A/N: I can't say how many more chapters are left, but I can say I've already started the Epilogue and have written the last part of the last chapter. So the end is near, lovelies. I wish I could have it done by August 22nd, which will be the 2nd anniversary of the first publishing of Dark Side, but I'm not sure that's feasible. It'd be cool, though, huh? Anyhoo...

Now I get to find out how many of you knew/suspected who 'M' was all along! I think it's obvious, but I'm the writer, so...let me know what ya'll think about the reveal. :D

XOXO, LaLa

Loki was a nervous wreck.

The Stark home was in a tizzy; kids were yelling, clothes were flying, and Loki was growing more and more frustrated with his damn camera. Sitting in his office, the raven-haired man struggled to get the infuriating contraption connected to his computer so he could clear the pictures from Tony's birthday dinner. He needed the space for Sebastian's big stage debut.

His sour temper stemmed from more than just the stubborn camera. His equally stubborn husband wasn't helping matters. In the last week or so, the tables had turned, and Tony was now the one avoiding Loki. At first he wondered if his not-so-veiled threat to walk out with the kids had pissed his genius husband off. Then he remembered that it was Tony who was in the wrong. And the two would petulantly walk around the house ignoring each other, less like the mature adults they should be and more like two teenaged boys.

It was killing him slowly.

"Pappa!"

Loki huffed out a breath, relieved when the computer chimed as the camera finally connected and started to upload the pictures. "I am in my office," he called back to Audrey. He grinned softly hearing her tiny feet on the wood floor of the kitchen as she raced to the room.

"Pappa!"

Loki looked up at her. "I am right here, my sweet girl; there is no need to shout." He waved her over and she sprinted around his desk. "What can I do for you? What is this?" He took the item of clothing she was clutching in her hand and shoved at him.

"I wanna wear this instead."

Loki held up the long tunic meant to be worn with leggings. "Now, Audrey, we had this discussion. I told you, I would very much like you to wear a dress tonight."

The little girl stomped her foot, hands fisting at her side, her cute face pinching into a pissy scowl. "I don't wanna wear a dress!"

Loki tutted, lifted a finger to silence her. "Mind your volume, please. Listen to me," he said calmly, drawing her closer by the arms, giving them a soft squeeze. "This is a special night for your big brother and we're all going to a nice, fancy restaurant to celebrate. And we want to look nice, do we not?"

Audrey's lips formed a tight pout and she nearly glared at Loki from under her long black lashes. "I guess," she snapped.

Loki bit back a laugh, lips tilting up at the sides. Slightly. "Audrey, that is not a very nice tone to use. Also, the weather is a little warmer out tonight. You'll be too warm in that, I know it. And I would rather not hear you complain all night. Now go upstairs and put on the dress I picked out for you." He turned her around and gave her an encouraging pat on her bottom.

She started out, still pouting. "I hate dresses."

"One night is not going to hurt you, little one," he called out to her.

"You don't know that!" She shouted as she left the room.

Loki allowed himself to laugh once she was gone, making a mental note to tell Sif about that one. He started to save the one-hundred and thirty-six photos from the camera to their own folder—and secured the fifteen or so of just him and Tony later that night in a locked folder, sighing longingly at the smiles on their faces...when they got shots of their faces—and sat back in his chair, picking up his phone when it buzzed.

A text from Natasha confirmed their reservation at the Italian restaurant Sebastian had chosen. He was responding to her, to thank her, when a boyish shriek sounded from upstairs, making him pause a moment. When he heard voices begin to speak he went back to texting but thunderous footsteps coming down the stairs had him stopping again and he rose to step out of the room.

"Pop!"

His heart stopped at Sebastian's desperate cry to him and rushed out to meet him. "Sebastian? What is it?"

The young thespian was dressed in his costume already: fitted black pants, black boots, and a flowy, white shirt, befitting a heroic prince. He was only missing the dark vest. But the boy's face was twisted in a distressed frown, his usually pale cheeks tinged pink. "My sleeve!"

