drainednerves: Sorrynotsorry
lizyeh2000: Thanks so much!
centinel 432: I'm planning to cover until Endgame, and then maybe Far From Home as a short, few-chapter sequel fic. I'm only covering/referencing the films, though, not the comics or TV series. I'm sorry, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. fans, but I already have enough canon to swallow!
RosePetal 7: Thanks so much!
When the board suggested to make the Stark Expo very Iron-Man-proud, Tony was a little hesitant. It seemed in poor taste. A little masturbatory. Sorry, other creators who want to shed a spotlight on their newest breakthroughs. You'll never have anything on Iron Man. He's who everyone is here for!
Now, emphasis on little hesitant. Not enough for him to argue, not enough for him to push back. Because…Well.
Iron Man is what people want to see, right?
Because people will probably be upset if he isn't there, and numbers will probably drop the more time goes by without him, right?
In the end, Tony agrees to having all the Iron Man merchandise sold at the kiosks. And the exhibit all about the suit, even though it's a Tony Stark creation and not a Stark Industries one. And his grand entrance, flying down through the night sky and landing on the stage. And the fireworks. And the dance crew.
Just that, though. To keep it tasteful.
He used to squirm at such huge public appearances not long ago. Realizing how eager everyone was to watch his descent into insanity left a bitter taste in his mouth. He'd thought he was everyone's hero, but he realized he was actually just like any other celebrity: the world cheered when he was awarded, but if he tripped down the stage steps afterwards, they cheered for that as well.
He accepts it now. Even looks forward to it, because if there's anyone there to boo and jeer at him, he won't be able to hear them over the roar of the crowd. He's a hero now.
He even has his fingers crossed that would be a tonic to him. Make him forget about the ache in his joints and the tiredness he can't shake.
It's for nothing. After, he has to step off stage, listening to that recording of Howard he's heard a million times and then some.. Catch his breath. Test his blood again.
Six months, it's been. The palladium poisoning has only gotten worse and worse. His Arc Reactors die faster and faster.
His blood is 19% toxic. He has maybe two weeks.
Two weeks. 336 hours. Fourteen mornings, fourteen evenings, fourteen nights. His birthday. If that.
Is Tony in shock? Denial? He isn't sure. He should be quaking in his shoes every second of the day, just waiting to keel over and die, but it just doesn't feel real enough to be afraid of. Maybe this is some kind of coping mechanism that he hasn't heard of before.
All the technical stuff has been taken care of, but hell if it wasn't hard to keep it all under wraps. Peter will be fine. The Parkers will be fine. All that's left is to hand the torch over to Pepper. He's come up with five thousand different plans, ranging from the simple (candlelit dinner) to the outlandish (fireworks that spell out CONGRATULATIONS). He thought at first that it would be funny to give her one last dose of his bullshit, but…No. Nah, he's done enough. No need for another "inside joke."
So he's just waiting for the most casual of moments. Private, of course, but casual. When she gives him his morning coffee, maybe.
Pepper isn't here now. Too many things to do than keep him company at what is basically his own party all the way across the continent. If she were here, Tony would probably be peering out at the crowd, trying to find her coppery blonde hair. Even though he's trying to stop staring at her so much.
The Parkers are here, too—somewhere. Peter, Ben, May. Not Richard, not yet. Busy with work. He'll be coming later. Peter is texting him with his new phone. That's the only thing he's been using it for, outside of J.A.R.V.I.S. It gives Tony no shortage of relief.
His phone pings again.
Another kid wanted to know where I got my stuff. I just pointed somewhere. Did I do something wrong?
Tony smiles at the image of Peter, blinking and stammering and finally just throwing an arm out to another direction. The "merch" he had given Peter was indeed better than anything else they're selling at the kiosks. Alloy instead of plastic, LED lights that didn't rely on two AA batteries (not included) to function. It had a display that was as simple as a phone's home screen, nothing more than the time and temperature. Tony thought he'd toned it down enough. He'd seen homemade Iron Man regalia that made his eyebrows shoot up just in the past hour alone. Guess not.
No, it's okay. Next time just say your dad made it for you, and then when they ask how, shrug and say you don't know.
