Tin Man

Iron Man

Summary : My take on a post-Iron Man 3 scenario which incorporates a lot of comic nods and follows a somewhat familiar storyline into new places. Basically this is an exploration of Transhumanism as presented in Tony's story, though the comics never did get into this to any serious degree.

Chapter 1 - Past and Present

Where is the line between man and machine? Where is the boundary between a person using the tools at his disposal, those tools controlling their user?

Few would argue that using a cell phone is going too far, but those same individuals would be appalled by the very idea of an implant that serves all the same functions. They shy away, reflexively, from the logical end-point of the ongoing process of amalgamation between cybernetic and organic.

I considered the possibility that the explanation was simply distress at the thought of undergoing surgery, fear of momentary pain. That idea fell by the wayside within seconds, as I knew well that many people were fond of letting doctors nip and tuck at them, and saw no real problem with it. They happily travel to shady barrooms filled with smoke to have a bearded old-timer etch ugly pictures into their skin, or puff up their drooping eyelids. These people would tolerate lasers in their eyes when they are fed up with glasses.

No, there is more at work than a simple primal revulsion of being cut. The answer is simultaneously simpler and more devious than what I imagined.

Though marvelously complicated, the mammalian brain is ultimately limited in its imagination, in the scope of its capability. Even the greatest genius is ultimately constrained by its design parameters - it constructs scenarios based on what it has observed, recombining and restructuring past experiences into novel patterns. On Earth, the Human brain is the most marvelous of them all, extremely good at what it does - and very poor at some things for which it is employed, far removed from the ancestral wilderness of Africa.

Among the oldest and strongest of these terrible traits is fear, having far outlived the primacy of its effectiveness, inducing wariness in a prey species that would otherwise grow lax. Today, in a safer age, the prehistoric impulse clouds thinking and prevents perfectly sane people from acting rationally. Furthermore, in the wake of losing our most pressing sources of fear, surviving in a society that is impossibly peaceful compared to any from ages past, humanity has invented new terrors to fill the mind.

Fear is influenced by our perceptions, by what we have experienced. Through that means, fear becomes ubiquitous, diffuse - and dangerous. A single bombing can strike a wave of feverish terror across a country, across the entire world, leaving everyone reeling. That reaction is not productive - it leads to knee-jerk reactions, not thought-out responses, and many of the most devious minds are all too aware of that failure of human cognition. They use fear to control.

Perhaps Loki was more right than I thought, when he accused humanity of craving subjugation. Not to people like him - but to the yoke of fear. It is familiar, an ancient companion, and the natural instinct to fight or flee is strong within us still.

For thousands of years, perhaps longer than that, people have funneled their fearful insecurities into the common consciousness, introduced patterns to the great horde to consume, after which they spread the meme from person to person. It happened verbally at first, or perhaps in crude sign languages, before it was transferred through texts, alleged to be delivered from on high, but truly written by people with a little more imagination, combining existing ideas in new ways. In recent times, there came radio, and television, and the endless collection of porn and cats and assorted knowledge, the Internet. New means of spreading the same messages, sharing fear and thereby diffusing it.

And through those means, ancient and invented terrors struck new roots in later ages, even into the current day. Through every hackneyed horror movie, terrible science-fiction flick, sober documentary on the terrors of the atom, common themes appeared, and they were subconsciously adopted.

Prime among them was one most relevant to these days - distilled from secret fears, a gestalt of thoughts scarcely forming a coherent argument, the idea was derived from a built-in pessimism about our own capability as builders, as creators. Maybe it even came from a misplaced sense that we ought not approach the realms of the divine. Fear had a name, now - Technology.

Technology was the enemy.

The idea of the cell phone implant broke into the core of what people considered to be their humanity, what media and the transmission of fear had instilled into them as the ideal. The distrust of technology was built upon ancient foundations, and the uncorrupted human ideal placed upon the highest pedestal. People envisioned biology fading to the background in favor of the implant's electrical wiles; they could accept replacement parts when biology failed, but drew an instinctual line there, warily observing those who would put aside what their body provided and replace it with technology, who would augment themselves willfully.