Loki's eyes darted to each of his arms. "Wh-what? What about them? I don't see anything amiss."

"This one!" Sebastian turned to show Loki where the sleeve had started to come apart at the seam on his right shoulder. "I was fixing my boots and I think it got caught on something and it ripped!"

Loki pressed a hand to his chest, relief allowing his heart to beat normally once more. He chuckled softly and cupped a hand to Sebastian's cheek. The best part of this role, Loki thought, was the fact that Sebastian had to comb back his hair. Loki was delighted to see his son's full face, his bright green eyes, no matter how odd it felt like looking at his own image. "Sebastian, my love, it's fine. I'll take care of it. Come on."

He motioned for his son to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen counter as he moved to pull open one of the slimmer drawers. "But, Pop, it's ripped. It's ruined."

"No, it's not ruined. I can fix it, darling," he said distractedly, digging through the mess in the drawer. He really should make time to clean that out.

"Fix it? How?" Sebastian toyed with the flap baring his shoulder.

Loki pulled a clear box from the drawer, smiling triumphantly at his oldest. "Ta-da." He gave the sewing kit a shake and set it down to pull out a needle and a spool of white thread to match to the shirt. "Off with your shirt, my boy."

Sebastian stared, dumbfounded, as Loki cut off a long string of the thread and looped it through the eye of the needle. He started to pull the torn shirt carefully over his head, so as not to rip it further. "You know how to sew?"

Loki placed the needle between his teeth and glanced at Sebastian with a small grin curving up one side of his mouth. "Well, who else was going to darn my socks while I was at school?" he mumbled around the needle as he tied the loose ends in a knot. "Your grandmother was in Washington, I was in Switzerland. And I had to constantly mend your uncle's things. The big oaf was always getting holes in his shirts and splitting his pants."

Sebastian sat, quietly listening, watching Loki turn the shirt inside out and start to mend the tear. Loki worked diligently, sensing Sebastian was watching him closely. His eyes narrowed a little as he worked and he realized with a sigh that he should probably get his eyes checked.

Screw getting older.

"Can I ask you something?"

Loki's eyes flicked up at Sebastian's softly asked question and nodded. "Of course, you can." He looked back down at his work and waited.

"How old were you when you had your first kiss?" The needle paused halfway through the material. Loki looked at his son, dark brows furrowed over glinting eyes. "Don't ask," Sebastian warned. "Just answer. Please?"

Loki agreed silently and pushed the needle through, pulling it up as he answered, "My very first kiss, I was, oh...ten or eleven, I believe."

"Jeez," Sebastian mumbled, green eyes growing wide as he looked away. He looked at his father again, mischievously biting his lip. "Boy or girl?"

Loki lowered the shirt and fixed Sebastian with a dry look. The preteen failed at hiding a smile and shrugged. "It was a girl, vet alt." Sebastian snickered. Loki grinned wistfully at the fact that he had just called his son a know-it-all in his mother's native tongue, just as she had once called him. "Her name was Elizabeth. And I was very excited about the whole thing until I learned that, as usual, it was just a ruse to get closer to Thor."

"Huh?"

He chuckled lowly. "She had a crush on your uncle and thought that by kissing me it would make him jealous and want to be with her."

"Did it work?"

"No," he replied with a laugh and shake of his head. "Unfortunately for her, Thor was extremely infatuated with an older girl who lived in our neighborhood. He didn't even know who she was when I told him." Loki snuck a glance at Sebastian as the boy propped his cheek on his hand and made a soft, thoughtful sound. "Sebastian?" He waited for those soft green eyes to lift to his, but the boy only hummed in question. "Have you kissed Anastasia?"

Startled, wide eyes lifted to him and Loki grinned affectionately. The younger Stark sighed, rolling his eyes. "Not with my mouth open, okay?" he reluctantly admitted.

Slim black brows lifted high over older, wiser green eyes, surprise making his jaw go slack. "How many times have you kissed her?"

"I dunno," he jerked his bare shoulder. "Lost count."

