Disclaimer: Nope. Not at all. Totally do not own Iron Man or Linkin Park. I just riveted them together and used them as a scarecrow in my garden. I think my HOA might kick me out.
Chapter 15: Failures to Launch
Linkin Park- Roads Untraveled
After her meeting, Angela was anxious to finally get back to her apartment. She stepped out of Mr. Stane's office and, ignoring etiquette, made her call in the foyer.
"Hey, Hap. Can you swing around and pick me up?" Angela fiddled with her work ID. It still announced her as Head of Weapons.
"Yeah. I'm parked out front. Come on out." The sound of a car door closing came over the line. "Somebody let the cat out of the bag about you. It's a mad house out here. Be prepared."
"Great," Angela drawled. "I'm on my way." She smoothed the material of her blouse and jacket, glancing down to make sure she wasn't visibly glowing.
A cheery ding drew her attention to the elevator in time to see Mr. Gardner and two other board members step out. The three men were huddled together in quiet conversation, oblivious to her presence. Her eyes darted around for a quick way to avoid them. She did not want to be interrogated about her view on Tony's decision to shut down Weapons, even if it would allow her to plump for the new department.
Spotting the stairwell door, she bustled the few steps across the reception area before the men noticed her. Her heels clattered on the stairs as she made her escape toward the ground floor.
Blowing through the main lobby of SI, she was almost caught again by a middle-aged man in a suit. He'd been sitting in one of the chairs, but upon seeing her, had stood.
"Miss. Harper," he called.
He didn't look like a member of the press, but she wasn't taking any chances. Before the man could catch up to her, she pushed open the glass doors to the building.
Her senses were immediately assaulted by a seething crowd of cameras and microphones. Schooling her expression and resisting the urge to bring a hand to her chest, she stepped into the valley between the chaos. Three quarters of the way through an immaculately coiffed blonde latched onto her right arm.
Angela startled. Reflexively she twisted her arm up and toward the blonde's thumb. Her own hand then wrapped around the woman's wrist, breaking and reversing the hold. For a moment both women stared at each other in shock.
Happy was there in an instant, his heavy body stepping between her and the grab happy woman. "Excuse me." His hand settled lightly onto Angela's shoulder and she dropped the woman's wrist. "This way, Miss. Harper."
Heart beating in her throat, Angela discreetly relaxed her fisted left hand. Ruefully, she recognized her twitchy, defensive behavior. It was the intern incident all over again.
When they finally pulled away from the curb, Angela sagged back into the seat with a sigh.
"Thanks, Happy." She brushed off her right arm. Angela was still hypersensitive to anyone jostling it and the woman had actually grabbed it.
"No problem." He pulled onto the main street, headed for the freeway. She saw him glance up at her in the rearview mirror. "How was it being back at it?"
A light frown settled on her face. "Different." The only time she'd felt comfortable had been when she was laying out Tony's proposal. "I just need some time to find my feet. Finally getting home should help."
With longing, she thought of her airy living room and its adjoining balcony. Staying with Tony had its own perks, bed and bath among them. But being able to relax with a glass of wine while looking out at the lights of Santa Monica was a treasure of its own.
Besides, she missed her kitchen. Tony survived on protein shakes and espresso. How he had any muscle tone baffled her.
Happy made a hum of understanding. "You'll be working from the big house for now, right? You have the entry code for the main gate and entrance?" He asked.
Angela was due back at the Malibu mansion at seven the next morning. Apparently her independent R&D was to be conducted in a place she could also work on the Mark II. It meant she had to contact her team via email, set them up with an HR screening, and then leave Tim to manage their temporary lab.
"Yeah. I'm all buttoned up with security clearance," she assured the man.
"Good." Happy paused before catching her gaze in the rearview mirror again. "How is the security on your building?"
She quietly chuckled. "It's not a high security apartment complex. There's a lock on the lobby door and my apartment door. That's about it."
"Not even security cameras?" He frowned.
She shook her head.
His face pinched in distain. "Maybe we should go over things again."
Angela groaned. "You're not putting me through Happy Hogan's self defense refresher course again."
"It works," he boasted. "You slipped that reporter's grip no problem, nothing like when Hammer grabbed you."
"I hesitated because I didn't want a lawsuit, not because I didn't know how to punch him," she protested. If Hammer hadn't wanted his spy found then he shouldn't have put the man in her department. She wondered if the doofus had ever figured out that by trying to intimidate her he had practically confessed.
"You've been in and out of the media whenever they want a different angle on the Boss's story," Happy warned.
"I know." She toed off her high heels and stretched her feet. Once some intrepid reporter figured out where she lived again, the media would be there in droves. "It's the price one pays for working with the Boss."
"You work closer than others." His tone sounded slightly accusing.
Angela furrowed her brow. "Yeah?" She drew the word out, wondering what he was getting at.
