Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man. I also don't own Emmit Fenn. I just put them both in a compactor on accident. The resulting paste was a surprisingly pleasant color that I used to paint my bathroom. I should probably buy some air freshener.
Author's note: So…five months MIA…oops. Real life has been a thing, that's all I'm saying. Also this chapter fought me like I owed it money. Seriously, this is like draft 7. So boom. I'm posting it. Reader Beware.
Chapter 19: The Parting of the Curtain
Emmit Fenn- Painting Greys
Tony gingerly prodded a sore spot on the back of his head and grimaced. Apparently his body did not agree with crashing through concrete onto his Blüthner - Obie would be so upset - and then his Cobra - that one upset him. He pulled his hand away from his head, inspecting his fingers for blood as Angela's feet finally disappeared up the stairs. Letting out a breath through his nose he headed for the shop med kit, half his mind already on improvements while a small kernel of guilt grew behind his breastbone.
It wasn't his fault Angela had been hurt, and if their conversation by the pool was anything to go by, she wouldn't thank him for trying to take responsibility for the incident. They were engineers. They cut fingers and singed eyebrows. They melted things, on purpose and on accident. The two of them had been blasting themselves into seemingly every flat surface in his shop for the past month. Pressing an ice pack against his head, he kicked a table out of the way in frustration.
A bump on the head was hardly the worst thing that had happened to him, and with Happy's demanding schedule, bruised arms were a weekly occurrence for Angela. He'd already made the decision to offer her the choice to be involved with the suits. He hadn't pushed her. She was a grown woman.
His meandering brought him near the low table by the security door and his eyes landed on the package Pepper had brought down almost a week before. He titled his head. Tony hadn't ordered anything, and Pepper hadn't mentioned it, so it had been deemed unimportant. It had sat there long enough he'd actually blanked it. Today it looked different, the lab detritus that had collected on top and around it had been cleared away.
His attention caught on the yellow sticky note resting atop the plain packaging. Someone, and he suspected it was Angela, had drawn a little dancing cartoon pepper shaker and panda beneath Pepper's tidy 'from' designation. A smirk crawled across his face. He knew the nickname would grow on the woman eventually.
Tossing the note on the table, Tony began ripping into the package. The brown paper crinkled under his fingers, slowly revealing a soft blue glow. He reached into the mess of wrapping and lifted out a glass box, inside the Mark I miniature arc reactor rested on a stand.
Angling his head, the precise laser etching on the metal ring became clear - 'Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.' His eyes trailed over the cheeky display and his lips twitched. Snarky, stubborn, sentimental women, what did it say about him that they were the only ones he found worthwhile?
…...
The light inside the command tent was dimmer than he would have liked, but it didn't seem to bother the two men attempting to piece together the remains of Stark's machine. Raza took a drag on his cigarette, listening to them argue over the design plans they'd managed to salvage from their decimated cave base.
Even with Stark's cleverly obfuscated blueprint, and their weeks of sifting through the sand, they wouldn't be able to make it work. Some components were simply lost. His eyes lingered on the hollow at the center of the chest plate. Yes, some pieces Stark had taken with him back to America. Raza's eyes hooded as he contemplated ways to get them back.
…...
Tony skipped down the steps toward his shop, rolling his shoulders to work out the last of the muscle aches not soothed by the hot water of his shower. Through the glass he spied Angela already parked in front of her computer. Her hair was up in a high pony tail, damp strands at the end curling against the vertebra just visible above the collar of her shirt. On her screen various files were open, the uppermost detailing a parts manifest from SI. Sliding through the security door, Tony took the opportunity to hungrily eye the elegant bow of her neck.
"Feeling better?" He asked, scrutinizing the ice packs secured to her biceps.
She glanced up at him and Tony saw her eyes catch on the cold pack strapped to his own arm. "Yes. What about you?"
"I think I'll live," he assessed, moving to his computer and setting down his protein shake. "Anything new with," he gestured to her screen, "That?"
She blew a breath out in frustration. "Another set of Stark Industries Rapid Fire Assault Rifles were marked as destroyed on Monday. Someone's probably taken over Bein's role in Safety."