Loki chuckled. "Oh, really? So is she your girlfriend now?"

"No!" Sebastian shouted, shooting up on the stool.

Loki laughed at how absolutely horrified Sebastian sounded at the thought. "Do you mean to tell me you just kiss her whenever you feel like it? That's not very gentlemanly of you."

"Well..." Sebastian sighed, his cheeks growing bright red. "How is she supposed to be my girlfriend when she's at another school?" he mumbled. "I've kissed other girls and...well, Ana's just like...practice."

"Practice?" Now Loki was the horrified one. "Sebastian Daniel Stark. You cannot treat the girl like that. Have you been taking advice from your father?"

"I'm not doing anything wro—" His words dropped off and he looked at Loki, his words registering. "What?"

Loki chuckled and waved it off. "Nothing. Sebastian..." He lowered the shirt to the counter, shifting his weight to his other foot, leaning closer to his son.

"Pop, it's not what you think," he rushed to say. He shrugged again, rubbing at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture Loki recognized as his own. "It was her idea anyway."

"Is that so? It was her idea for you two to use each other as kissing practice?" Sebastian nodded solemnly. With a sigh, Loki picked up his sewing again. "Even so, elskling, that's not the most chivalrous thing to do."

"Maybe. But." Sebastian's shoulders hunched a little, his cheeks still stained dark red. "She said she wants be ready."

"For...?"

"For when…" Sebastian's face crumpled as he winced and looked away. When he spoke again, his words were low and mumbled. "When she has her first real kiss."

Loki paused again, lifting his head to eye his son closely. "What do you mean real kiss? What have you been doing to her up to now?"

"Nothing!" His voice was a near squeak. "I mean..." Sebastian's leg had begun to bounce incessantly against the stool. "Real. Y'know...with...tongue." He whispered the last word.

Trying not to laugh, Loki's brows drew together and he brought a hand to his face, covering the grin that curved his lips, and let out a long breath. "Oh, my dear boy. If you cannot even say the word aloud then perhaps you should not be attempting to use it in your efforts at wooing."

Sebastian made a face. "My what?"

"You know very well what I said. Stop using Anastasia as practice." He returned to finishing up the mended seam. "Unless you're enjoying it." He grinned softly again, concentrating on the work of his needle, but Sebastian's silence caught his attention. When he flicked his eyes up again, his son was chewing a hole into his bottom lip. Loki reached out and tugged on his chin to get him to stop. "What is it?"

Sebastian stared at him for a few seconds. Loki's eyes dropped to his son's hands, in his lap, fingers twisting and snapping together. Just like Anthony, he thought with a small smile. "Um...your first real kiss, when was...?"

Loki waited for the end of the question but it was clearly not coming. His lips were still curved as he cut the thread from the needle and started to tie the ends into a knot. "Thirteen," he finally answered. "And before you ask, it was a boy."

Sebastian half-smiled, bashfully lowering his head. "What...what was it like? Was it different when you kissed a girl...with...y'know…?"

Loki closed up the sewing kit and faced his son, attempting to keep his expression from being too hard. "Where are all these questions coming from?"

Back to his old self, Sebastian scoffed, loudly, as he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Nowhere. You said I could ask you things!"

"And you can, min kjærlighet." Loki cupped his hand around Sebastian's neck, giving him a small shake to bring his face back around so he could look into his eyes. "But, Sebastian...you are only twelve years old."

"I'll be thirteen in two and a half months," he muttered, clearly embarrassed by Loki's affections. "Same age you were when you had your first real kiss. With another boy!"

"Yes, I know," Loki sighed and dropped his hand only to curl a finger under his son's chin, lifting his face until their eyes met. "My point is, you are still young. All of that will come in time. There is no need to rush it. All right?" Reluctantly, Sebastian nodded. "Here." He handed over the mended shirt.

He inspected the flawlessly sewn seam, almost wondering if he'd imagined the tear at all, and jumped off the stool. "Wow. Thanks, Pop."

