Hey everyone. Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I happen to be taking 19 units this semester at school, so I probably will have an erratic update schedule until this summer. Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and to those of you who sent me messages, that's awesome of you. Send me a message anytime.

This chapter is dedicated to AliceInTheCountryofClover whose nickname happens to be Al and who recently had surgery. Thanks for making sure I was alive and kicking my ass into gear.

To my new beta's Destera and Catsandorchids who keep me from making horrible writing decisions.

To the lovely RainbowChristine and the Empress of Everything, ElysiumPhoenix.

Hope you enjoy!

January 5, 2010

Earlier…

Tony was pissed off. No, scratch that, he was pissed off and annoyed. Despite his best efforts, Stark weapons were still popping up all over the globe. Last week he had stopped a shipment of missiles from reaching Moscow, and shortly before that he was in South Korea eliminating a terrorist group, who thought it would be fun to set off a series of Stark configured EMP-bombs.

Obadiah Stane had probably been selling weapons on the black market for half a decade, before Tony was able to stop him. That would explain the sheer amount of unauthorized Stark Weapons that had fallen into enemy hands. It still stung Tony to think about the betrayal, but honestly he was terrified more than anything. The weapons he had created could level whole cities and topple governments. That kind of power was dangerous no matter how intimately he knew his products, and he was just one man trying to stop them all. What if he hadn't been there in time to stop the terrorist from killing schoolchildren in South America? How would the Chinese economy have fared if he hadn't stopped their electronics from shutting down across the country?

He had been there for each and every one of those attacks and had even stopped an extremist group from acting on American soil. It was his job to end the carnage, and he was terrified that he would let everyone down. The U.S. government was already calling for his head on a platter, and the media was trying to crucify him because apparently people don't change. The world believed he was still some spoiled rich boy with a talent for causing destruction, and no matter how much good he did, nothing would change that.

Despite the rough past couple of months, he was not going to stop until the world was safe. Or safe from his creations at least.

Now it was Tuesday, he was in Africa, and he was late to dinner with Al. Normally Tony could care less about being fashionably late (because let's face it, he is always fashionable) to a meeting/dinner/demonstration/award ceremony, but this was actually something he enjoyed. Spending time with Al was fun; it was something to help him remember that he's just Tony. Not Tony Stark, billionaire, genius, playboy, weapons manufacturer, but just Tony, the guy who really likes cheeseburgers and building things. Growing up as the son of Howard Stark wasn't exactly conducive to a modest lifestyle, yet every Tuesday he spent with Al was just that.

And he loved every minute of it.

Surveying the now empty landscape around him, Tony caught sight of a bazaar style shopping plaza, no doubt to attract tourists. Giving the land one more sweep—he had thoroughly dispatched the men who had been hell bent on using his weapons at this point—he headed off towards the shops.

It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for, and as he headed towards the only man in the room, Tony noted the terrified look on the owner's face.

"How much?" Tony asked, holding up his intended purchase.

The owner's face took on a look of bewilderment as he understood Tony's request. Not surprising, Tony mused, I did just blow apart half the street.

After tossing a handful of American money at the owner (he hadn't exactly anticipated needing Egyptian currency), Tony set off for Malibu.

Halfway across the United States and three games of Tetris in, he and Alessandra were discussing (read as: arguing) over replacing The Beast.

"Just pick one," he was saying, "it doesn't have to be a Maserati, although I could get that if you want. Maybe a red one with blacked out wheels and—"

A series of loud bangs cut his rambling off midway, followed by pure silence.

"J, what was that?"

His last game of Tetris was removed from the screen, as J.A.R.V.I.S. replied almost hesitantly, "It appears to be gunshots, Sir."

Tony swallowed hard, "I'm going to need a little more information than that, buddy."

Less than a minute later, J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke, "I have triangulated the young Miss' phone to a bank along Pacific Coast Highway, Sir. It appears, that she has not moved from her previous position."

"Call her back, now." The call was sent to voicemail almost immediately. "Turn on her phone remotely, and call until she picks up. Monitor the police reports in the area and find out what the hell is going on."

It took four calls and five minutes for the phone to pick up, but it wasn't Al on the other end. Tony's mind froze, as he spoke to the man with a gun to his friend's head.

Al is in danger.

At this point, it's safe to say that Tony was in shock. His Al, someone who was not connected to either Tony Stark or Iron Man in the eyes of the public, was in the middle of an armed bank robbery.

Life was a cruel bitch. That was the only logical conclusion, he could come up with. Tony, a man who had grown up around weapons and kidnapping threats knew what it was like to be put in a position like that, but he couldn't imagine what a civilian like Al had to be feeling. She was a pipsqueak, barely having reached adulthood, and a friend of his. Tony would be damned if he let anything happen to her.

