AN look at this beautiful monstrosity.
ii.
"A subpoena?" Wesley groaned to himself, not strictly surprised, but certainly less than delighted. In the time it had taken Tony to walk outside, he had gotten himself a subpoena.
"Yeah. Gift wrapped it beautifully, though. Damn pencil pushers getting me through my vices."
"Because you're so easy to contact otherwise," Wesley said dryly, turning away from the noise of the Expo so he could hear better.
"Okay, well, frankly I resent the subtle accusation you're giving there, both of them in fact, don't think I missed that."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Stark."
"Okay, well, due diligence done, gonna hang up now."
"Hold on a moment, Mr. Stark, we should go over what you'll say—"
"Mm, sorry, you're breaking up. Man, reception in New York, who knew?"
"Mr. Stark."
"Talk at you later, Wes."
Wesley closed his eyes and lowered the phone from his ear. Heaven help whoever was interrogating him.
"This isn't good," Pepper said, catching up to Wesley as he walked into the courtroom behind Tony. "This is very much not good. Did he go over anything with you?"
"Yes, I managed to catch him last night." It had taken some coercion, but Tony had finally decided to stop being difficult. Kind of.
"What do you think's going to happen?"
"I think the senators are going to demand respect and he's going to crap all over them," he said sedately, unbuttoning his suit so he could sit down.
Pepper gave a slight whimper and sat beside him.
"Frankly I think anyone careless enough to call Tony to court, interview him personally, and have cameras rolling are begging for trouble."
Tony turned around in his seat, tossing Pepper a wink.
"I really wish you were up there with him," she whispered, frowning at Tony.
"As do I," Wesley said, watching Tony mouth things to Pepper as the senator attempted to get his attention.
Wesley didn't feel overly concerned as Senator Stern attempted to herd Tony into a ring and failed gloriously. Tony, despite all of his posturing, impulsive decisions, and careless attitude, knew how to play the game. Wesley had seen it all before, but it still gave him a touch of pride to see Tony shed his air of flippant disregard and roundhouse the people who underestimated him. Of course, Tony quickly hid his prowess behind a snarky jab about senators and prostitution.
Always keeps them guessing, Wesley thought, pride now battling disapproval. It would have been so much easier if Tony had just stayed to his steely, capable persona, rather than defaulting back to the cheeky, robust one.
Tony turned to grin at the courtroom, peace sign held up. His hand and smile dropped once his eyes reached Wesley and Pepper.
No? he mouthed.
One day, Wesley thought to himself as he raised an eyebrow and Pepper gave a stony shake of her head, the two of them might actual resemble Tony Stark's employees and not his parents.
When Justin Hammer was called to the stand, some part of Wesley simply surrendered any hope of this ending well. Things looked up for a brief moment when Lt. Colonel Rhodes entered the chamber and he and Tony tag teamed Stern's argument. When Tony 'commandeered' the screens and smeared unflattering footage of attempts to re-create the Iron Man suit…well, Tony proved his own point. And Stern managed to get himself censored on C-SPAN, so at least Wesley had something to work with when he tried to smooth over this whole damn mess.
"Hey, Dread Lawyer Roberts," Tony called from the kitchen. Wesley suppressed an eye roll. Not the best name, but at least it was clever. And definitely better than Tony's late favorite, 'Jimarooski'.
(Wesley had pointedly not responded to the new name for three days until Tony couldn't stand being ignored and finally conceded the point. Wesley had also decided that if any new nickname candidates appeared, he would file them as a new employee on Tony's payroll and collect.)
(It would probably take Tony a few months to notice.)
"Yes, Mr. Stark," Wesley said from the living room.
He had driven himself to Tony's house even though he was jetlagged and grumpy and had coerced perhaps four hours of sleep from his schedule since the senate hearing. Which had been every bit the disaster Wesley had feared. Which had then gone viral. Wesley had vague hopes of getting Tony to cooperate in the clean up attempts before he jumped into another project.
"I wanna run something by you real quick."