Loki hummed in response and put the sewing kit back in its drawer. "Sebastian?"

Halfway out of the room already, he looked back at his father, sighing impatiently when Loki beckoned him over. "Yeah?"

"Yes," he corrected. Sebastian nodded and Loki leaned an arm on the counter. "You said Anastasia suggested this...practicing of kissing so that she would be ready for her first open-mouthed kiss?" Blushing viciously, Sebastian nodded. "I won't press for details, or point out how that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but…" Sebastian breathed out a short laugh, his nose scrunching as he did. "Does that mean you already have?"

"Oh my god, Pappa." Sebastian whispered the words as his eyes lowered and squeezed shut.

"It's just a question, elskling." He nearly raised a hand to brush his fingers through that jet black hair, but knew that wouldn't help with Sebastian's embarrassment. The boy was almost a teenager and Loki's affectionate ways with him were starting to irk, he could tell.

"Yes, okay? I have kissed someone with my mouth open," he muttered, keeping his gaze on his feet, and shifting his weight from foot to foot in an odd little dance.

"...Boy or girl?"

A giggle-snort escaped through Sebastian's lips just before he buried his face in his freshly-mended shirt. "A girl!" he shouted, his voice muffled in the material.

"All right, all right. I'll stop now." He gave his word when Sebastian peeked up at him. "Have you spoken to your father about any of this? Asked him for advice or...anything?"

Sebastian stiffened a little as he straightened; minutely, but Loki caught it, not letting on that he had. "No," he answered matter-of-factly. Loki's brow twitched but he said nothing, waiting for Sebastian to elaborate. The way the mask slid over Sebastian's face—how he went from a laughing, bright-eyed boy to a serious teenager—concerned Loki; not only because the subject of Tony could do that, but also because it was obvious whom Sebastian had learned that from. "How could I? He's never around anymore. Not since he started avoiding you."

Before Loki could respond Sebastian turned, headed out of the room, and Jameson and Audrey came running down the stairs, distracting him, shouting over each other about a missing sock and too tight shoes.

Loki wouldn't get the chance to ask Sebastian about it; before he knew it, he was sitting in the school's auditorium, with his best friend and their families, anxiously awaiting the play's opening. He kept his phone firmly in hand, on silent, routinely checking it for a reply to his text messages and phone calls, and eyeing the door, anxiously awaiting for Tony to make an appearance.

When the lights went down and the play began, the seat beside him was still empty.

Tony had been on edge all day.

He had snapped at Pepper, inadvertently, during a conference call, and after it was over, she hung up on him before he could apologize. Then refused to take his calls for the rest of the day. Not in the mood to dwell on it, Tony had holed himself up in his lab, finding reasons to hammer things down or set things on fire. The fire-setting turned out to not be such a good idea.

He'd needed to get out his aggression. He couldn't meet with 'M' feeling angry and resentful. Though that was all he felt toward the woman. Their meeting was set for seven o'clock, which gave him plenty of time to make Bash's eight o'clock curtain call. Barely. But, come hell or high water, he would make it. He wasn't expecting this meeting to last very long anyway.

He changed from what he called his "lab casual" clothes—a band tee, worn and ripped jeans, and tennis shoes—into a pair of cleaner, sleeker jeans, a blue-button up under a light gray sweater, and kept his comfortable tennis shoes on, then left his office at Stark Industries.

Avoiding heading to what was certainly a madhouse at home, Tony drove out to Hollywood, to the designated meeting spot: the Chateau Marmont. Why she chose a swanky hotel, where undoubtedly paparazzi would be camped out, waiting to catch the latest hot celebrity going in or coming out, he didn't know. But he could make an educated guess. She wanted him to be seen. Photographed even.

As Tony chucked his keys to the overly-pierced valet, he hurried inside, slipping past the few men with cameras hanging around their necks, focusing elsewhere. Only a flash or two caught him from the side and the back of his head. He made his way to the restaurant, walking directly to the maître'd's station, where a tuxedoed man stood, his hair slicked down to his head, his pencil moustache waxed to its thinnest.