Okay.
Look!
A picture comes through a moment later, of a crowd of young children clustered around a small cart. The vendor behind it is busying himself with another creation, but his crowd-pleaser is front-and-center: a giant Iron Man made solely of balloons. He'd even snaked a tiny blue one in for his eyes. Judging by the red and yellow in the vendor's hands, he was already working on another and another and another. Tony hadn't been sure of what to include for all their younger attendees—he made a good choice, apparently.
It's me!
It's you!
In the background of the picture, Tony thinks he sees the sleeve of Ben's jacket, maybe May's shoe. Beyond that, though, he sees a kiosk selling snacks and sodas, and one of many banners directing visitors of where to go for what.
Curious, Tony leans out of his hiding place just so. His eye just barely peeks out and already his nerves are going nuts, urging him to duck back inside. The streams of passing people never stop or falter. He is as unseen as the ground beneath their feet. And there, just across the way, he sees just what he'd suspected: that very same kiosk, almanac, and balloon vendor.
Close enough to recognize, too far to make out who is who. Is that Peter, or just another kid in a plastic Iron Man mask? Is that May and Ben, or just another couple standing in line with their child?
It may not be the Parkers, but the Parkers are there, just a minute's walk away. It's surprising, especially after the wonders of the amusement park he and Peter had been to last (overflowing trash cans! Novelty cups for twenty dollars! Mile-long bathroom lines!), but Tony finds himself aching to join them.
It's such a bland normalcy, but he wants it anyway. If he wasn't himself, then he could be just like any other parent in the crowd, pointing at the shining lights, eating overpriced food, holding their child's hand and never having to think, When I pull away, will it be the last time?
Tony hides back into the shadows and the quiet and the single McDonald's soda cup that someone has left in the corner even though there's a trashcan not a foot away outside. So much for savoring every second he has left.
Thirty seconds, and Tony will have to go. He has more appearances to make, hands to shake, crowds to wave to. Probably he'll be dogpiled for photographs, and have microphones shoved down his throat. He's set a hard cutoff for tonight—nine o'clock, and he's out of here. The good news is that no one ever asks after him anymore. They never want to know why he's in such a rush because they assume that it must be very, very important. But he could still be intercepted and pulled at, which is why Happy and some other security have had to make a whole route for him.
Twenty seconds, and Tony will have to go. He promised Peter that he'd try to do something with him at the Stark Expo tonight, but he made it clear that that "try" did not mean "I'll think about it," but rather, "it may be impossible no matter what I do." Looks like that not-promise will be broken tonight. For most of Peter's life he's been all the way across the country, too many miles between them to country. Now he's right here and nothing's changed. This should be a memory. It's the perfect opportunity to cultivate something for Peter to look back on when he's gone. But Tony can't seize it.
Ten seconds, and Tony will have to go. The night is almost over. Another step closer to the end. And just like every day that's passed, he asks himself, Did I make it worth it? How many minutes did I waste today? What could I have done, to do something? Perhaps he should be looking at everything—the sea of people, the stars in the sky, even that McDonald's cup in the corner—before his eyes are forever closed. He has not decided if he wants to do something beautiful at the end, if he wants to watch the sun rise over the ocean, or a night sky without pollution.
Time to go. The world keeps on spinning.
In the span of a few short days, Tony gets three things: a victory, a relief, and a heart attack. And that third one is not including the literal heart attacks that the dying Arc Reactors are giving him.
Victory: for now, it looks like the Senate is finally off his ass.
Tony regrets—Mm.
Tony somewhat—No.
Tony almost—Not even.
Tony doesn't regret his behavior.
He didn't have to make a laughingstock of the Senate…And he didn't! They did that all by themselves.
He can never take people like Stern seriously—people who think they're being so eloquent and almighty, when the rest of the world is averting their eyes out of secondhand embarrassment. Watching Senator Stern sitting above him with that plastic smile on his slimy lips, Tony only saw a spoiled little boy waiting for Mommy and Daddy to reward him for snitching. Tony doesn't even know why Stern expects to be taken seriously when he doesn't even try. Case en point: having Justin Hammer as backup.