"If it's anything beneath successfully privatizing world peace and becoming a nuclear deterrent, then it'll have to wait."
"Are you still mad about that?"
"I'm not mad, Mr. Stark, simply surprised that I, your lawyer and the person that has asked you several thousand times to inform me before you do something radical, was not told of this sudden change in your person. I'm sure nuclear deterrents get a few more tax write offs that we're not taking advantage of." Wesley didn't look up from his papers as he said this, but he could feel Tony staring at him through the doorway.
"Could you just come in here?
"Could you come back into the room?"
Tony's silence was answer enough.
Wesley sighed and got up, adjusted his cuffs, and walked into the kitchen. He was not rested enough for this.
Tony was preparing some sort of green energy drink at the island which looked…unappetizing.
"You're on the up and up of Stark legal, yeah?"
"Yes, I know quite a bit," Wesley said hesitantly.
"Okay, cool, just wondering."
"This isn't the precursor to giving me a migraine, is it?"
"Hm? No, I dunno, probably not." Tony left the island and walked to the table. He dropped into a seat and propped his feet on another chair, sipping on his energy drink. "You like this table?"
"The…table?"
"Yeah," Tony said, patting it absently. "Never really got into the glass top thing, always looks dirty."
"I have always preferred stained mahogany, myself."
"Yeah?" Tony asked, looking back at Wesley. "The bookcase in the upstairs study's made of mahogany."
"Yes, I recall."
"You want it? I feel like overhauling the place, just change it up, less dark wood, y'know, maybe add a bit of color."
"Mr. Stark, I not only have no need for a bookshelf larger than my bed, I also feel it would be inappropriate."
"Giving you underwear would be inappropriate."
"And a complete invasion of privacy."
"Not saying I'd make you wear them. I dunno, though, if you're into that niche I can certainly make that part of your pay."
"Mr. Stark."
"I mean, arrange it all with Pepper, she might give you a look, but—"
"Mr. Stark, what did you call me in here for? We need to sort out the catastrophe that was the senate hearing and then—"
"I was just thinking about theoretical stuff."
"Theoretical—with the company?"
"Yeah, little stuff, no big deal."
"Anything involving you and legal aspects are always a big deal."
"But that's the thing, I think it'd be for the best if I—"
"What would be for the best?"
"Pepper," Tony said, the words ripping out in a huff. "Pepper, I want Pepper to be the new CEO."
"…Excuse me?"
"I want her to have it. I want her to be the one running the show. I've got the Iron Man gig and business is boring, it bores me."
"She is…your assistant."
"We both know she makes it all work. I pass all the work off to her and she has me sign the papers. I don't want it."
Wesley gave Tony a long look. "You love this company."
"I love what the company lets me do."
"You hated the idea of losing it six months ago."
"Six months ago, Obadiah Stane was trying to steal it from me because I pissed him off."
Wesley let out a slow breath. Tony was…giving it away? He was certainly a binge hoarder, gathering up whatever caught his eye then throwing it away unexpectedly. But that was for small things, art collections and cars and airplanes and hell, even people. But the company, the table, the bookshelves…he was getting rid of everything. Everything but the suit.
Wesley opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke. "Ms. Potts is…a perfectly capable candidate for CEO. I cannot be certain, but you should be able to select her as your successor. But…is it really because you are bored with the company?"
"I've got bigger things on my plate," he said vaguely, looking out at the ocean stretching far, far, far away from them. Wesley watched him, uncertain about the distaste Tony was barely keeping from his features.
"I shall look into the matter of CEO and get back to you. But if that is all…"
"Hm? Yeah, sure is. Take care of yourself, Wesley," Tony said, waving a hand at him.
Wesley paused, considering pressing the issue of the hearing, but Tony had already turned back to the window.
Wesley had taken his eyes off Tony for two seconds and now he was in a racecar. Pepper was frantic, calling Tony's new assistant Natalie over for an explanation. Natalie looked equally alarmed, a sharp crack appearing in her seductive efficiency.