Machines were beheld with skeptical eyes, with the worried gaze of those who expect the neighbor's dog to snap at any moment, no matter how cuddly it might look - on the off chance that it was a wolf. Without realizing it, likely without comprehending their distaste, people reacted to their discomfort. They feared the death of humanity, the end of the ancient paradigm of what it meant to be, and that idea spread through the media, through the common consciousness.

The cyborg would be saved by the remnants of its humanity, the robot was either a breadbox or perfectly human; or at the very least intended on becoming such. The very concept of artificial intelligence, of human minds without a human body, became synonymous with treachery, with betrayal, with the loss of self. The machine took its place alongside the zombie and the vampire, a boogeyman for the new age.

Transhumanism became a whisper among intellectuals, in a world of the wary. Technology treading into our humanity, changing ourselves, breaking down the core of our being and rebuilding it. Ultimately, the fearful masses argue, what lies beyond human is less, not more.

Cybernetics eat your soul, and every Tin Man needs a heart.

That hypothesis can be tested.

"Who?"

"Who am-"

"Who am I?"

The wind whistled past at the speed of sound, and metal plating groaned. Slowly banking, a bright star veered off, followed by two fiery streaks of flame.

"Let's try playing some Clues, shall we? Right now, about two miles behind me, there's two heavy-duty missiles painting me with microwaves, locking onto my radar signature," a breathless voice started. "A slipstream of freezing air is ripping past me at 104 Decibels. Meanwhile, a 9000-song playlist heavily skewed towards 80's metal is roaring at the same volume."

There were beeps of various alarms vying for attention and there was flickering red everywhere, flashing indicators with strong words of warning. Above them all blasted Black Sabbath.

"On my chest, a superconducting arc reactor is generating enough power to equal a small nuclear missile, funnelling enough electricity to my hands to power a decade-long concert by every band on my playlist - all at once." A chuckle. "And in my left hand is a Repulsor-emitter, requesting permission to unleash that very power."

A lance of lightning burst through the sky, a streak of hellfire that left only scraps in its way. One of the missiles fell, severed neatly in two; the second dodged in time, but only barely. It tumbled wildly before re-engaging.

"Who am I? I'm Iron Man. I'm Tony Stark. Who else would I be?" A smirk. "Hell yes!"

Flipping backwards in a graceful movement, the repulsors fired to full, Tony reversed his direction, and the second missile missed by a long shot, forced to slowly turn around for another run.

"Pardon me for interrupting your monologue, sir - but why are you talking to yourself?" Jarvis piped up, as expected. "Have you been drinking? You know quite well -"

Tony muttered unkind things under his breath. "I am recording, Jarvis. Besides, didn't I turn you off?" There was a long pause, then, as Tony narrowed his eyes, and confusion struck. "...Wait, where am I? Why am I in the suit? Didn't I blow all these things to smithereens just yesterday? And - is this the Mark II? That's the one I gave to Rhodey - it was scrapped when he got his new one!"

"Sir?"

Tony swallowed thickly, his eyes swerving from side to side, trying to read his displays, but they were garbled nonsense. "What's going on? Give me a map, Jarvis."

Silence.

"Jarvis! Give me a map! Where the hell am I?" Tony glanced down to the clouds, and rocketed towards them even as the last missile kept hot on his tail. "Don't tell me you're malfunctioning again! I just fixed you!"

"Tony?"

Tony strained against his suit as he ducked below the clouds. It seemed as if his heart stopped for a moment, and serene white was suddenly exchanged for red-tinted darkness as fires stretched as far as he could see, and clouds were suffused with ash, with acid that bit into the iron-gold alloy that coated him. Pain shot through his limbs as if the Iron Man armour was his skin - and quite suddenly it was, as it opened up and dropped him out without even a slight warning.

"Gah - I'll sell you for scrap metal!" Tony called as he flailed helplessly. He plummeted downwards - the wind rushed past him so quickly that he couldn't open his eyes, could barely take a breath, and his heart hammered loudly in his chest as he headed into fiery destruction, into a gaping maw of fire. Pain overtook everything as his skin was ripped to shreds and the ground approached far too quickly. Fire under his skin, a furious monster that would snap him up.

'I'm sorry, Pepper.'

"Tony!"