"Bonsoir, monsieur," he greeted before Tony could speak. The genius breathed a small chuckle. The French made him think of Loki, which made him think of Bash, which reminded him he had somewhere else to be.

"Hi. Tony Stark. I'm supposed to meet—"

"Ah, oui. Your party is waiting for you. This way, s'il vous plaît." The man lifted a leather-bound menu from a hidden space beside him, pivoted sharply and started to lead Tony through the main floor of the restaurant.

Tony's brown eyes darted around the dimly lit room as he followed the maître'd. Familiar faces registered, but he was much too distracted to do much more than give a nod here, a ghost of a smile there. The maître'd paused to push open a door and motioned to a table on the patio. Tony stepped out, quickly noting that the patio was empty, but for the aforementioned table.

And the veiled woman sitting at it, with two large, black-suited men behind her.

Tony sat slowly, trying uselessly to peer through the black veil covering the woman's face. Damn it, he thought, unable to see anything but the protrusion of her nose. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, making the arc reactor hum just a little louder—though only he could hear—when the woman lifted a hand, flicking her fingers in some kind of signal. The two bodyguards moved then, one to stand just outside the door, the other to stand inside.

"Hello, Tony. I wasn't sure you were gonna make it."

A memory clicked in his mind. A voice, sugary sweet and dripping with the notes of the South. Lacing his fingers together, Tony settled back into the chair, his brow furrowing determinedly. "Lost your accent, huh," he pointed out.

She chuckled, fluttered her hand in that way females do. "I couldn't take the chance you would recognize my voice that night, now could I?"

"That suggests I knew you before that night."

She feigned a gasp, badly, Tony thought, and laid a hand over her ample chest, hidden beneath what looked like a form-fitting black blazer. "It hurts me, Tony, that you don't remember me after all that time we spent together." Deliberately slow, as she spoke, the woman lifted her veil and sent Tony a brilliant smile.

He watched her intently, taking in each inch of skin as it was revealed: a subtly pointed chin, overly painted red lips, a slim—altered, if Tony's eye was accurate—straight-edged nose, and finally, bright green eyes, glittering with smugness at him. His lips parted to speak, to deny knowing anything about her, but something in those eyes sparked recognition.

He knew those eyes. He filed back through his memories, faces spinning through his mind's eye, until it hit him, and he slowly realized who she was. His skin ran cold, and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a moment.

"...Amy? Amy Armstrong?"

Those red lips curved in a wicked grin. "The name is Moira now. Moira Khan."

An fiery ball of anger burned in Tony's chest, had him simmering across the tiny table from her. "Different name; same conniving bitch," he spat.

Moira set her jaw but said nothing, but a subtle hand signal not unnoticed by Tony, likely had her man standing down. "Is that any way to speak to an old friend, Tony?"

"You're not my friend. Now what the hell is this? Some stupid revenge for getting your ass arrested all those years ago? They shouldn't have let you out."

"Oh," she mock pouted. "Revenge? Revenge would have been simply going to the papers with the hottest story of the century: My Wild Night with Tony Stark." She aimed a dark look at him, eyes glinting. "A sure fire end to your marriage."

Tony's face showed nothing, but his heart was racing with indignation, and maybe a small amount of apprehension. His stomach dropped when she mentioned his marriage, but he hid it all with a scoff. "Bullshit. Loki would never believe that." Yes, he would. "If it's not about revenge, what is it? Still pissed I chose a man over you?"

She breathed a chuckle, rolled her eyes away, but Tony could tell his jab got to her. "Oh, Tony...I've moved beyond all of that." She brought her eyes back to him and a cold shiver ran through him. "What I want...is to destroy the Stark name. I want you to be left alone and decimated. I want your money. And I want your company."

It took a lot of effort, and the reminder that there was a large man probably carrying a gun standing behind him, for Tony not to shove the table at the stupid bitch. "Why?"