"He trusts you," Happy answered back. "I think you and Pep are the only other people he lets in his lab. Not even Mr. Stane has security clearance."
"I understand that. This is not the first time I've had lab clearance at his house," she reminded. "Why are you bringing this up?" Angela saw the man flick his eyes to her a few times before he changed lanes.
Once they'd fallen in behind an offensively yellow truck, Happy hummed. "He never lets people stay over unless there's a reason. And never for multiple nights."
Angela's mouth dropped open in outrage at what she thought he was implying. "Harold Hogan." She was going to tell on him to Pepper.
"No." He held a hand off the steering wheel. "No. I'm not saying that," He was quick to clarify. "I'm just saying he trusts you, a lot," he emphasized. "It's rare. You should be careful," he finished lamely.
Angela squinted at him skeptically, trying to put together what Happy was actually saying. Then, it hit her. Tony was Happy's charge. "Are you giving me a shovel talk?" She ventured, a grin growing on her face.
Happy mumbled something from the front.
"I'm sorry. I didn't quite hear that. Care to speak up?" She razzed him. With glee, she could see the tips of his ears reddening.
"You know Happy, for your piece of mind, I do understand." She rubbed her fingers over her shirt, underneath she could feel the solid ridge of the arc reactor. "Despite his aggravating persona, he's a good man," she mused.
"And not many people see that," Happy concluded. "He needs more people around him that do."
She nodded absently, then teased, "I'm still telling on you to Pepper."
Happy groaned.
…...
Later that evening Angela sprawled out along her couch, a neglected glass of wine on the coffee table. She gazed dolefully out at the slice of skyline visible through her balcony doors, a frown pulling on her face.
Her apartment looked the same. It smelled the same. And while she had initially enjoyed being in her own space, as the afternoon wore on she felt increasingly discomfited. She had unpacked, sorted mail, cooked a meal. Nothing she did seemed to help. Nothing made her fit.
Outside her windows the sky faded from the vivid colors of sunset, to the cool blues of dusk. Santa Monica lit up around her. Her refrigerator kicked on, its hum loud in the quiet of her apartment.
…...
Tony scrutinized the design for the Mark II boots, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Finding nothing he could think to change, he sent the specs to Angela via email. A click and swish sounded as the program announced his action successful.
He stretched out his shoulders, relishing in the pull and burn of muscles that had been locked in a singular position for too long. A glance around his shop revealed his bots folded into their docks, blinking lights indicating they were charging. Down from his project haze, Tony wrinkled his nose at the quiet. He'd gotten used to the noise of someone else working in his space.
His eyes traveled over to the section of the shop set aside for Angela. One table held her green energy project, which had seen quite a bit of progress in the two weeks since her meeting with Stane. Another table held the tech for the Mark II. During the days he often saw her switching between the two undertakings at intervals that only made sense to her.
He was tempted to go over and poke around, but the idea lost its appeal when he realized that Angela wasn't there to get indignant about it. He could always go over and move some things. The woman had an eidetic memory for what was on her work bench. She'd notice. Then he could claim it was his shop and he could move things when he wanted to.
A high pop of sound from his computer signaled he had incoming mail. A glance down at the still open screen showed it was from Angela. His eyes skated to the time display and he chuckled. Someone was up very late or very early.
Opening the message, he found an attachment. She'd made changes to his schematic in the time he'd been lost in thought. A quick skim of the notes she'd attached made him purse his lips.
"JARVIS, run simulation nine with the changes in file M two dash one dot one three," he commanded.
Tony swiveled to his left and watched the program work through the new specs. He gave a soft snort when the animation froze as one of the flaps lit up red. It had contacted with the nozzle of a directional thruster.
Typing up a comment about not doing math before coffee, Tony corrected the error and sent the file back to Angela. Less than a minute later he received a reply. He read over the email and grinned.
"Get me Angela, would you?" He directed his AI. Affecting a casual demeanor, he leaned back and kicked his feet up on the desk.
"I do hope a video call will suffice?" JARVIS asked dryly.
"Depends on what she's wearing," Tony quipped.
A moment later Angela's face appeared in the corner of his screen.
"Why is JARVIS on my laptop?" She asked.
The feed was so poorly lit that Tony could barely see the chair behind her. A whooshing noise intermittently pulsed over the microphone. "Where are you?" He wondered.
"My apartment," she answered impatiently.
"Where in your apartment? And what is that noise? It's distracting," he complained.
The picture wobbled and the noise ceased. "Wind," she explained. "I'm out on the balcony."
"At four in the morning?" He needled.
Ignoring him, she repeated her question. "JARVIS, laptop, why?"
"First your math is wrong, now you're incoherent. Are you having a stroke?" He barely managed to keep from smirking.
She sneered, and Tony filed away that he found even that expression attractive. "My math was not wrong. You didn't read all my notes before you ran the sim," she accused.