Reality returned with a shocking intensity that had him gasping aloud, and memory flooded back. He woke up with the deepest breath he had ever taken, his eyes roving wildly across the room as he reached for his chest, and one hand found bandages. Was it done? He glanced down with sleep-addled eyes to his chest, and he could no longer feel the slight hum of his Arc Reactor.

Success!

"I figured you'd never wake up," Pepper said softly, raising an eyebrow. "What was that just now, moaning my name? Please don't tell me you were dreaming about -"

Tony pushed himself up, ignoring the pain in his chest, and hugged her. She let out a surprised squawk, but then stilled. He just held her for a while, and sighed in relief.

It was done. Now came the good part.

"What do you think of silver, Jarvis? Sounds about right? I've thought of blue, but it seems like that combination would just be cribbing from Pete..." Tony said, frowning. "Maybe go for a bit more Roman influence, while I'm at it? Though giving a suit sculpted abs might be a big much..."

"Red and silver? I have no opinion on the matter, but I daresay it is superior to Periwinkle and Orange-red, sir. Or the purple monstrosity that you suggested."

"All the movie covers pull off the former, and purple's pretty good for stealth," Tony muttered. "You're implying I'd look stupid, aren't you? Well, you look stupid! Hah, take that! All wires and circuitry, not one handsome gob like my own. So there. You're ugly."

"That was very mature behaviour, sir."

"Hah, you'd better believe it!" Tony exclaimed. "Mental note: Rein in Jarvis' sarcasm a smidgen."

"I think you know who to thank for that, sir."

Colonel James Rhodes stepped into the garage with his hands in his pockets, shaking his head. "Are you arguing with your robot again? You know that it's bound to give a psychiatrist a field day if they ever found out, right?"

Tony scowled dangerously. "Jarvis is not a robot - he's an Artificial Intelligence. And no, we just had a disagreement. Which involved bickering. That happens in relationships, you know - and he's the one who has no sense of style, you can't blame me." Tony Stark, billionaire CEO of Stark Industries - a somewhat discredited technology company in the wake of its abandonment of weapon manufacture - sat up with a wince, shoving himself backwards from under his Camaro. He flipped up his welding helmet as he put aside his tools. "I'm figuring out how to spice up this beauty. Suggestions?"

"Gold and red are sort of your trademark," Rhodey mused. "Silver and red could work, I suppose, if you make sure not to make the red too bright. But that's not why I'm here. Don't distract me."

"In case you haven't noticed," Tony noted with some amusement, "It is you who distracted me. I'm building a car here, you know. Not a suit, just a car. It's not even a revolutionary one, either. " He paused, and winced. "Well, technically it's able to fly, so that would make it a little special, but you shouldn't tell Pepper that. She might get upset over it again."

Rhodey sighed, leaning against Tony's desk and picking up a paperweight that he lightly juggled as he studied his strung-out friend. "Tinkering aside, you're locking yourself away again, Tony. Granted, you don't actually seem to be dying like last time, so that's something, but your absence is starting to get noticed. Some people think you're still addled from the recent dust-up, and of course Pepper wouldn't mention it - she's glad with all the time you spend with her these days. You'll have to get out of seclusion at some point and rejoin the real world, though. It's not stopped turning just because you stopped Killian."

"Killian," Tony muttered. "Killian was a symptom." He wiped his forehead as he took a long gulp of water from a grimy flask. "Besides, I'd like to think that the world can get along on its own for a while without Iron Man. I'm not the only high-profile ass-kicker out there, you know." He removed his helmet, narrowing his eyes for a moment as he studied it. He distractedly ran a hand across his chest, no longer marred - or adorned - by a makeshift reactor. "Rogers' on top of things, and Bruce is moving mountains here in New York. Not literally, though I'm sure he could if you get him pissed." He smirked. "Doesn't the public have the Iron Patriot, anyway?"

"You're well aware I've been benched since the Extremis debacle," Rhodey said with a glare. "You might be locked up in here by your own volition, but you sure as hell wouldn't be you if you didn't keep an eye on what's going on. With all the recriminations and the Mandarin plot coming unraveled, the Iron Patriot is just a lot of excess baggage at the moment. The Vice-President's fall is recounted in every tabloid on the planet, and half the time I get mentioned in the same breath..."