Her green eyes, so different from Loki's or Bash's or even Natasha's, remained locked on his. And after a moment, she shrugged. "Why not?"

Tony scoffed again, masking his true feelings. "You think you're the first person to want to bring Stark Industries down? You're not. And I know you're smarter than just juvenile payback, Am—Moira. Why?"

Pursing her lips, she watched him for a moment. "You are the bane of my existence, Tony Stark. Ever since you were dragged into my life twenty years ago, it's been one setback after another."

He made another derisive noise. "Blame Odin for that. He's the one that brought you to me. And what the hell are you talking about anyway? Before that night in New York, I hadn't set eyes on you since Natasha kicked your ass in my dorm room."

This time it was Moira who chuckled bitterly. "That day was only the beginning of my problems."

"What, you didn't like it in prison?" He flinched only a little when Moira bolted up, palms slapping down to the arms of her chair.

"I spent three goddamn years in that godforsaken place! And because he had connections, you think that rat bastard Odin did any time or was even reprimanded? No! I took the fall for everything!"

Calmly, Tony waited for her to stop yelling, and cocked a brow. "Are you expecting me to have pity on you?" He nearly smiled when she curled her lips in a quiet snarl. "I never thought of you again after that day, Moira. Not my fault you couldn't let go. And blackmailing me for the money Odin didn't give you? Not gonna fly," he said with a shake of his head.

She seemed to have composed herself well enough, and sat back, crossing her legs. "You really think that's what I'm doing? Odin owed me a few measly thousand to break you and that skinny twink up. I want ten million each for what I've got."

Tony couldn't hide his agitation and his spine stiffened. "He's not a twink. And they're not worth that much."

"Liar." She smirked.

His jaw clenched. "Who'd know better than me?"

"Justin Hammer."

She must have seen the shock register on his face because she couldn't hide her triumphant smile. "...What?" She bobbed her brows smugly and Tony frowned deeply. "What are you—you're full of shit. Hammer's dead."

Moira's bottom lip pushed out, feigning a pout. "Yes. Unfortunate, that."

"How'd you know Hammer?"

She steepled her fingers in front of her mouth before lacing them together under her chin. "Well, that's an interesting story, actually. You see, my late husband and I, not long after we married, decided we wanted to expand our little empire. We were looking to invest our money into a business that was, let's say, a little less underground."

"You're husband was trying to go straight."

Surprise flickered across her eyes briefly before she sneered, "Who told you that? S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"No," he answered flatly. "A friend of yours."

Her façade faded for a moment. "We have no friends in common, Tony. But if you're referring to that Irish whistleblower you met with...? Well…" She grinned sadistically. "He's been taken care of."

A chill settled over Tony. And, for some reason, a spark of anger.

"For lack of a better explanation, yes, my husband was trying to legitimize his business dealings. We had put some feelers out and heard about some companies looking for investors. But the one that caught our attention was the one with big plans. Plans, specifically, to take over Stark Industries."

Anxiety slowly washed over Tony, as memories he'd thought he had long ago purged from his mind flooded his mind. Recollections of a standoff with a psychotic lawyer in a spacious Greenwich apartment, a surprise proposal, his little boy's voice shaking and scared behind a locked door. He remembered the sound of Loki's already badly beaten body hitting the floor after a shot rang out, the crippling fear that he'd lost the love of his life right then and there. She couldn't have known about all of that, he thought, trying to calm himself down.

She continued on as if she hadn't noticed his reaction, "It just couldn't be more perfect, honestly. So we put everything we had into Hammer Industries, and for a good solid year, we planned and plotted and waited for the perfect time to step in."

Tony struggled not to show any emotion as he listened, but the edges of the arms of the chair dug into the skin of damp palms as he gripped onto them for dear life.

"There was just one tiny complication we hadn't planned on…"

Fearing he knew exactly what—or who—she meant, he asked the question anyway. "What was that?"

"We didn't expect Loki to make a return."

A sharp breath sounded across the table.

