*heavily edited 5/20/17*


Chapter Two: Obadiah Stane, Part 2

Pepper, bless her heart, is waiting for him. She wants him to go straight to the hospital but Oby has already had that conversation with Rhodes and simply insists on stopping at the nearest bistro for coffee and a several ridiculously sugary pastries. It's a far cry from French wine and cheese, but Oby needs it to know he's home, even if he does end up throwing it all up later.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"I'm Agent Coulson from Strategic Homeland Enforcement Information Logistics Division."

"Yes, well …sorry about the shoes. They told me not to eat rich foods, but when you've been roughing it as long as I have, it's hard to resist."

Pepper ends up taking care of Agent Whatsit, and a good number of other things, because Tony has apparently dismissed Oby's PA in the interim. Pepper makes up for it later by installing her special operating system in Oby's new phone and his flat.

"It talks?"

"Yes, his name is Jarvis. Just talk to him like you would anybody else. He can do anything a normal assistant would, short of physically bringing you things."

Oby takes this in stride, mostly because after knowing Tony, even a fully sentient AI can only surprise him so much. Oby trades surprise for calculation. "Does he understand engineering? Could he build something for me?"

Pepper considers, wrinkling her nose. "I can get him some programming for it and he can learn the rest independently. But you can't just ask him to invent a time machine or something. He needs designs, and access to the necessary hardware. What are you building?"

"I'll talk to you about it later," Oby deflects. "Do you know when Tony and the board of directors are free? I've got to talk to them… separately."

Tony is first, and he's fascinated enough by the mini arc-reactor to agree to replicate it. He makes some indecipherable scientific noises about palladium and blood samples and is very frustrated that Oby will not actually let him remove it in order to analyze the thing.

"It's what's keeping me alive Tony."

"Alright, alright. Give me a few days and I'll have this sucker running triple the power and ready for assembly lines. I can't wait to look at the applications for our rocket propulsion tech." Tony is buried in holographic screens already, organizing his notes.

Oby immediately stops him, waving a hand through the screens to dismiss them. "Tony, don't give it to assembly. Keep it between us, okay? I'm not sure it's a good idea to be putting these into weapons."

"Jeez, when did you become such a grandma? We are a billion dollar weapons manufacturer, you know."

"Yeah, and someone is selling our weapons under the table to terrorists. We have to figure out what's going on."

Tony claps him on the shoulder. "Calm down, Oby. I'm already working on it. You just lie low, recover, get yourself together again."

Oby does not want to lie low. He wants things to happen, and they aren't happening fast enough. He bugs Tony constantly about the arc-reactor. He dodges several meetings with Agent Whatsit whose shoes he vomited on. He asks Jarvis about the process for registering a patent in someone else's name and finally scheduled the press conference Pepper has managed to put off again and again.

The press conference is a disaster. Oby didn't mean to say everything he did—about finding Stark weaponry in terrorist hands and how he intends to do a thorough sweep of Stark Industries to root out corruption. By the end of the conference he's somehow been caught making a statement to the effect that Stark Industries would do better to transition away from weapons to energy. He expects the board to be pissed; he doesn't expect Tony to be so pissed.

"You call that lying low? What's happened to you, Oby? You used to be all about risk assessment, moving slow, watching the bottom line. Now you want us to stop selling weapons?"

Oby winces. "No, I just—I mean, we could consider it…"

"If you hadn't noticed, this Stark Industries, not Stane Industries. We're ironmongers. This what we do. If you can't trust us, we can't trust you, Oby."

"Of course I trust you!"

"Really? Enough to tell me that you already re-patented the arc-reactor under the name of some foreign physicist? And that you had Pepper giving me a contractor's agreement for the 'upgrades' so that I couldn't contest it?"

Oby scrambles for an explanation. It's not that he doesn't trust Tony. Oby's known the kid all of his life; how could he not trust him? It's just that Tony's too reckless and a touch ruthless, and Oby desperately wants to keep the arc-reactor out of unsafe hands. Tony's obviously not in the mood to listen to reason, however. "It's not my fault you don't look at half the things you sign."

"Yeah, and it won't be my fault when Pepper gets sued for fraud because you've been using my PA to undermine me!" Tony pauses, lowers his volume, but Oby can tell he no less angry. "Tell me how we're even supposed to transition to energy without commercializing the arc reactor tech? You obviously don't have the best interests of Stark Industries at heart, Oby, and the board agrees with me."

Oby's heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you can kiss your arc-reactor good bye and your position as chairman of the board along with it. Come back when you've got your head on straight."

Oby can feel everything falling apart. Ever since he's set foot back on U.S. soil he's been scrambling to keep control—no, regain control of his life. No matter what he does though, things keep slipping through his fingers. Don't waste your life, Yinsen said. Oby can't see what he's supposed to do—him, a balding middle-aged financier, newly nervous around showers and pools—with his life, can't see a purpose to it all—unless that purpose is stopping the conditions that set this whole crazy ride going in the first place. It's not about revenge. It's not even, really, about a traitor in Stark Industries. Oby knows the whole weapons industrial complex, knows it profits off of war and violence—he knew it before Afghanistan, and he ignored it like everyone else. Even the most patriotic, by-the-book weapons companies would not necessarily be ecstatic if terrorism in the Middle-East disappeared tomorrow. If Stark Industries isn't selling out, some others would and probably already are.

If Oby could just do something about it all… The suit and the arc reactor, he tells himself, are the key to making some of it better. Maybe he could get Rhodes to introduce it to search and rescue divisions of the military? A sleeker, more mechanically sound version of course. Maybe one that could really fly, not just fall with style. Oby's been working with Jarvis on it in all the extra hours that not-sleeping saved him, on the sly in Stark Industries' local R&D labs.

But all of those plans are down the toilet if Oby doesn't get another arc-reactor. First of all, the patents for the miniaturized arc-reactor that Oby filed in Yinsen's name will not go through without detailed, coherent designs that Oby just didn't have. Additionally, there's no other technology he can possibly use to power the suit; the costs would be so prohibitive Rhodes will not even look at it. Oby no longer has access to Stark Industry labs, either. And all that's without mentioning the fact that the jerry-rigged reactor currently in Oby's chest will need replacing.

Oby hunches over a plate of delicious breakfast he's not hungry for, alone in his penthouse, feeling overwhelmed and homesick for his office of all places. He itches for Maria, his old PA, and the whole team of subordinates he used to lead back in the day. Oby's not a one man show, and he never has been. He's not someone who can rush in an save the day all by himself. He's not some sort of superhero—he's an organizer, a manipulator, an entrepreneur…

Oby sits up straighter, a very risky idea blooming to life in his skull. Then, with all the recklessness his old man's heart can muster, he grabs his phone. If Oby's an entrepreneur, then maybe it's time for him to go into business.

"Jarvis," Oby says, thoughts already swirling around to construct the perfect elevator pitch, "can you get me a direct line to Justin Hammer?"