Hammer is the new Primary Systems Contractor. Tony's replacement. Tony wouldn't care even if he did give it any thought.
Why? Because no one cares about Hammer.
Well, scratch that. Hammer cares about Hammer. Hammer cares about Hammer so much Narcissus would call him self-absorbed.
All throughout the hearing, Tony was choking where he sat—praying to God he didn't sound like a regurgitating pig while the world was listening. Hammer is just so damn funny without trying to be. The man is a peacock, swaying around with all his pretty feathers on display, head held high, and—mostly—crowing high and loud for attention.
He was the court jester even before that video (which Tony now has saved onto his phone). Honestly, Stern would have better luck getting Iron Man if he begged Tony, "Please, please, look at who we're dealing with and have mercy on us!"
The only thing Stern did that Tony could even remotely call "good" was throwing Rhodey at him.
And hell, he even managed to screw that up.
Tony almost wants to apologize to Rhodey for thinking he and the Senate were as buddy-buddy as a bunch of college fratboys. From the second the Colonel sat down, he was subtly shaking his head at Stern and his…antics? Is antics the right word? For just one moment there, he and Tony even had a moment of solidarity, sending each other a half-smile that whispered, Can you believe this guy?
Tony recovered quickly because there was nothing to recover from. Stern had made it so blatantly obvious that he wanted Rhodey to be his dancing monkey that no one in the entire country would listen to him.
At the end, Tony had walked out of there to the sound of applause, Hammer's attempts to save himself, and Stern's temper tantrum. He'd felt better than he had in months.
Even better, not long after that came the relief.
Telling Pepper she was CEO went so much better than he ever thought it would.
He'd been right to do it casually, out of the blue—the only prep being DUM-E on standby with the champagne. How hard it was, not to bust out laughing at her gaping mouth and saucer-wide eyes. She had protested, but it was meek, thankful protest, the way you tell people, "You shouldn't have!" when they give you gifts.
And a gift it was. No, actually, it was a reward. Because hell if Pepper didn't earn it. Just like that, he watched as all her worries evaporated. All her problems were going to become so much easier, now that she didn't have to run her decisions by him first.
Afterwards, while she was still so dazed that her champagne glass was still quite full, Tony had told her, "Now, you have two options. Number One: Huge celebratory dinner, Hyatt Regency, champagne pyramid, I hit up Jamie Oliver for a menu, fireworks, Cirque du Soleil—"
"No."
"—Or Number Two: I give you the rest of the day off and you go buy the most expensive meal you've ever had on my dime."
"That'll do."
Pepper slid into her new pair of shoes before she even woke up in the morning. She took care of the sign-over and the 99,999 other documents and protocols that it took, because of course she did. Thankfully there was much less kickback than Tony was expecting. The media jumped on it, of course, but the board didn't lose its collective mind. Tony's worst-case scenario was the same anarchy that followed the cease of weapons manufacturing.
Still, just to be sure he's not missing something when he's not around, he asked after it. They were moving her into her new office. She insisted he didn't have to, they had plenty of hands as-is. Tony in turn dramatically sighed and said he was just saying goodbye to the place, to the nice window view and the Newton's cradle that just popped up on his desk one day. The truth being that he was drowning in desperation. He could no longer ignore the pain in his chest, and her presence was a balm to it.
"No one's giving you any hell, are they?" Tony had asked as he set another box on the desk. Pepper had labeled them in pure hieroglyphics. What could DIIEGABO possibly mean? "If anyone's passing you mean notes in class, you need to tell me."
"I have gone hell-free for now," she'd answered breezily, stuffing books into the tall case in the corner. "Why? Do you think I should get some?"
"You know, I wasn't going to say anything, but I've been in serious doubt ever since I decided this, and I don't know, maybe we should reconsider…"
"Mm. You want to know what I'm looking forward to the most about this?"
"Pray tell."
"The amount of daily time I spend listening to your awful jokes will be cut in half."
"And you say routine is so important. But seriously, wh—Alright. Explain this."
Tony had jabbed the next Sharpie scrawl. OSTKIDD.