"Fair - but they didn't take your suit, did they?" Tony countered. "The army knows as well as I do that it's not going to behave around anyone else, not with all the new security systems that I put on the thing. You got time off, you still have the suit - try something new. A little vigilante heroism wouldn't look bad on you. Heck, you can even borrow the Iron Man identity, if you feel up to it. Zooming around, blasting the crap out of some A.I.M. goons that were left over... Should be fun."

Rhodey frowned. "Tempting as that is, I wasn't talking about superhero stuff at all," he answered. "I'm talking Tony Stark, not Iron Man. Getting along better with Pepper is great, but you've got a company to run, friends to meet, and you've steadfastly ignored them for weeks. Moving on from a lifestyle doesn't mean cutting all ties, Tony."

"I know that," Tony replied after a short time, letting out a deep sigh as he dropped into a chair, letting the heavy metal welding mask fall to the ground with a clang. "I thought I would take a breather after this whole Extremis stuff, you know. Getting a nanite infestation out of Pepper was bad enough - reprogramming it took three days and a month' supply of coffee, especially when I was building in a kill switch that would actually work. I'm still recovering, in fact."

"You could have taken your time," Rhodey pointed out.

"No, I couldn't," Tony snapped. "The risk would have been too high. Fury and the military knew what was going on by the end, especially when things started exploding, and they were well aware of the potential that Extremis had from seeing it in action. Busy as they were dealing with the repercussions of that last battle, I was allowed a reprieve - and I used it well. I imagine they didn't think I could do as much as I did in three days - or perhaps Fury did, and he let me have it as a gift." He frowned. "Extremis was ripe for the taking, Rhodey. Either the Army or S.H.I.E.L.D. would have jumped on figuring out how to turn it into a weapon they could use, if it was still around in a malleable form."

Rhodey sighed. "So... what did you do? I'm not going to like it, am I?"

Tony shrugged. "The destabilized form of Extremis that Killian used naturally decomposes with time, and the instability leads to overcooking of the most literal sort. Mine doesn't. I had to get Killian's version out of Pepper and kill it before anyone got the smart idea to take her in and figure out how Extremis ticks when it's still young." He tapped his chest. "It was that same nanite flood allowed the removal of the metal fragments near my heart, but the strain I created was obviously even more dangerous than the wild one, since it was stable. So I made sure to prevent tampering. By the time the feds knocked on my door, the last of my research notes were merrily burning in the grate."

Rhodey raised an eyebrow, nodding. "So, you destroyed Extremis before anyone could take a form that was actually useful. That is - surprisingly mature of you."

Tony shrugged. "Like the serum that created Steve, Extremis is too dangerous to be spread around willy-nilly. There's still a bunch of Enhanciles - that's the army's term for Killian's creations - but they're slowly burning up, incapable of adapting to the change. Unfortunately, the decay of their strain puts them beyond any help that even I could bring." He looked away. "They'll all be dead within a few years, if not months. The secrets of Extremis are destroying themselves, one by one. I'll be the last one who knows the details needed to recreate it."

"Probably not a bad thing," Rhodey admitted. "Still - what's that got to do with you holing up down here? It's been taken care of, right?"

"I figured I'd go back to basics. I told you that I met a kid when I was out and about, right?" Tony gestured vaguely. "He reminded me of myself at that age - precocious brat, sarcastic as hell. He got me on my feet after the mess at my Malibu home, and I paid him a little visit after things were over." He stood up, stretching. "I haven't felt as free as right then in years. For a while, I wasn't Stark Industries' CEO, or Iron Man, or any of the other things I usually take on my shoulders. Just a mechanic, tinkering with his toys." He smiled warmly. "So - I've been brainstorming on new directions, keeping my hands busy while I consider my next direction."

"Which is?"

"Achieving divinity and starting a cult - I hear it's good for cash," Tony said, smirking. "Nah, I was thinking that I'd put the company aside. They don't really need me in R&D these days, given that I'm unpredictable at the best of times, and I don't think it'll be relevant when I'm done with them anyway. I've been tinkering with something new, something that nobody else has - a little personal enhancement, if you will, rather than another suit."