Tony swore colorfully, and in more than one language, as he heard the familiar cocking of a gun. He directed all of the suit's power to the thrusters and raced towards the danger.

Alessandra's eyes were wide, and she begun to feel faint. A gun was being pressed into her head, and she felt an overwhelming sense of panic envelop her. She was going to die.

That wasn't exactly a new thought for her, but in the far corner of her mind she had always believed that she would have more time. Time to say goodbye to everyone she wanted to—really only Tony and Amanda—or time to pick a nice place to settle in, and watch the stars before her eyes lost focus and her heart stopped beating. She imaged that despite the dull, throbbing pain she had begun to feel in recent days, dying would be like falling asleep. Lying down to rest, closing her eyes, and then letting go. Nothing more and nothing less. At least, that's what she felt she deserved.

Unfortunately, life was a cruel bitch as Tony would probably say, and her death was not going to be peaceful. The cold metal, that was pressed up against her temple, made her skin feel like it was on fire, and she became hyperaware of everything around her.

There was a young boy sitting against his mother's folded legs, sobbing loudly and staring at Alessandra with wide eyes. His mother was doing her best to quiet him, but it looked like she was in a similar state of distress. Alessandra couldn't help but stare back at the boy, and wonder what his life would be like after witnessing her death. Would he grow up and become a police officer, to compensate for not being able to do anything now? Would he fall into a life of crime, because the world is rough and he was unfortunate enough to witness it? Would he be like her and get sick, never getting to experience life as it was meant to be? There was a brief moment where these thoughts distracted her from her current predicament. This boy, no older than four years old, would be scarred forever and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

In a feeble attempt to soften the blow, Alessandra attempted to calm her racing heart and sent a small nod and the young boy. She couldn't even muster the energy to attempt a smile, but it seemed as if she didn't have to. The boy quieted at her movement and stared at her for a second, before shutting his eyes and covering his ears.

Alessandra turned her head and stared up at the gunman. She may not have had the courage to fight back, but she did want to see the look in her killer's eyes when he pulled the trigger. More importantly, she wanted him to see the look in her eyes when he pulled the trigger, knowing without a doubt that the image would haunt him.

Three.

There was a small but noticeable tremor in the man's hand, as he held the gun to her head, and a soft buzzing sound echoed around them.

Two.

His eyes had flickered to the group of men standing by the door, and she knew that he was doing this to maintain power. He would kill her, because that was what they expected him to do. The buzzing grew louder.

One.

She would finally get to see her nonna again. At that last thought, her body relaxed and she felt almost at peace. The buzzing sound was everywhere now.

Time's up.

CRASH.

Alessandra's head snapped to the side, away from the muzzle of the gun, and she almost sobbed aloud at what she saw.

Standing in the center of the floor was Iron Man, with one hand outstretched, thrusters buzzing loudly, and head tilted slightly as if asking a silent question.

Seeing Tony actually wearing the Suit was much more intimidating than when she had seen them lined up in the lab. The paint was chipped in some places and black marks that looked like they were made with fire were present along the left side of the suit. Clearly he had just been in a fight of some kind, but Alessandra thought that added more to the intimidating image.

She had hoped that he would be able save her, but never considered it to be a likely scenario. She knew that he had come to see her as a puzzle, and maybe even a friend, but she didn't expect him to show up in full armor just to save her. And yes, she may have been reaching a bit—there was a bank full of people that needed saving, not just her—but it had been her that he called when he was bored, and her that he spent every Tuesday afternoon with. They had become something like friends, and she didn't think it was too far out of the realm of possibility to assume that he had come for her.

The feeling of a hand yanking on her hair had Alessandra shaking away her thoughts and standing up quickly. The feeling of metal was back on her temple, and her back was pressed up against the gunman's body.

Loud voices were echoing around the atrium, and before she could make out what they were saying, her body went slack and she passed out.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters

Nick Fury had just ended a call with The Council, when Agent Phil Coulson entered the room. A second hadn't passed, before he noticed the slight furrow of Coulson's brow and his tense shoulders.

Something had happened.

"Sir, a bank in Malibu was just held up by armed gunman," Phil started off. In response, one of Fury's eyebrows rose and his face clearly asked why he should care.

Phil only stared back with a blank face before continuing, "Iron Man was on the scene."

Turning his full attention on his right hand man—while Maria may have been Deputy Director, Coulson had always been his most trusted agent—Fury waited for him to finish.