Pepper shook her head at him, as if he should be fluent in such a language. "'Office Supplies to Keep Inside Desk Drawer.'"
"'Office supplies,' Ms. Potts. There are only so many minutes in the day, just leave it at 'Office Supplies.' Anyway. I'm serious. I want to know if you start getting trouble."
This time Pepper had stopped entirely. She stared him down with her mouth in a flat line, and walked over in three long strides with her arms crossed.
"I'm serious, too," she'd said. "Why are you so sure that I should be getting trouble."
"None of our recent changes have been met with applause," he reminded her. "No more weapons, everyone went crazy. Stane dead, everyone went crazy. Focus on the Arc technology, start the Expo again, over and over."
"Yeah, I was at the forefront of all of those things, you don't have to remind me."
"So is it unreasonable to think that me stepping down would make everyone go crazy, too?"
Pepper had nodded once, like she figured that was the answer and was just being polite letting him say it. She had a strange sort of smile on her face, tired and invigorated at the same time. Tony thought it was the same smile he gets in the lab, when his joints ache and his knuckles are bleeding but he just can't stop himself from going forward.
"Well, there's a pretty logical answer to that," she'd told him. She rummaged inside the OSTKIDD box. "No one really thinks you're stepping down. I'm just the stand-in that goes to all the boring meetings while you pull all the strings."
Tony's mouth went sour, but Pepper wasn't even looking at him. He was still planning on having some role in SI, but to say that Pepper was just his puppet…"That's not fair."
"I wasn't trying to say that's what I think you're doing—"
"I mean that's not fair to you. To just be me."
Pepper just shook her head without a moment's pause. "If it keeps everyone quiet, I will let them think whatever they want. And for the record…" She pulled out a small, plastic-wrapped package. It was a small kit of a notepad, pens, pencils, and erasers, all shaped like dinosaurs and robots. "This is why it's the 'to keep inside desk drawer' box."
Tony had plenty more that he wanted to say, first and foremost, Why isn't she angrier about this? Then he'd reminded himself, boss or not, he couldn't tell her what to feel. Plus, she's always been the more rational one. So all he did was look away and mumble, "I'm telling Peter you hide all his gifts because you're embarrassed."
"No you're not."
"What are you going to do? Fire me?"
"Tony, I swear."
It had occurred to him later the true reason why he was upset. If that is Pepper's only insurance now, what will happen once Tony's gone?
And the heart attack.
The redheaded, Latin-speaking (correction, Latin-writing or Latin-reading), former model heart attack.
It does not happen when he sees her for the first time, despite all logic. Now, Tony's body may be falling to pieces, but he's not blind, not yet. That "Natalie Rushman" is a gorgeous woman is a fact as true as the sky being blue. She's the kind of beauty that can quiet a room the second she walks in.
It's just pure, physical attraction, though. She catches his attention without mesmerizing him. She does not draw him to her like a moth to flame. He'd realized why not five seconds after seeing her for the first time. It was that light that kept shining off of Pepper. It makes every other woman he sees look dull.
So why does Tony keep his attention on her?
First, going back to that physical attraction, Tony couldn't feel that it was a bit…deliberate. In a sense.
He knows, he knows, that he'd sound like a slimy creep if he ever implied that she was trying to seduce him, that just looking the way she does is flirtation. She's allowed to look whatever way she chooses.
Still, he's just saying, she chooses to wear shirts buttoned just low enough for a glimpse of her bra to peek through, and she chooses to look at him not head-on, but through the curtains of her eyelashes.
Tony knows when a woman is trying to flirt with him. And maybe a few years ago, the skeevy, selfish, hungry version of him would be trying to figure out how to answer her calls without getting her or himself in trouble. Or without having to keep her around after.
Now, though, Tony's wondering what the deal is. What exactly brought her to him?
Well, Iron Man, obviously. Obviously to him. He's not going to say it. No detective just lets their suspect know their suspicions.
And if she wasn't obviously flirting? If she wasn't so cartoonishly overqualified for this job? Well, he'd keep her around anyway, because anyone who can knock Happy Hogan on his ass will be welcomed with open arms.