"Great." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I'll tell Obie."
Tony pulled up the program to make notes on the Mark II and tried to smother his anger. He couldn't help but remember the guns the men in the cave had carried. "Notes," he clipped in agitation. "Main transducer feels sluggish at plus forty altitude. Hull pressurization is problematic. I'm thinking icing is the probable factor."
He shifted in his seat and his eyes darted across to Angela. She didn't comment. Of course, she wasn't the only one listening.
"A very astute observation, sir," JARVIS drawled. "Perhaps if you intend to visit other planets, we should improve the exosystems."
Sass, everyone and everything around him, full of it. Tony rolled his eyes. "Connect to the sys. co.," he ordered, swiveling in his chair, "Have it reconfigure the shell metals." After a moment to page through his mental catalogue of possible materials he continued. "Use the gold titanium alloy from the Seraphim tactical satellite, that should ensure a fuselage integrity while maintaining power to weight ratio. Got it?" He took a drink from his shake.
"Yes. Shall I render using proposed specifications?" JARVIS asked.
"Thrill me," Tony quipped.
He was waiting for the render to complete when he heard his name from the television Angela had playing in the background.
"…Third annual benefit for the Firefighter's Family Fund has become the place to be for L.A.'s high society." The blonde giving the report was standing off to the side of a red carpet entrance.
"JARVIS, we get an invite for that?" Tony asked idly, keeping one ear on the broadcast.
"I have no record of an invitation, sir," the AI replied.
Tony picked up the face plate for his helmet, contemplating the narrow eyed design. With a quick flip, he held it up to his face. Glancing back at the TV, he saw a still shot of himself from the press conference months before.
A voiceover gossiped, "Some claim he's suffering from post traumatic stress and has been bedridden for weeks."
A frown crept it's way across his face and he dropped the mask. Where were the rumors of his mental instability coming from? Were they sensationalist journalism, or something that the board was disseminating to help keep him locked out?
"Whatever the case may be, no one expects an appearance from him tonight," the woman finished.
Tony sneered at the television. From across the room he heard Angela grunt in distaste. He slanted a look over at her and saw her shoulders tense as she began clicking through something furiously.
"The render is complete," JARVIS informed.
Bringing his attention back to the design program, Tony looked over the gold representation of the suits with raised eyebrows. They looked like award statues. "A little ostentatious, don't you think?"
His AI bantered back, "What was I thinking? You're usually so discreet."
Stretching, Tony snagged the pitcher of his blender. "Tell you what," he glanced over at his '32 flathead while he refilled his glass, "Throw a little hot rod red in there."
"Yes," JARVIS agreed, "That should help you keep a low profile." After a few more moments the AI announced, "The render is complete."
On the screen in front of him the two suit designs were displayed. The new render had strong bold lines with eye catching colors. The contours looked especially good on Angela's suit. "Hey, I like them. Fabricate them. Paint them."
"Commencing automated assembly. Estimated completion time is five hours," JAVIS intoned.
Angela gave a huff, still caught up in her work. Maybe he should have asked her? She seemed absorbed in something over there, but maybe it was another time she needed a break. For as much as she harped on about sleeping, and eating, and regular hours, when she got herself wrapped up in work she neglected all three. Living with him probably only made that worse. Tony didn't do regular.
He reached forward and grabbed his watch, mentally clocking when the suits would be finished, and planned his diversion. "Hey."
She hummed in question, green eyes raising to track him as he rose from his seat and crossed to her desk.
"I'm going out." He paused in front of her. "Want to come?"
Shaking her head, dark pony tail swinging, she reminded, "Probably not a good idea, there are people who want to kidnap me after all."
With a grimace, he conceded it wasn't the wisest idea to take her to a high profile fund raiser. Still. "You'd be with me," he offered.
She smiled, and that familiar warm, wry, look took over her features. A new set of those ridiculous eye circles that made her look like a sad, sleepy, bear had settled on either side of her nose. "True. But that just out's the fact that I may be laying low at your place. I'd prefer to keep people in the dark about where I am for as long as possible."