He dropped his feet from the desk and leaned forward. "JARVIS ran the sim using your design…"
"And the thruster was clipped by the bottom left spoiler. Yes." She brushed some hair out of her face. "Which is why I made a note to move the thrusters an eighth of an inch."
"Please, don't interrupt me." Tony pulled up her notes again. He chuffed a breath when he read over the suggestion at the bottom. "Why didn't you include it with the other alterations?"
"Because I wanted your opinion about what you think the maximum velocity of the Mark II will be. That's in the notes too," she chided.
Tony's eyes tracked to the left as he hastily re-read another section of her notes. As she claimed, they mentioned the maximum speed threshold for her proposed variation was Mach II. "Fair," he conceded.
"It's a speed versus maneuverability trade off. I wanted to discuss it before we bothered running the simulation." One of her dark eyebrows was cocked high on her forehead. "But apparently your ability to read suffers at a certain hour," she needled.
"If you're that sassy, you're awake enough to work." He bent forward and started altering the specs again. "Come over. Bring breakfast."
She let out a noise of protest. "Nothing worth eating is open this early. And you still haven't answered my question."
"Ask it again when you get here. You've got me all worked up thinking about thrust vectoring, you cruel woman." Without looking up from what he was doing he disconnected the call.
A few seconds later there was another pop notification from his email. He opened the dialogue box. It was a demand that he make coffee and keep his thrust to himself. Tony closed his email with a scoff.
…...
A month later Angela squinted out the tinted glass of her apartment building's portico. The city lights illuminated the dark humps of cars and a grey streak of sidewalk. She scanned for any motion and all remained still. Pursing her lips, she palmed her keys and straightened her shoulders. The situation was ridiculous.
She pushed open the door. The cool ocean air rustled the hair at her temples. From across the street she could just hear the waves over the traffic on Ocean Avenue. Even at that early hour, the city had started its lumber toward day.
Halfway to her car the tell tale click and flash of a camera drew her attention. Her eyes hooded in irritation. The determined photographer that had been stalking her for two weeks was getting better at hiding.
Not wasting time acknowledging the man she unlocked her car, settled behind the wheel, and closed the door. Upon leaving her lot, she swung up Pico boulevard before messing around in the side streets around Santa Monica College. By the time she backtracked to Eleventh she'd lost the car tailing her. Satisfied with her continued thwarting of the paparazzi, she stopped to pick up donuts.
Forty minutes later Angela keyed herself into the Stark Complex West. The thud of her boots across the entryway was covered by the splashes of the water feature near the stairs. Bag of sugary morning goodness in hand, she meandered down to the space that was fast becoming a second home.
She typed in her security code, opening the door to find the shop in a state she'd rarely experienced it before, quiet.
Her gaze raked across the room in search of a passed out Tony. She'd found him tilted back in his office chair with a screw driver behind his ear once. A little 'huh' escaped her when there was no sign of him. She dropped the bag of donuts on her desk and booted up her computer. She'd have to make her own coffee.
A despondent whir drew her attention and she noticed that Dum-E was scrubbing something off the floor behind a set of tool boxes. Angela walked over to the spot, tilting her head. It looked like extinguisher foam. She glanced over at the tile testing pad, suspicious. "JARVIS?"
"Good morning, Miss. Harper," The AI greeted.
"Good morning, JARVIS," she greeted. "Has Tony done any testing since I left the lab last night?"
"Sir performed a flight test approximately two hours and thirty seven minutes ago," JARVIS replied in his smooth British accent.
Angela rolled her eyes. Of course the crazy man had. She glanced from the slight scorch marks on the tile to the extinguisher foam on the floor and let out a long sigh. "Show me any test footage available, please."
A video popped up on the monitor across the room and Angela walked over to get a closer look. On the screen Tony was strapped into the Mark II boots. She sucked on her lips at his chosen set up, hand controls. He just wouldn't concede to the stabilizers.
He was right. They would hamper his ability to use his hands, but they would keep him from flipping ass over tea kettle.
A few moments into the video he did just that, and then struck the ceiling. Angela's laughter echoed through the lab.
…...
When Tony made his way back down to the shop it was after eleven. He popped his back, still sore from where he'd hit the ground earlier that morning. Through the glass entryway he could see Angela busily at work. She was standing at the holoprojector table with her arm inside a projected piece of tech. It looked to him to be a flight stabilizer.
He wondered if she'd seen the video from his test.
At the sound of the door opening Angela turned towards him. Tony could tell the moment she realized it was him. Her face collapsed into mirth and she brought her unadorned hand up to cover her mouth. It did nothing to hide the way her eyes crinkled. It didn't muffle the snicker she let out either.
So, she'd obviously seen it. Tony closed the door behind him and continued to act unaffected. The snicker turned into shaking shoulders and tightly closed eyes. He paused at the side of the table and raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.