"Of course, it actually worked to our advantage." She smirked at him and it made his skin crawl. "He was a good distraction for you. And it only made it better that our lawyer had an 'in' thanks to your future brother-in-law."

Tony froze, his fingers easing the grip on the chair, a shiver running down his spine. "Who…? Your…your lawyer was…?"

"Thanos Anderson. Mmhmm!" She nodded excitedly, like he had just made her day. "Small world, isn't it?"

Tony could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He fought, desperately, to steady his breathing through his rising panic.

Moira's brow furrowed, her face scrunched in what was probably supposed to be concern, but Tony could see it was fake. "Granted, we did lose a bit of control over him. To be honest with you, he was only supposed to keep Loki torn between you and him; like I said, a distraction. But…I guess he got a little possessive with the guy, huh?"

Under the panic and rising bile, Tony was outraged, fighting the urge to leap across the short distance and strangle the woman. "He fucking raped him, Moira! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She pressed a hand to her chest, almost affronted, and lifted a brow. "Well, I didn't tell him to do that. He wasn't very good at keeping us updated. Besides, everything fell apart after we discovered he had killed Justin and gotten himself killed. So inconvenient."

"He deserved a lot worse than a knife in the gut." Tony nearly spat the words, through clenched teeth, fighting not to be sick right then and there.

"I'm not condoning what he did, Tony. I kind of hoped Loki would have left you for him. Would've made me happy, at least. But Thanos kind of ruined that idea, so…" She shrugged, throwing up her hands. "But moving on with the story…" She flicked her hand, as if to literally brush the subject aside. "Losing everything…it was rough for my husband. Put a lot of unnecessary stress on him. And once again, everything worked out for Tony Stark. You still had your company, your money, your boyfriend. Everything just always comes together for you, doesn't it?"

Tony shook his head sadly, pushed a hand up and over his damp forehead. "My life is not perfect, okay?"

"Oh, I know." His brown eyes flicked up. "I had to keep an eye on you, Tony. You see, we did lose a lot of money in that investment. But I wouldn't have survived this long if I didn't know how to plan for a rainy day. Or how to keep a friend loyal. So after the tragic death of my husband, I set out to continue what I started."

With all the information being thrown at him, it was amazing Tony could still do some minor number crunching. "You've been planning this for over a decade? Is that what you're telling me? Seriously?"

"Don't make it sound so petty, Tony. People have killed for less."

"Look…" Swiping at a bead of sweat trickling down from his temple, Tony sat up, shifting forward in his seat. "Let's stop this stupid dance, okay? I have somewhere to be."

"Hmm," she hummed, examining her nails closely. "You're not going to make it to your kid's play, Tony."

Temper flaring, Tony's hands balled into fists. "Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure?"

The smile she sent him was almost sweet; it was her eyes that made it sinister. "Dear, sweet Tony," she cooed patronizingly. "If you don't leave in the next…" She made a show of glancing at her watch. "Five minutes? You won't make it."

"I could just get up and leave, Moira," he pointed out. But the softness of his voice betrayed his conviction.

"I'd certainly love to see you try, honey."

Scowling hard at the woman, Tony started to rise only to have a heavy hand land on his shoulder and force him back down. He shook the guard's hand off, huffing indignantly. "What the hell do you want, Moira?" he demanded. "You want ten mil for each reactor? Fine. I'll get the money for you. But, Christ, why do you have to mess with my family?"

"What part of me wanting to ruin the Stark name do you not understand?" She chuckled, like it was all a little game. "I told you, Tony, I've been watching you for a long time now. I know just how shaky that ground your marriage is on is. I also know you haven't told Loki anything about what's happened between us."

"Nothing happened between us!"

"Oh…" She angled her head, laughed again. "I'm going to have to disagree with you on that, sweetheart." Tony's eye twitched at the name, but she completely disregarded it. "You can deny it all you want, but I'm the only one who really knows what happened."

The genius remained tight-lipped. He knew she was right; he couldn't deny they had spent a night together, even if he would call her a liar to his dying day. You should have told Loki. You should have been honest. "You're a piece of shit, Moira," he whispered harshly, unable to put any force in the statement.