Tony considered that and then nodded. It was a good idea on multiple levels, from personal safety to press coverage. "Well, then don't wait up for me, honey," he teased, giving her a wink. Despite the joking tone he hoped that she'd actually get some sleep.
Predictably, Angela rolled her eyes.
…...
Without a backward glance he dropped the Audi with the valet and sauntered up the red carpet. As people noticed his arrival, there were a few feminine squeals and an increase in camera flashes. Tony breezed by a blonde who tried to waylay him and greeted Heffner, then spotted Obie talking to a reporter. Making his way in their direction, he waited until he was nearly shoulder to shoulder with the elder man before speaking. "What's the world coming to when a guy's got to crash his own party?" He asked.
Obie leaned back, eyebrows high on his forehead, scanning Tony from head to toe. "Look at you. Hey, what a surprise."
"I'll see you inside," Tony assured, preferring to make his statement with his presence instead of a microphone.
Obadiah turned his back on the reporters gathering around them and dropped his voice to a concerned murmur. "Hey. Listen, take it slow, all right? I think I got the board right where we want them."
"You got it," Tony agreed easily. He wondered how the board could be where they wanted them when rumors about his supposed mental instability were being spread. "Just cabin fever." Because he was still locked out of his company. "I'll just be a minute."
Obie's return look was skeptical but Tony brushed it off, turning to go inside. He had his own reservations about the elder man's claims. Despite them, Tony still had confidence in Obie. He'd always come through.
Inside, Tony approached the curved white bar and addressed the man tending it. "Give me a Scotch. I'm starving." He stuck a twenty in the tip jar.
"Mr. Stark?" A soft spoken male voice came from beside him.
"Yeah?" Tony prompted, swinging his attention to a painfully average looking man with a tidy haircut.
"Agent Coulson," the man introduced.
The name jogged his memory. Pepper had mentioned it after the press conference. Swiping his scotch off the bar, Tony turned to regard the room. He wasn't really in the mood to speak to a government official, or anyone, about his time in Afghanistan. Hadn't they put together a statement for the alphabet agencies?
"Oh, yeah, yeah. The guy from the…" Tony sipped his drink. Damn. It was some long name he didn't care about.
The plain man easily rattled off, "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."
That. "God, you need a new name for that," Tony drawled.
"Yeah, I hear that a lot." Coulson's voice and expression remained even. Government types. "Listen, I know this must be a trying time for you, but we need to debrief you. There's still a lot of unanswered questions, and time can be a factor with these things."
Across the room, a strawberry blonde woman in a blue dress caught Tony's eye. Unless he was very much mistaken that naked back belonged to his PA. "Let's just put something on the books," he deflected distractedly.
"How about the 24th at 7:00 p.m. at Stark Industries?" Coulson suggested.
Specific, and a date the agent had obviously already had in mind. Without looking, Tony held out his hand for the man to shake. "We'll save you a spot."
Once the agent dropped his hand Tony started to excuse himself. Before he could break free Coulson called, "Just one more thing."
Pausing in frustration, Tony glanced back in time to see the agent's brow crease just slightly. "We're looking for an employee of your's, Angela Harper? She's proving difficult to contact, but her input may prove critical to our case. You wouldn't happen to be in touch with her, would you?"
Something inside of him froze. "Not currently," he hedged.
The agent watched him with a placid, slightly scrutinizing, expression. "But, she is your employee?"
Managing to clamp his lips closed before the 'and?' left his mouth, Tony clipped, "I don't keep an exact count, but SI employs thousands of people. As much as I'm all about cutting edge technology I've yet to require my employees to be chipped to get into the building. Nice idea though, thanks."
Coulson nodded, giving no outward reaction to Tony's sarcasm. Instead, he seemed to pick his words carefully. "Well, if you should come into contact with her, please pass on my desire to speak with her," he requested. "It is quite urgent."
"Sure," Tony agreed, completely disingenuous. There was no way he would. He glanced across at Pepper and wondered if she knew Angela wanted to keep a low profile. "Well," Tony waved a hand. "I'm going to go to my assistant and we'll set that meeting." He stepped away from the bar and made his way across the room to his PA.