"Personal enhancement-" Rhodey paused, narrowing his eyes. "That comparison with Captain America, that was intentional, wasn't it?" He glared daggers when he was met with a sheepish smile. "You infected yourself, didn't you? With Extremis?"

Stark rolled his eyes. "Well, yes. The only way to get my heart in working order was to have a way to heal the severe damage the operation would do to the area. I needed the regenerative properties that the Extremis nano-flood delivered, or I'd just have been out of the loop for weeks or months - or I'd be dead. You know that."

"You built in a kill switch, though," Rhodey observed. "You changed Pepper's dose so it could be removed, and she's fine." He frowned. "Tony - did you hit that switch in yourself? Did you actually kill them?"

"Ah, Rhodey..." Tony whined. "Not - technically."

Rhodey sprang up. "You crazy son-of-a- "

"It's fine," Tony gestured quickly, nervously glancing to the door. "I don't have the flaming crazy guy strain, clearly, so I'm not in trouble like Pepper was." He turned away from Rhodey's doubtful gaze. "Truth is, I changed the Extremis to serve my needs, my specifications, when I was figuring out how to remove it, how to use it for myself. I turned the programming in her strain to something I could control, and extracted the dose. That was the batch that served as a template for the ones that were used to fix myself." He smirked. "I was going to shut them down after the operation, but..."

"But what?"

"I changed them, Rhodey. I did. Not some government institution I couldn't trust, nor Killian's people, who never quite understood how it worked. It was me - I fixed them during a three-day engineering high that is mostly a blur to me now." He grimaced slightly. "I don't actually have any idea what I did to the things, beyond the very basics. I got them out of Pepper, and I got them to repair me after the operation - but they're way too complex for that to be their only function, they're way too sophisticated." He rolled his eyes. "I have my suspicions that I figured out the workings on day one, but then I was on such a roll that I couldn't stop. My thoughts were rather sentimental and dreamy, as I recall, and there's nothing quite like imagination to get my creative drive going - so I'm pretty sure I did some pretty nifty stuff. I customized Extremis - and it's still at work. I don't know what would happen if I interrupted its activity. It's not done with me."

"What the hell, Tony?" Rhodey snapped. "Didn't you endanger your life enough? What will Pepper think - "

"She knows."

"What?"

"I told her all about it," Tony admitted. "I'm not the same person anymore, Rhodey. She asked what I had done to myself, and I answered. That was the day of the operation. I told her everything I knew about the nanites - how they rewrite the repair centre of the brain, making the brain alter qualities of the body according to its new plan. Extremis fills up a place in the brain that's unconnected, that's blank - like empty canvas. She was utterly unsurprised that I scribbled on it. I think she's used to this by now."

"You're completely crazy," Rhodey noted dryly. "You're keeping yourself hidden because you don't know what you did to yourself. You have no idea if you're liable to sprout a tail or breathe fire from one moment to the next, right? Only you, Tony." He shook his head. "Only you."

"Why is laying low so bad, anyway?" Tony asked. "This Extremis thing - it'll just be another quirk, when I figure it out. It's not like I'd build in anything that would harm me."

"Like that arc reactor that was killing you a few years back?" Rhodey inquired.

"That was different," Tony parried. "I did that one out of necessity, and it's gone, now. This was voluntary - even if I can't quite recall what I did." He paused for a long time. "There's a whole new me after what happened in New York, and with the Mandarin. I'm still dragging along bad news from the past with me, though. Bad history. I might've blown up my suits, but they were only a symptom, weren't they? So - if I'm right, I think I altered Extremis so that it could fix a few bad things that I was still carrying along, that were still hardwired into me." He shrugged. "It's given me the clarity I needed to go through with my plans, anyway. I figured if I can trust myself even when I can't remember what I was doing, I can trust myself at any time."

Rhodey started. "What more than this are you planning, Tony?"

Tony smiled thinly. "Stark Industries is floundering, and we both know that it won't last for much longer in the current economic climate," he began. "We could have picked a better time to break away from military contracts, but you know my reasons. The company still has a reputation for dealing arms, which means very few people outside military sources really trust it, and the current economy leads people to trustworthy investments . We're not among those."

"So?"