When she opened her eyes again and saw him standing there, she burst into loud laughter. Angela managed to gasp out a, "And then you went." She made a motion with her hand to convey his hit of the ceiling. After a moment she steadied herself enough to ask, "Did you hurt yourself?"
"Just my pride," he assured. "Which, by the way, kicking while down. Not cool, Panda."
Angela snickered again before drawing in a deep breath. "Maybe this will make you feel better." Her eyes were sparkling as she held out the arm still covered in the projected tech.
Tony shuffled forward to examine it and reached out to turn her arm at different angles. How long had the woman been down there that morning?
Skimming his fingers over her wrist, he again noted how soft her skin was. He stroked his thumb over a callus on her palm.
Belatedly Tony realized that he really needed to quit that. Now was not the time for that. The project she was working on was even more important than usual. Besides, people who got that much joy out of his pain shouldn't be enticing.
Angela gently pulled her hand out of his and then disengaged her arm from the projected piece. Tony reached out to touch it, examining different connections and parts. It was much too small for him.
"You'll have to size it up for yourself. I didn't have those measurements but I needed something for a model." She wiggled her fingers in demonstration.
"You laugh at me and now you're after my measurements," he lightly flirted.
Angela shook her head and raised one of those dark arrogant brows. "You deserve to be laughed at for what you did," she sassed.
The idea that began germinating in Tony's head weeks before came a bit more into focus. "You know," he said slowly, peering at her arc reactor. "There's no reason the Mark II wouldn't work for you."
Her green eyes met his. "Well, if I put my measurements in and changed some minor things, of course it would," she answered like he'd made a silly statement. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What would I do with a suit that can fly?"
Almost immediately he saw her eyes go distant. Tony watched as her gaze slid down and off to the side. Slowly her eyebrows climbed up her forehead and her mouth made a little 'o.' At the same time Tony could feel his lips lifting into a smug smirk.
He took a step into her personal space. "You're thinking of things right now," he accused lowly.
Her gaze snapped back to him and she blinked. "Well," she cleared her throat. "I am an aeronautical engineer. The chance to fly like a fighter jet without the plane," she trailed off. Something flickered across her face too quickly for Tony to distinguish.
In the back of his brain, where his vague plans for what to use the Mark II for were still forming, he added in a variable of Angela in a suit. He didn't expect her to desire it the way he did. For him it was part self protection, part wounded pride, and part trying to fix what he had allowed to become screwed up. But even if Angela only wanted the pleasure of flying without an airplane she deserved it. She'd worked on the suit almost as much as he had. She'd fought for her life because of what was going on at his company.
He'd apparently been watching her for too long because she shifted uneasily on her feet. A part of his mind noted she didn't retreat from him though.
"Size it up so we can start fabrication," she finally said.
Tony took the step back instead. Now was definitely not the time for that. 'But,' Tony thought, 'maybe later.' He headed for his computer. For now he would consider the discussion about her using a suit tabled.
As he passed the holoprojector he clicked and dragged his stylus, saving the stabilizer specs with her measurements into a separate folder within the master Mark II file. Then he made his own available to her through JARVIS. With a moment of consideration, he brought up the data the AI had from when she was scanned for the fit of her arc reactor. He saved that in the file as well.
Was it right to bring Angela into something so potentially dangerous? He wasn't sure. But, he conceded, she'd brought herself pretty far into it on her own, right from the beginning.
…...
A week after Tony's test flight, Angela smoothly exited her car, mind still half on her new problem.
Tony's shop was close to perfect. There was plenty of room. She had no issue requisitioning material and, so long as Tony didn't need it, almost any tool was at her disposal. Angela's problem was time.
She was working on both the Mark II and the prototype for her thermoelectric generator. The Mark II was a full time job. It had a lot of moving parts and they all had to be precisely fitted. Meanwhile, the generator was coming together faster than she imagined. It was just that she couldn't build a flight stabilizer and link semiconductors at the same time. She only had two hands.
Wired into the house as he was, JARVIS was a godsend. He could literally be two places at once, sending orders through to Dum-E, U, or Butterfingers. But even with the lion's share of her clean energy build delegated to the AI, Angela still felt stretched. Her poor sleep schedule and long hours were not helping.
Distracted as she was, it took Angela a moment to notice that something wonderful had occurred. For the third day in a row she'd made it all the way into her building's lobby without a cameraman snapping candid photos.
Key in her mailbox, she paused and looked back out the glass portico of her building. No one was milling around the outside. An incredulous huff escaped her and a grin settled on her lips. She took a moment to be thankful that new news would always push out the old.
…...
Notes: I totally see Hammer as the type of prick that would start a fight, get one solid punch in his face, and then run away to cry to his lawyers about the mean woman who went crazy and tried to kill him. And hey look! On time this week. Woot!