When he was close enough he enthused, "You look fantastic!" He gave her an over the top once over. "Does Happy know you're here?"
Pepper swung around toward him, smiling and looking pleasantly flushed. Her eyes widened in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Avoiding government agents," he quipped. "So, Happy?"
With a patiently amused look, she replied, "Of course he does." Her gaze focused on a knot of people further into the room. Tony followed it to see his bodyguard. "Are you by yourself?" She asked, drawing his attention back to her. "I thought…?"
"Yeah." Tony quickly cut her off. "Just stretching my legs." He glanced behind him to see that Coulson was still watching.
"Really?" Pepper drawled, sounding skeptical.
He needed to get out of the agent's sight and make sure Pepper knew not to mention Angela. "You want to dance?" He asked abruptly.
An incredulous look crossed Pepper's face. "Oh, no," she denied. Ever so polite, his PA.
"How about some air?" He offered instead.
She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, and slowly answered, "Yes. I need some air."
The two of them made their way out onto the balcony, Tony not paying any attention to the people watching them and Pepper overly aware. With a quick glance around, he made sure there was no one else out there with them.
"Tony," Pepper called impatiently. "What was that about?"
"Angela." The red head blinked at him. "She brought up that it was probably a good idea that people not know where she was staying and then the agent in there was looking for her," he rambled.
"Oh." She gathered herself quickly in the face of his anxiety. "Oh, no. Tony, Happy and I both know. She talked to us after the," Pepper paused looking for a phrase to use, "Thing with her apartment," she finished lamely.
Oh," Tony repeated. "She didn't mention," he trailed off and rubbed a hand over his goatee.
Angela had never explicitly warned him not to talk about her or mention where she was staying. She hadn't brought it up with him at all until he raised the issue. Yet, she had pulled Happy and Pepper aside to do just that immediately after it became a concern.
He supposed Angela trusted his discretion, which wasn't wild, despite the world thinking otherwise, Tony was very good at keeping what he wanted secret a secret. Except, that was patently unlike Angela. She didn't trust people to fall into line. It was why she was so good at maneuvering them.
Something clicked together in his mind and a heavy weight settled into his stomach. That was it. That was the answer to the question he'd been puzzling over since the night he told her about the Mark II. Angela was showing trust - in him. A cold sweat actually broke out around his hairline.
Pepper was watching him, a look of concern growing on her face. "Are you alright? You don't look alright." She reached out and touched his arm. "Tony, you're pale," she whispered.
He huffed an incredulous laugh. "Yeah." Yeah, he was great.
His mind flashed over Angela's conversation with him on the way back from seeing Rhodey. He thought about how she'd touched him and asked for him to put her hair up during the Mark II trials. He remembered the token argument she'd put up after she was attacked in her apartment; how quickly she'd given up and agreed to stay with him, even though she was worried about overstaying her welcome.
And he - he'd been responding to it - reassuring her and looking for ways to help her be safe. He'd been taking time out of all the things he was doing - for her. Combined with his ever present attraction to the woman and… Oh, it was bad. That wasn't just lust. It was much, much worse.
Tony changed his mind. "No," he admitted. He was not alright.
"What's wrong?" Pepper asked.
"I should," Tony glanced around the balcony, feeling the need to escape a conversation for the second time that night. Because he was not going to talk about what he had just acknowledged. "Get you a drink," he finished lamely.
"Are you sure…" his PA started.
"Drink," he cut her off, pushing himself away from the railing. "Um, what do you," he trailed off.
Why the hell did it have to be now? Of course, he knew the answer to that too. It was right there in the way she moved around him in the shop. He'd known Angela for years and it had only been recently that the woman stopped stepping away from him. Tony hadn't realized how much he'd depended on that, once predictable, action.
Because he knew himself. He was Tony Stark, billionaire playboy, and even though that label was wearing out as he got older, it wasn't a false one. He wasn't dependable. He wasn't responsible. He wasn't the one to be trusted. He just wasn't.