"Get Happy," Pepper ordered, eyes fastening back on the screen. Then, quieter so that only Wesley could hear, "What is he doing?"
"I don't know," Wesley said.
He forced his hands to stay at his side. He couldn't do anything. Yet again, Wesley was being broadsided by the rash, dangerous actions of his employer and he couldn't do anything.
"He's been doing this a lot more lately," Wesley murmured, staring at the screen as Tony's car sliced down the track. "He's been reckless, lashing out in extreme behavior."
"Tony's always been that way," Pepper hissed, glancing at Wesley.
He gave a slow shake of the head. "Not like this. Never like this."
"It's that stupid suit, he thinks he's invincible, that he can't die—"
"I think it's because he knows he can," Wesley said, finally meeting Pepper's gaze.
"What?"
"He's keenly aware he can die. That's why he's getting so close to death."
"What?" she hissed, voice a littler lower than before. "Don't say that, don't you dare say that."
"Mr. Stark is a person that likes control," Wesley said, hating the twisted truth of it.
Pepper was about to respond when she gave a slight gasp, eyes flicking back to the television screen. Wesley turned to look, stomach clenching before he registered someone in an orange jumpsuit walking down the track. He stared at the man, horror sliding through his bones as the top of his suit burned away to reveal the electric skeleton of some sort of battle gear. Two feral, crackling whips of energy were held tightly in his hands.
Wesley pushed himself up out of his seat, a half-formed relief jerking through him as he saw Happy standing in the doorway with Tony's portable suit. They pushed through the crowd, falling into the car before they had time to think. Wesley's hands were fists as Happy crashed them onto the racetrack, driving against the flow of slim racecars.
"Tony's gonna be okay, right? He's gonna be okay," Pepper whispered. She turned her attention away from Wesley when he didn't speak, his jaw ground too tight to admit sound.
The car screamed around a corner, revealing smoke and fire and people running scared. Wesley raked through the scene, needing to find Tony, needing to silence the nauseous whispers of 'you failed, you failed, you're supposed to help him, you're supposed to keep him safe but you have failed'.
He braced himself as Happy slammed into the man on the track, the whips fizzling out as the man slumped between the fence and the car hood. Tony dropped down from where he had jumped onto the fence, staggering over to the driver side window.
"Are you okay?" Happy yelled, hands still locked on the steering wheel.
"Were you headed for me or him?" Tony demanded, glaring at him.
"I was trying to scare him—"
"'Cause I can't tell!" Tony shouted, his composure frayed to nonexistence.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Pepper shrieked, overriding Tony's protests. "Get in the car!"
Wesley closed his eyes as everyone yelled over each other, letting his fists unclench. Yelling was obnoxious and unproductive but yelling was not dead and not dying.
Tony limped around to the other side of the car as Wesley slid next to Pepper. He glanced at the man pinned between against the fence, stomach dropping away when he began to shift.
"Tony, get away from the car!" Wesley shouted, turning even as the man sliced his whip down.
Tony staggered back as the door in his hand was cut in half. Everyone was shouting again, Happy was slamming the car into the man again and again, and Tony was attempting to get the suit from Pepper.
Wesley ripped the suit from Pepper's hands as the whips slashed through the car again, spitting sparks and the smell of burned metal, plastic, and leather everywhere. He flung the case out of the car, then dove to the side as the man attacked the car again. Wesley grit his teeth as the glowing metal burned through his suit sleeve, biting back the pain. He gasped in a breath as Tony, now fully suited up, kicked the car to safety.
Something cracked against the side of Wesley's skull, forcing him to hunch over and cradle the injury. There was screaming and the crackle of the whips and the dull shift of metal against metal and Wesley's heartbeat bludgeoning through his veins and his ears and the pain in his head. If he just had his damn gun then he could have actually done something—that psychopath would have been on the ground dead or dying—now his head hurt like shit and he could barely think—he was really, really, really pissed Tony was attracting more and more freaks like this.