"Rhodey - most of our money is tied up in contracts and agreements, which means that the company has obligations that I don't care for, but can't actually just stop. We can't really start new things without getting into a row with our shareholders, and we don't produce what our old 'friends' want." He gestured to his desk. "I've got the numbers there, somewhere. We're bleeding out."

"Aren't you turning a profit?" Rhodey inquired, frowning.

Tony shrugged. "A very slight one, yes, but not for long. The crux is, I won't make the weapons our old customers want, and the stuff I do want to make I don't really want to sell to them anyway. New markets remain out of reach due to the history of my company and my father's decisions. In short, Howard Stark is holding me back." He leaned forward, his eyes shining. "Tony Stark, however, remains as popular as ever with the media."

Rhodey slowly looked up. "Tony, you're not saying-"

Tony nodded shortly. "My father would appreciate the logic, I think. It's time that my dear old dad's company made way for something new. We'll have to go practically bankrupt before I can pull off a trick like this convincingly, without tipping off every contractor and getting a lot of people pissed at me. If I start signing off on losses, or withdraw from contracts that are nearing their renewal dates, it'll probably get the ball rolling. It's a snowball effect - Stark Industries will destroy itself. Just as planned."

Rhodey sat down and frowned. "You want to go broke?"

"Yes," Tony agreed. "If I drain the company dry, and make sure that the personal fortune I gathered from non-military applications remains well away from the collapse, it won't take much more than a year to end matters. My seclusion would certainly help the illusion. Then - when it looks like Stark Industries is dead, I make my grand reappearance. I'll show the public my intent to build a new company, one that forgoes weapons technology from the outset, focusing on green energy and advanced aerospace technology. All civilian. I think I'll call it Stark Resilient."

"You're crazy." Rhodey shook his head, sighing. "Have you been drinking again?"

"Well, yes," Tony admitted. "But only a little. In any case, I'll be the richest person in America again within a year, I think - since nobody else can even get close to building a power source that can run a car indefinitely, and I can rig an arc reactor to destroy its own workings if tampered with, which would make it a viable energy source. I'll have every energy company in the country gunning for me - but I'll have an Iron Man suit ready. They won't get me easily." He twitched, and a glove soared through the room, attaching itself easily to the raised hand with a click, and a soft hum signified the activation of its repulsor. "I would put the seed money gathered from my Iron Man appearances into the company alongside my personal cash, and hire Pepper as the CEO. I'd like you to be a test pilot - with your own suits, free of charge, of course. I'd buy you out of the army."

Rhodey sighed. "You're serious. You're actually serious about this, aren't you? You want to go broke, then earn it all back - for what? Symbolism?"

Tony shook his head. "Rhodey - most of the Stark money is from military contracts, I can't change that. Although the majority of my own cash is from side-projects, I can't really start over while I'm still dragging the past with me. So - I'll let Hammer fight with whoever else is out there over contracts on guns, and then overshadow him in a far better market." He shrugged. "New me, new company. I won't have a penny of blood money invested into it."

"You've really changed," Rhodey said slowly. "Granted, you gutted the weapons out already, but a few years ago you would have not even thought of this, since it's your father's company..."

"I know, I know. Blame Pepper. Now, I do intend to make some agreements with S.H.I.E.L.D. so they know where I stand, and then I'll start destroying my own holdings this evening. Pepper's shown some enthusiasm for messing with rich bankers and destroying private property." Tony smirked. "I should go call Bruce. He'll want in."

"Do I at least get free coffee?" Rhodey asked wearily.

"And world-class dental."

Rhodey slumped. "Of course I'm in, you idiot. Someone needs to make sure you don't go - crazier."

Tony smirked.

The sun set slowly over the deck of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier as Tony stared out the small windows on the side of his transport craft. The gleam on the water illuminated the prow, and the huge spinning blades that would lift it into the sky were only barely visible below the surface. Very slowly the deck approached, and Tony sighed in relief, stretching his legs.

"Seven hours - you'd think we'd have a faster way by now. I'll have to do something about that," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Halfway around the world in a tin can, and they don't even have food on board? A travesty."

"Please sit, sir - you might get hurt," the pilot said through a crackling radio.

