still, you should probably call him back, at the very least to forestall him showing up unannounced – that never goes well."

"Okay. That call will have to wait until I get home, though." It wasn't an attempt to stall; Fury required that all messages to him be sent through ultra-secure channels. The connections at Tony's Malibu home qualified. The limo's car phone and Tony's personal cell didn't, even though they both met Department of Defense standards for security. Nick Fury was very picky that way. "Any idea where he wants to send me next?"

"You know he never tells me anything," Pauline replied with the faintest note of resentment. "But if I had my guess, I'd say Venezuela." The recent assassination of Hugo Chavez had left a power vacuum that at least a dozen different people were hoping to either fill or take advantage of.

"Makes as much sense as anything. That'll mean getting the cottage in Bonaire up to speed, too – I could fly the suit straight to Venezuela from Malibu ..."

"... But it wouldn't be wise," she finished for him.

"Exactly. Regardless, I'll ring you this afternoon and let you know."

"I appreciate that, sir. And finally, there's the fundraiser for the American Red Cross at the Kodak Theater, beginning at seven. Your tux is already laid out – did you want Happy to drive you there or ...?"

"Nah, I'll drive myself this time." The soiree at the Kodak was Tony's first attempt at getting back into the social scene since his talk with Rhodey, and he was going to go through with it if it killed him. But he wasn't setting his expectations high, and he certainly didn't want any minders coming along, not even his faithful chauffeur. Bad enough that Rhodey (currently in the midst of a short TDY in Colorado Springs) and Nick Fury would probably both have people there keeping an eye on him – albeit for different reasons.

And so it was that at 7:05 (fashionably late), Tony found himself handing the keys to his Audi R10 to a parking attendant. But as he headed toward the front doors, two sudden thoughts occurred to him. One, what do I do to keep away from the booze?, he had considered before and had some ideas. After all, any well-stocked bar – and one at an event this big was going to be very well-stocked – would have soft drinks to make Jack & Cokes or Seven & Sevens, orange juice for building screwdrivers, mineral water for the designated drivers and a host of other beverages that would still allow him to keep working toward his Alcoholics Anonymous two-year badge. As long as he could push past the siren song of the alcohol fumes, he would be okay.

But the second question was one that hadn't come to mind before, largely because he'd walled off that part of his life for so long that he'd never needed to worry about it. If I do meet a woman here I want to hook up with ... how is she going to react to this THING I've got in the middle of my chest?!?

That one stopped him dead in his tracks. He'd turned away from his old lifestyle as "the Don Juan of defense contractors" (to use Rhodey's phrase) after getting back from his captivity in Afghanistan, five years before. There had been temptations along the way (Black Widow came to mind, and he suppressed a shudder), but really the only woman he'd seriously considered a relationship with since then had been ... Pepper. Who had dismissed the idea the few times he'd dared to broach it.

He was about to start mentally kicking himself again for not having pursued her more ardently when he realized that he hadn't moved in almost a minute. And people might start to notice soon. And it was a little chilly outside. He shook his head in an effort to get his brain back on track, and headed into the reception. What the fairer sex might think of his implant ... he'd drive off that bridge when he came to it.

As it came about, neither question was much at issue for most of the event. It seemed the easiest thing in the world to belly up to the bar, order a glass of San Pellegrino water (his favorite), and move away to mingle. Most of his time was spent talking business, and he noted a lot of interest in Stark Automotive and when the first models would hit the market (autumn the following year was the goal, but obstacles did happen ...). It bode well for Stark Industries' ongoing transition from specializing in weapons systems to a more diversified, less explosive product platform. And the only eligible female who ended up engaging him in non-business-related conversation was a recently divorced TV actress whom he not only didn't find attractive, but who was too busy getting herself wrecked on Southern Comfort to keep up her end of the dialogue for long.

It was only after the announcements of the largest donations that anything changed. Tony had chipped in $500,000, half in his name and half in the name of Stark Industries, and was glad to do it. The big declaration of the night was a Hollywood studio exec contributing a cool million to the cause, but Tony didn't mind being one-upped in this case. The Red Cross was a worthy charity, regardless of who gave or how much.

And as the party began to wrap up and Tony turned back to the bar to get one more refill on his drink, he heard a voice behind him. "Tony Stark, as I live and breathe!"

He knew that voice ...