By the time the crowd began cheering, Wesley had managed to lift his head without seeing stars. The man with the whips was being dragged away by the police. His suit was dead and his mouth was bloody and he was laughing, cackling like a lunatic and shouting, "You lose, you lose!"
Wesley could think through the throbbing pain just enough to realize that this madman was right. And Tony knew it, too.
The plane ride back to California was long and miserable. Tony had won the battle against Ivan Vanko, but there was the dull air of defeat hanging around them. Tony had tried to play things off, but it was easy to spot the tension in his voice. After he returned from speaking with Vanko, Tony became even sharper, his stress translating into a devastatingly biting wit.
Wesley wanted to know what all of this meant, what Tony's next step was. Somehow none of them had considered anyone wanting to attack Tony Stark. Iron Man, of course, he was a shining red and gold bullseye, but he was also a walking death trap for anyone that tried to take him on. Iron Man was the danger, he was the nuclear deterrent Tony had branded him. And yet, even though Tony had been saying it all along, somehow everyone had managed to forget that Tony Stark was Iron Man; an attack on one was an attack on the other.
The really shocking thing was that Wesley had forgotten, despite having gone through three brutal, dark, terrifying months of worry and not knowing if Tony was dead or alive. He had managed to forget people did want to attack Tony Stark, and had done so far beyond Wesley's reach.
Tony was far less willing to discuss the matter than Wesley had hoped. He bustled around the jet's kitchen, ignoring Wesley's gaze and making a mess. He grumbled under his breath as he cracked eggs and heated up butter, his thoughts clearly as scattered as the cooking supplies on the counter.
"Mr. Stark," Wesley finally said. He had just watched Tony attempt to grate and then swear at a block of cheese, and figured that now was as good a time as any.
"Oh, Wesley, I didn't see you there, lurking three feet away and not saying anything for the last ten minutes," Tony said, not looking at him.
Wesley waited a moment.
"Mr. Stark."
"What?" Tony demanded, turning to face him and tossing down the cheese grater with exaggerated force.
"It would be easier if you used a larger grater."
Tony stared at him for a long moment like he was chewing over his thoughts, then spat out, "If you wanna find one in this hellhole, be my guest."
Wesley methodically looked through the drawers, pretending not to hear Tony's hiss-whispered, "I can make a fucking arc reactor in a cave but not a damn fucking omelet for Pepper."
He handed Tony the larger grater, then resumed watching him.
"What?" Tony snapped, glaring at Wesley.
"We need to talk about what happened in Monaco."
"So you can spin that, too?" Tony spat, words nothing but acid. Wesley's expression didn't change.
Tony huffed out a sigh, then braced his hands on the counter. He looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that Wesley had not noticed before.
He frowned. It was his job to notice.
"I don't know what to tell you," Tony mumbled, staring at the floor.
They were quiet for a long moment, then Tony pieced himself back together, pulling up that strong set of armor that he had forged long before Iron Man ever existed. He cracked some eggs into a bowl like nothing happened.
"You'll want to cut them with milk," Wesley said, allowing himself to sit on the edge of the table. Despite Tony's current show of hostility, he had let Wesley in. He was ready to talk about the problem at hand, however difficult it would be. Once you got past Tony Stark's guards, you were treated to almost flawless honesty.
Almost.
He handed Tony the small carton of milk, watching his hands work.
"They're gonna eat me alive for that guy out there," Tony said, staring at the bowl as he whisked the eggs. "The technology…it was almost exactly like the reactor."
Wesley raised his eyebrows, shock getting him before he could school his features. "How…?"
"I don't know," Tony said, shaking his head. He sounded defeated. "I don't know where that nutjob got his info, if there are more like him, I don't know anything. I don't know if I can sort it out."
Wesley narrowed his eyes, turning his head slightly as though to catch a different view of his employer. "You're not one to admit defeat."
"It's not defeat if you know you probably won't—" Tony cut himself off, staring at Wesley for a long moment, chewing on his cheek as he battled against himself. He looked back down at the bowl.