(Also, also, also…He's still a little sick, somewhere deep down. He likes how Pepper so obviously does not want her to stick around.)
Before Tony actually goes through with it, before he gives her Pepper's old spot that he he'd never even wanted to re-fill, they meet one more time. Not long after he finishes up with Happy, both of them a sweaty mess and Happy still jelly-legged from Natalie slamming the life out of him. Pepper leaves, lips still pursed and head still shaking at him. Tony wants to head into the lab next, but he knows he has to be a wise, responsible, hygienic adult and not put off a shower because "Oh, well, I'm about to get dirty, anyway."
When he goes upstairs, Natalie is there, walking towards him as he walks towards her. They stop and look each other up and down. He's trying to figure her out. He's trying to figure out why she's so blatant that she's trying to figure him out.
"Mr. Stark," she says coolly. "Are you done for the day?"
"The state Hap's in right now, I might as well go for the punching bags." He looks down at her heels, still pointed to him, to the stairs. He hopes she doesn't mistake it for leering. "Forget something?"
"Yes. I need one more signature from you." She flips open the binder in her hands. "I can't believe I missed it."
"All is forgiven." Tony takes the pen from her and scribbles his last signature across the blank. "That all?"
"For this, yes. But…" She tucks a long scarlet curl over her ear. "Can I ask where the bathroom is?"
He points. "That hall, last door on the left."
"Thank you, Mr. Stark."
Tony just nods to her, and she turns away. He's half-expecting her to sway her hips as she goes, but she doesn't. He hopes it's a sign that she's giving up already, or that she was never interested to begin with. It'd make it so much easier to keep her around.
The sweat is starting to cool on his skin, sticking to his hoodie. His hair feels greasy on his scalp. He's tempted to just shuck off his shirt entirely, but that would get a sexual harassment case in .05 seconds, so he keeps it on. He instead elects to just go to his bedroom and get a change of clothes. Natalie will know the way out, he thinks.
Then, as he's walking there, he takes another look down the hall Natalie has gone through.
Then he gets the heart attack.
"A-hem!"
Natalie whips around, hand retreating from the knob. It is locked. He heard it click. Yet his heart is still thundering.
He points a finger behind her. "To the right."
She looks back at Peter's bedroom door, pursing her full lips. "You said left?"
"I said—" He did, didn't he? Shit, Tony. Focus. That was close. "Right. You're right, I said left. My mistake."
She tips her head at him in a way that makes a curtain of curls fall over her shoulders. Tony can't imagine having to deal with all that hair every morning. Peeling her eyes off of him, she looks at the door again.
"Something secret?"
Tony is scared at the spark that ignites inside of him. He almost snaps that it's none of her business. To just go to the bathroom and get out of here. She's being coy, but pot calling the kettle black, much?
He hadn't realized how much of a sacred place he'd made of Peter's bedroom. It's not just that a stranger almost figured it out, or that said stranger may have let the world know. Maybe that's what she's here for, to get an inside scoop of Iron Man's life. The idea of her just looking into the room, before Peter ever got to again, just crawls under his skin and singes into his nerves.
"It's personal," he says at last. "Hence why it's locked."
She says nothing, but Tony imagines she wants to argue, So why the panic when I couldn't have opened it in the first place? She opens the bathroom door, and looks up at him again. I'm going now. Don't worry.
He could give in and leave, or stay and be even more suspicious. He chooses to leave. He goes up to his bedroom, but still sweat-slick and oily and aching, he tells J.A.R.V.I.S. to give him a feed of the hall and the living room. There is nothing at all for about two minutes, until Natalie finally reemerges, out of the bathroom, down the hall, and finally off the premises.
If he makes her his personal assistant, she's going to be doing everything Pepper did before, and that means walking in and out of the mansion like her own home. So that bedroom door will have to stay locked forever. And he can never even hint to what's inside. And he will probably tear the place apart daily, checking and double-checking and hundredth-checking that there isn't a stray sneaker or Crayola to be found. It would be easier for her to go.
If he lets her go, though, the investigation is over. He'll never figure out why she's here, what she wants. That didn't matter before. It matters now.