Instead of speaking, Coulson strode over to one of the computer screens and pressed a few buttons, bringing up a local news station. A helicopter camera was shooting the outside of the bank, while reporters on the ground were talking about Iron Man's abrupt appearance. Not a minute later bright flashes of light were seen from the windows, and then people began streaming out the doors. Hostages were shoving their way through the crowd of people present, and paramedics were on scene trying to corral the victims. After the last hostages had left the building, a woman and a young boy, the Iron Man suit was seen stepping through the front doors.

But he wasn't alone.

Pressed tightly to his chest was a girl. Her head was resting against his shoulder and her body was curled up against him as he carried her bridal style. For a moment, Fury thought the girl was dead, but when Tony headed for the nearest ambulance it became clear that she was just unconscious.

"Iron Man was just in Egypt taking care of some stray Stark weapons." Phil's voice rang through the quiet room. "As of right now, it is unclear what prompted him to stop a bank robbery, but I will have more information for you soon. I have people working on it."

It was curious. Iron Man never handled run-of-the-mill threats, and here he was stopping something that the local law enforcement could have handled. Fury's thoughts were running wild until he saw it.

The reporters had zeroed in on Iron Man and the girl, who was now lying in the back of an ambulance being examined. The paramedics were working on her as Stark hovered closely over their shoulders, his helmet now removed. If Fury didn't know better, he would say that Stark looked concerned. Not only concerned, but scared.

When the paramedics were finished they turned to Stark and nodded their heads. Fury guessed that was the only thing he needed, because Stark's face relaxed, and he pulled the girl back into his arms before backing up and flying away.

He cared about her, which was obvious. The only question now was why?

Fury turned back around to face his agent, the look on his face clear. He was thinking about what this could mean and how he could use it to his advantage.

"Tell me everything," he commanded.

Alessandra woke up with a gasp, but kept her eyes firmly shut. She had been having the worst nightmare! She had gone to the bank to deposit her latest paycheck, when armed gunmen stormed the place. The feel of the gun against her temple had been so lifelike that she could still feel the pressure.

Her breathing slowed as she lay there. The air was cool, but not cold against her skin and the bed she was laying on had to be one of the most comfortable she had ever felt.

But her bed was not comfortable. In fact, most of the time it felt like she was laying on her carpeted floors.

Cracking open one eye, Alessandra was met with dim lighting and chrome colored walls. The ceiling was high and arched and blue flickering images flew around above her head. The distinct sound of metal on metal floated over to her, and a soft accented voice could be heard from across the room. Feeling the soft fabric beneath her body, Alessandra instantly recognized her surroundings.

She slammed her eyes shut again and sunk into the sofa, all the while shaking her head. She was in Tony's lab, and if she were there that meant her dream had been real. She had been in the middle of a bank robbery, and Tony had shown up to rescue her. So she really had been seconds from death. As scared as she had been, Alessandra recognized the peaceful feeling that had settled over her right before Tony arrived.

It was relief. And maybe even longing.

Hot shame flooded through her body. She had been relieved at the thought of her own death. What kind of person felt that way? She had never been suicidal, but the moment her thoughts had turned to her nonna, Al had wanted to join her. It was a selfish thought and all she could think about was the look on Tony's face if he ever found out. He was her best friend, someone who had shown up to protect her, and she had wanted to…

NO.

Without her realizing it, tears had begun to stream down her face. It was like every emotion was crashing down on her at once. Relief, guilt, shame, happiness, sadness, and desperation were all fighting for dominance, but she didn't have the strength to fight back.

The sofa she had been sitting on dipped next to her. Al knew that Tony was not the type to be emotional, but right now she didn't care. He was sitting next to her on the couch, not quite close enough to touch but his presence was impossible to ignore. She shoved her face into her hands and sobbed, reveling in the little bit of comfort he was willing to give her.

Seconds, minutes, or even hours later Alessandra lifted her face and got her first look at Tony. His face was void of his usual smirk and there were bags under his eyes. Honestly, he looked like he had been the one facing death.

But he had been. He had just been in Egypt that day (yesterday?) facing terrorists or something similar and without thinking twice, he dove straight into her mess. She couldn't even begin to express her gratitude for him, so she just settled on curling up into a tighter ball on the sofa and resting her head against the arm rest.

They sat there together, not touching and both staring at the wall in front of them, but neither of them minded. It was a detached sort of comfort, one that might have seemed strange to anyone else.

But it worked perfectly for them.

There you go, folks. Next chapter will take place right after this ends, so you won't miss much. Let me know what you think and don't forget to vote on the poll found on my profile. To celebrate Cesar, ¡Adios!