"Probably won't…what?" Wesley asked, steel layering into his voice. Tony stayed silent. "Mr. Stark—"
"I'm tired of all of this," Tony said, looking up and waving vaguely at the space around him. Wesley resisted the urge to shy away from a few droplets of egg that were slung by Tony's whisk. "I'm tired of being 'Mr. Stark'. I'm tired of people crowding around me because I'm rich and famous."
"This is…a new development."
"Did you see those people out there, on the track?" Tony asked, voice a little heavier now. "They stayed to watch. A crazy guy wielding electric whips comes out and is blowing shit up, but some people stay to watch because I'm Iron Man. They cheered when I put on the suit. They cheered and acted like it was a game."
"That is part of the attitude you have cultivated," Wesley said carefully.
Tony gave a snort.
"I didn't want people to be idiots. I didn't want them to view me as…entertainment. I don't want to be a big flashy show. I wanna be…I'm tired of making myself jump through hoops to please people."
Wesley watched Tony for a long moment. He had said much the same thing before, back when Wesley had first discovered the suit. Tony had said he was finished jumping through the hoops people set before him. And had Wesley been anyone else, known Tony Stark as anyone else, he would have said that had been the end of Tony complying with social expectations, would have said Tony never complied with social expectations in the first place. But he knew that there was a distinct difference between the bombastic, careless billionaire and the tinkerer that slipped down to his workshop when his mind was buzzing and his hands couldn't rest. Tony had tried building something completely different for himself and he'd had his fingers burned by society. He had learned his lesson and would obediently fall back into roles that captivity had burned out of him.
"Tony," Wesley said, searching through everything he could say.
He could press the issue, he could lie and say that things would be fine, he could leave Tony alone. He could say anything to Tony at that moment, when he was broken down and vulnerable, numbly pouring eggs into a pan. But he was tired of making decisions for Tony and then having to backtrack when Tony didn't follow his plan.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked softly.
"Take care of things, like always," Tony said, the words falling out in a cheap laugh. Then he looked at Wesley, his gaze so, so serious. "Take care of it, James. I want so damn bad for you to fix everything for me."
Wesley didn't have anything to say. He watched Tony, arms folded, breath coming a little faster as a heavy sense of dread began tugging at his heels. There was a reason for the look of utter defeat in Tony's eyes, but some small, soft, emotive part of him was panicking and shoving it away. When Wesley spoke, he sounded calm, careful as he picked through the details. Wesley deeply appreciated his ability to compartmentalize.
"Why does it sound like you don't think I can?"
Tony smiled and looked back down. It felt like a moment had been lost. Like, for the first time, Wesley had asked the wrong question.
"Because this is looking like something that isn't going to be fixed."
Wesley spent the following few days trying to charm, push, and insinuate people out of vilifying Tony Stark yet again. He considered it a point of professional honor to do the absolute most he could for his employers, even before he had been hired by Tony. But after having seen Tony's fragility on the jet, Wesley fought tooth and nail to make things at least a little bit better. He couldn't stop Senator Stern from doing a vindictive and belittling interview, couldn't censor all of the major newspapers and stations from picking up the story and questioning Iron Man's ability to protect the world. But he could keep people back from the mansion, could screen unfriendly calls, postpone meetings, do anything to fix everything as Tony had so plaintively asked.
He also found himself worrying. When he had half a free moment, he found himself scrolling through reasons why Tony had showed him that half broken side. It was something big, Wesley could tell. Tony hadn't acted that way even after he had been recovered from the Ten Rings. Something fundamentally wrong was happening and Wesley couldn't figure out what.
"Ah, Ms. Rushman," Wesley said, striding into the mansion's foyer and catching sight of Tony's pretty new assistant.