"Hidden cameras - joy!" Tony walked to the back of the plane while ignoring the warnings. "Is Fury here, at least? I'd rather not wait any longer than I have to. The seats on this carrier are terribly designed from an ergonomic standpoint, you know..."

"Director Fury is present, sir."

The transport slowly dropped onto the deck, briefly shuddering, before the hatch opened with a loud clang. There, leaning against the side of the craft, was Clint Barton, Hawkeye. Though he had left his bow elsewhere, his tensed muscles betrayed his readiness. He waved vaguely as Tony disembarked. "Stark."

"I'm not going to attack, you know." Tony said conversationally, eyebrows raised. "What's with the smarmy grimace you've got there? Did someone prank you again? Put chili sauce in your marmalade, what?"

"It's nothing," Clint responded, straightening, and he shrugged. "I suppose we're the only ones around right now, so it's nice to see you." He smirked.

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. Because we got along so brilliantly in New York. As I remember, you spent more time actually fighting us than doing anything useful. I'm pretty sure you were more of a hassle than Loki was, half the time." He smirked, and raised an eyebrow. "You're fine, I assume?"

"Yes, I feel fine," Clint agreed. "A little under the weather, I suppose, but that is what you get. You and I should talk at some point. There's a few things you should really know about."

Tony nodded distractedly. "Sorry about the - food thing, again. I didn't know you'd get diarrhea," he said as he dusted off his pinstripe suit. "I never had that kind of trouble, so I guess people with weaker stomachs just fall below my radar. The Shawarma seemed like a good deal at the time - but even Thor whined, and I think he has titanium for a gut."

"Whatever you say, Stark."

Tony sighed. "Don't bother warning people about the metal detectors," he added glibly, striding into the Helicarrier without another word. He whistled easily as he ascended the stairs, following Hawkeye. He saw no evidence of the Hulk's fight with Thor in the hangar bays that they passed, and he waved casually at a few guards. "I could barely see the damage on the prop - not a bad repair job, actually. Though I could've helped with that."

"Our engineers are the very best," Clint noted, and he frowned. "Why did you remove your arc reactor, exactly? Symbolism?"

"That, and personal reasons," Tony answered, shrugging. "Finally had the tech to make it possible, and I figured that being dependent on technology to keep my heart ticking was a bit risky. So now I'm one-hundred percent human again." He smiled slightly at the fib. "I left my suit at home, actually. Well - the partial one I have. I'm working on that."

"I'm sure," Clint agreed, gesturing onwards. "Think about what you've been doing, Tony, and make logical deductions. You're good at those." He smirked. "And please - try not to freak out too much. It's going to be all right."

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow "That's Mr. Stark to you - and what are you babbling about? Should I be worried?" He turned slightly when he heard Clint's footsteps stop, and paused in surprise. There was nobody behind him at all. "Clint?" The hallway was empty.

"What the hell...?" Tony blinked, then reversed directions, until he reached an intersection; two guards were there; he remembered passing them. "Hey - neither of you happened to see Barton pass by here, right? I must have missed him in the shuffle..."

One guard frowned. "Agent Barton? I just saw you pass by, sir," he said. "Isn't Barton on leave, anyway? I'm pretty sure he went to visit the mainland, spend some time with whatever relatives he's got..."

The second guard grunted in agreement. "Haven't seen him in days."

Tony hesitated, staring for a long moment, then sighed as he rubbed his eyes. "...Right. Could you point me towards Fury, at least?" He shook his head, trying to run back the encounter with Clint, and trying to figure out what the hell happened. "I have an appointment."

"Director Fury is on the flight deck, if I'm not mistaken," the first guard said. "Wasn't he supposed to meet you there, sir?" He glanced to his colleague helplessly. "Why are you all the way down here, alone?"

Tony swallowed, then turned. "I must've gotten lost somewhere. I guess I'll go find him, then. I think I know the way out." He headed off, refusing to look back. Chills ran down Tony's back as he tried to retrace every move he'd made since he left his transport. Try not to freak out too much.Had he been hallucinating the entire way down here? Had his hallucination told him not to get upset over it? How did that even work?

He shook his head harshly. It's just ghosts in the machine. Just ghosts.

His eyes glowed a serene blue for but a moment.