The thought cleared his head enough for him to be able to speak coherently. "What do you want to drink?"
"A vodka martini," Pepper answered unsurely. She was doing that thing she did, where she looked at Tony as if his face would tell her what was wrong with him. "Tony, you really don't look alright. Maybe…"
"Right," Tony cut her off, heading for the bar without a backward glance and with more haste than was polite. He wanted no part of Pepper studying him. Sometimes the red head actually deduced the right answer.
When he got back inside he asked the bartender for two martinis. He was waiting for his order, and trying to pull himself together, when he heard his name from behind him.
"Wow, Tony Stark."
He spun to face a blonde in a black dress and immediately recognized her with an internal grimace. "Oh, hey," he greeted lamely, racking his brain for her name. His night just kept getting better and better.
"Fancy seeing you here," the woman commented, tapping lightly on the bar.
He struggled for a moment and then ventured, "Carrie."
"Christine," she corrected icily.
"That's right," he grumbled.
She tilted her head back haughtily, sending her earrings swaying. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here tonight." Tony glanced to the side and tried to find a way out of his situation. "Can I at least get a reaction from you?" She asked after a pause.
"Panic. I would say panic is my reaction," he said tightly, turning to see if the bartender was close to finishing his drinks.
"Because I was referring to your company's involvement in this latest atrocity," she continued.
He gave a dismissive gesture, still half in his head. "Yeah. They just put my name on the invitation. I don't know what to tell you." Tony just wanted her to go away.
"I actually almost bought it, hook, line and sinker." She shook her head.
What was the woman talking about? "I was out of town for a couple months," Tony replied sarcastically, his patience slipping. "In case you didn't hear."
"Is this what you call accountability?" The woman talked over him. She handed him a series of pictures. "It's a town called Gulmira. Heard of it?"
For the second time that night he had the sensation of ice trailing down his spine. Tony's gaze snapped to hers before sliding down to the photos in his hand.
The image in front of him was of a town that had been decimated, people and horses lay dead in the streets. The following photos showed men carrying crates of weapons with the Stark Industries logo. When he reached a picture of a fully assembled Jericho missile his fingers tightened so hard the photo creased. A flash of Yinsen's kind face, the low light in the cave reflecting off his glasses, sped through Tony's memory.
"When were these taken?" The whooshing noise he heard in his head was not a good sign.
"Yesterday," she answered gravely.
Looking back up at her, he denied, "I didn't approve any shipment."
"Well, your company did," she stressed.
Tony locked his jaw. "Well, I'm not my company." He put the photos into his jacket and went to find Obie. He needed answers.
It'd been all of ten minutes that he'd been inside so it wasn't shocking that he found his mentor right where he'd left him. Upon seeing Tony coming, the man shooed the press away from them.
"Have you seen these pictures?" Tony asked, drawing in close to his friend and half pulling the damning stack from his pocket. "What's going on in Gulmira?" He demanded. Because if his company approved a shipment it could only have been done by Obadiah.
The elder man, face still placid, put a quelling hand on his shoulder and ushered him further away from the media. "Tony, Tony. You can't afford to be this naive."
The beginnings of betrayal bubbling in his chest, Tony replied, "You know what? I was naive before, when they said, 'Here's the line. We don't cross it. This is how we do business.'" He stepped in closer to Obie. "If we're double dealing under the table," he trailed off. "Are we?" The need to know pushed at him.
Obie leveled an evaluating look at him for a long moment and then turned his attention back to the press. "Let's take a picture. Come on. Picture time," He called out, putting an arm around Tony's shoulder and walking back down the steps.
It was as good as an admission. In front of them the paparazzi called out Tony's name.
"Tony," Obie murmured lowly. "Who do you think locked you out?" Tony's stomach swooped sickly. "I was the one who filed the injunction against you." The casual admission caught Tony under his ribs and he reeled. "It was the only way I could protect you," Obadiah finished gravely. The elder man squeezed his shoulder, dropped his hand, and then sauntered down the red carpet into the milling crowd.
In a daze, from the steps, Tony watched Obadiah's back as he walked away.