He had heard plenty of complaints about her from Pepper in the days following Monaco, probably because Natalie bothered her more than she wanted to admit and because it was easier than dealing with the latest ugly headlines. Wesley hadn't had much interaction with the woman himself, but vague curiosity had led him to research her history (it was always nice to have a little leverage if it did come down to a harassment lawsuit). He had skimmed through the modeling, the languages, the apparent ability to take down a fully grown and experienced bodyguard with nothing more than a hand twist and a thigh flip. There was a lot on her. A lot. It almost went past being impressive into questionable.
She turned to face him, dark red hair swinging from the motion. She was perfectly dressed, as always. Natalie Rushman was tasteful and seductive from bottom to top. In Wesley's experience, tasteful and seductive had something to hide. Namely criminal dealings.
"Yes, Mr. Wesley?"
"I wanted to have a quick word with you before I went in to see Mr. Stark," he said, gesturing toward the living room. "In the midst of the commotion, we really haven't had a chance to talk."
"You've been busy. It's completely understandable with the media storm going on right now."
"I'd assume you've been busy as well. Mr. Stark is a…demanding individual."
"Yes," she said, the slightest smile on her lips. They sat across from each other, pleasant smiles and steel walls in place. "I'm getting a sense of that."
"I understand that you haven't done personal assistant work before?"
"No, but I'm certain I can meet the challenge."
"I bet," Wesley smiled. He wondered who would bottom out of pleasantness first. "Your resume is impressive, say the least. I doubt there's really any challenge you can't handle."
"I like to think so," she said, modestly proud at his praise.
"I'm sure that it's not necessary, but just in case…this is a difficult time for Mr. Stark. He won't show it, but…he needs people. Not parties or women or people to flatter him, but real, genuine, human interaction. He needs someone to be honest with him, because that is so very rare in his life."
Natalie's eyes were serious as she nodded at Wesley. "I understand. Having someone to rely on is…it's something special, even if it's small."
"And please alert me if he asks you to arrange any meetings with health specialists," Wesley said, leaning back and resuming his previous charming persona. "It's nothing serious, of course, but in case any of the news stations catch wind, I want to be able to deal with it as quickly as possible."
"Of course. I'll let you know if he asks for anything. Oh, he requested that a woman named Reina Velasquez be flown in from San Francisco. I wasn't sure who that was, so…" She gave an embarrassed smile, silently asking for him to explain.
"That's Mr. Stark's previous nanny," Wesley said, nodding. "We sometimes have her come down on occasion, for moral support. She'll insist on cooking and cleaning, that's fine. Make sure she flies first class, but let her book her own hotel."
Telling this woman Tony's secrets felt like a betrayal. It had been just him, Pepper, and Tony for so long that he had forgotten the possibility of things changing. He didn't want anyone else coming in, becoming a liability. And it didn't matter how sleek her dress was or how pretty her smiles, it felt wrong.
"I see," Natalie said, nodding. "Thank you."
"Not at all," Wesley said, standing up. "Don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions. I want to make sure your transition here is smooth as possible."
They exchanged smiles once more, and then Wesley excused himself to see Tony in the workshop. It felt like he was turning his back on a viper.
"Ah, Wesley, JARVIS said you'd come in ages back. What took so long?" Tony asked, poking his head out from under one of his classic cars as Wesley entered the workshop.
"I had a quick talk with Miss Rushman."
"Isn't she a champ," Tony said, disappearing back under the car.
Wesley stopped a few feet away, waiting quietly for him to resurface. Tony kept chattering, observations and quips streaming out like maybe he could scare Wesley away with the onslaught.
"Tony, I need to ask you something."
He fell silent, then reluctantly slid out from under the car.
"What about?" he asked, rolling off the board he had been lying on and standing up.
He wiped his hands on a cloth sticking out of his back pocket. Wesley watched him walk over to his desk, then moved nearer.
"Tony, what's wrong?"
"Well, I can't get the damn car to start, for one thing," Tony said, gesturing at the car he had been working on. "You'd think that since I'm—"
"I meant with you."
Tony stopped for a whole heartbeat, hands falling at his sides, gaze tired as he examined Wesley.
"You wanna know?"