Her shoulders lifted as she giggled. "Maybe. But I didn't cheat on my husband."

"You probably killed him," he muttered mostly to himself, dropping his head into his hands. .

"Art. Drink." She crossed her legs, sitting up a little straighter in her seat as she made the order. The man standing behind Tony alerted the guard inside and moments later a bottle of champagne and two filled flutes were set on the table between them.

"What is this?" Tony asked sitting up again. "What do you think this is—a dinner date? Don't romanticize any of this, Moira. Because at the end of the day all you are is a former prostitute trying to blackmail me and break up my family."

The glass of champagne Moira had at her lips was lowered without one sip being taken. Stone-faced, she leaned forward to set the glass on the table and cleared her throat as she sat back. "Let me correct you on a couple of things there, Tony. I wasn't just a prostitute, okay? I was a high-class escort. I was paid top dollar for my company. I know things about the men who run this country, the top of the top of the A-list, figureheads, and foreign dignitaries that the American public would kill to know."

"I think you forget who my father was. Or my father-in-law, for that matter. Or who I've been working with for almost ten years. You may have gotten it from the horse's mouth, but I know what you know. And I don't give a shit. Write the fucking book if you want and get your damn money."

Moira breathed a quiet chuckle. "Why bother, when I can just get my hands on your money?" Her lips curved further at Tony's glare. "And let's be clear about another thing: I'm not trying to blackmail you. I'm conducting a transaction. Twenty million dollars and you get your reactors back. It's simple."

"It's not simple, you crazy—" He stopped himself before calling her something insulting and had to swallow back tears. "You are threatening my marriage, my relationship with my children, and my livelihood. It's not simple when you're doing it all for money and dangling this goddamn threat of running to the press about a night I can't even remember. You're sick."

With a sigh and roll of her eyes, Moira reached for her champagne and sipped. "The only thing I'm sick of is your whining. Jesus, what did Loki do to you? You had so much going for you twenty years ago." She clucked her tongue in obvious disapproval. "So let's break this down. You have one week to get me the money. If you don't get it to me in time, I sell the reactors to the highest bidder."

Tony swallowed thickly, his eyes lowering somewhere toward his feet. He would have to tell Loki now. He had no choice. "Fine."

"Wonderful."

"Wait." Moira paused halfway out of her seat and lowered again. "I'm gonna pay for this; in more ways than even you can imagine. Maybe you keep trying to take my company—and, personally, I'd really like to see you try to take on Pepper. And…maybe I lose Loki." The words were like acid in his mouth. "But you have to leave my kids out of this. They've done nothing."

"Aw...so sweet…"

"I'm serious, Moira." His voice was stronger now, firmer. He needed her to know just how serious he was. "Fucking with me is one thing. Fucking with Loki...you're digging your own grave. But you fuck with my kids...I will come after you with everything I have."

She stared at him expressionless for a moment before her lips curved in a sly smirk. "Well, now...see, that's just the point, Tony. I told you: I want to ruin the Stark name. They carry your name. Loki carries your name." Resting an arm over her leg, Moira leaned forward. "And once I'm done with you, there will be nothing left for you to fight me with."

Tony watched through pooling eyes as Moira stood, smoothed down her black skirt, and smiled almost sweetly at him. She twisted up her arm, checked her watch again.

"You've missed curtain. Why don't you stick around? Have a drink or even order up some...lasagna maybe."

Tony's lips trembled and he looked away, refusing to let any tears fall in front of her.

"It's on me." She reached out to pinch Tony's cheek, but he tore his face away, out of her reach, a soft hiss sounding between his teeth. She chuckled and finished off her champagne. "One week, Tony. One. Week."

Tony wasn't sure how long he sat there on that patio by himself, fighting back the tears that he would have likely drowned in. But by the time he forced himself up, and walked through the restaurant, and got behind the wheel of his car, and started the drive back to his house, he knew Sebastian's play was over.