"I do. I can't help if I don't know what's going on."
Tony looked away, chewing on his cheek.
"Palladium," he said finally.
Wesley frowned. "Palladium? As in—"
"As in the stuff in my chest. It's poisoning me and I can't find a replacement and that sucks because it's kinda the only thing keeping me alive. There. That's what's wrong."
Wesley blinked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. No, that couldn't be right, Tony couldn't be—but the reactor was supposed to be his fix all—there was something wrong with it—it was poisoning him? It was poisoning him and he kept it in his body?
"You're dying?" Wesley asked, and that slight, creeping sensation that had started in the jet grabbed a hold of him again and hollowed him completely out.
Tony cracked a slight smile. "It sounds a lot worse when you say it."
Wesley stepped closer, eyes raking Tony's form. The pallor, the exhaustion, they made sense now. And the black trails going up his neck, black trails where his veins and arteries should be. Death was trailing up Tony's skin even as Wesley watched. And he had sensed it, known some was wrong, but he had never imagined—
He swallowed, fighting for control, fighting to tame the situation, to find an angle. But there was no angle on death.
"How long have you known?"
"A while."
"And you've just—you haven't told anyone?" Wesley snapped out, because anger was a much safer thing that grief.
"I wanted to see if I could fix things, first."
"Then you would have told us?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "After narrowly missing death, you would have casually brought it up to me, and Pepper, and everyone else?"
"I didn't want you to worry."
"Because you can't handle someone showing that they care about you?!"
"Because you can't do anything, Wesley!" Tony snapped, hands in fists on his desk. "You can't fix it."
"That's not why you tell people things!"
"I don't tell you a lot of things!"
"Well, you should choose to of your own volition!"
"What's the point of making you all worry when you can't do anything?! Why do you always want to know? Did you really wanna know what it was like living in a freezing cave, having terrorists torture me to make them weapons, wondering if I'm finally gonna die, knowing that my life and the life of another relied on getting my plan to work?!"
"Your life and another, wait—"
"You think I wanna make you think about heavy metal toxicity, about the nausea and nerve damage and vomiting? I don't want that!"
"I want you to trust someone!"
"I don't want you to feel bad for me because nothing can be done!"
"And yet this was what you were asking for on the plane," Wesley said, voice falling back to biting iron.
A neat, devastating hole had been poked in the middle of his anger after hearing some of what Tony was hiding. All this and Tony still kept on every day, smiling and joking and pretending.
Wesley shook his head, mouth a tight line. "A cold man of science and yet you were praying for a miracle."
Tony's silence was far more telling than anything he could have said.
Wesley forced himself to breathe, to look at the options, to make himself useful. His head was spinning and he still had a thousand angry things to spit at Tony, but he had to be useful. His job was to make things better, not worse.
"What have you tried?"
"Buying myself more time."
Wesley nodded again, a black taste rising on the back of his tongue. That one sentence alone was enough to quell Wesley's vague rustlings of hope. Tony had left 'desperate' behind a long time ago and was sauntering deeper and deeper into resignation. There wasn't anything Wesley could do. If Tony Stark couldn't find a solution to his problem with science and blunt facts, there was nothing Wesley could do. He couldn't manipulate and connive elements into being non-lethal. He could not help Tony, no matter how much he wanted to.
"You—do you need me to do anything?" he asked, because uselessness didn't fit him in the slightest.
"Don't tell Pepper," Tony said, the bone-weary sigh of someone who has given up.
Just when Wesley felt like he was getting the world back under his feet, Tony went and had his birthday party.
Wesley hadn't actually been able to reach the party on time. A new crop of Iron Man protesters had appeared and were trying to vilify Tony in all ways possible, forcing Wesley to deal with them personally and causing him to be generously late to the party. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Even before he left the office, Wesley knew that Tony's current health would either result in something small, quiet, and reserved only for friends, or an enormous blow out that would take days to clean up after.
The blow out had won.
It all seemed fine from the entryway. As he waded deeper in, however, things turned for the worse. As a general rule Wesley put on his best face for people. When they were heavily intoxicated, making excessive noise, and not the deciding factor of a multi-million dollar deal, they lost that privilege.
He forced out smiles as the music surged, lights flashed, and people had a nice time on Tony's dime. No one there would be sober enough to realize that he was actually grimacing at them. Wesley dodged past a few women who tried to flirt with him through their booze, not willing to chance vomit on his shoes. Which only afforded him the view of Tony making a drunk idiot of himself, yet again.
What made it really hurt, though, was that Wesley had thought Tony was changing. After becoming Iron Man, Wesley thought Tony's drama and splash and irresponsibility was mostly gone. Seeing him stagger around in the suit, microphone in hand as he embarrassed himself before phony party goers made Wesley's stomach turn.
Rhodes and Pepper were likewise unamused. Pepper was wearing a look of disgusted horror, while Rhodes was seething.
"How long has this been going on?" Wesley asked, staring at Tony through narrowed eyes.
"Too long," Rhodes said. His voice became low and horribly calm when he was angry.
"Please tell me everyone here signed a waiver."
"He wasn't supposed to let things get this out of hand," Pepper whispered, hand covering her mouth.
"Unless either of you two have plans, I am going to clear this house out with considerable force," Wesley said, voice almost mild in its calmness.
"You and me both," Rhodes said, sending Wesley a grim, determined look.
"No, no, I told Rhodey I was going to deal with it, and I am," Pepper said quickly. "I don't think violence is really the answer here."
"There wouldn't be violence," Wesley said, eyes still on Tony.
"Look, I'm just waiting for the right moment. I don't want to barge in there and be brushed aside."
"Ms. Potts," Wesley said, "I would strongly suggest you make your right moment."
He closed his eyes as his statement was shortly followed by Tony's announcement that he had just peed in his suit.
"I'll be right back," Pepper mumbled, hurrying toward Tony.
Somewhere between Pepper failing to reign Tony in and Rhodes donning and beating Tony in a spare Iron Man suit, Wesley gave up. He was done being the lawyer for the night, the fixer, the go-to problem solver. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't fix Tony, that much was very clear.
He helped Pepper, Natalie, and Happy guide people out to their cars. He tried not to listen to the sounds of Tony and Rhodes yelling, breaking Tony's house apart. He tried not to think about how Tony was breaking his life apart, bit by bit, day by day.
Wesley was nearly jolted off his feet when something exploded inside the mansion, renewing the screams of the stragglers. Pepper let out a terrified squawk as she stumbled into him, eyes trailing to the sky. Wesley looked up enough to note the lack of red and gold in suit flying away.
Against his better judgment, Wesley stepped back into the house. He surveyed the wreckage, finally settling on Tony crumpled against the fireplace. There was a slight mechanic hum as Tony turned to glance at him.
Wesley walked away, shaking his head.
Radio silence was not Wesley's natural setting. He firmly believed in a steady trade-off between employee and employer, a consistent back and forth of information that allowed for the smooth operation of whatever it was he was called to protect. But after the nightmare of the party, Wesley could not bring himself to look Tony in the eye. He didn't know why, Wesley just felt…betrayed. He had thought that after Tony had confided in him, had confessed that he was dying, he might respect Wesley's wishes and behave a little bit better.
Which was stupid. Wesley knew Tony. He knew that Tony didn't react well to situations he could not handle. The last time it had happened, Tony had tried to deal with the situation via a robotic suit of armor and an unsanctioned trip to the Middle East. That had been over terrorists using his weapons. He should have expected catastrophic repercussions when Tony faced something as unyielding as death.
Whatever the reason, Wesley strove to make himself as helpful as possible. Pepper needed his help, and she at least could say exactly what she needed and when. She asked for the difficult, didn't demand the impossible.
(Wesley didn't think about how much he liked being able to deliver the impossible.)
He quelled the media's delight over Tony's determined tailspin, privately discouraged Stark Industries' backers from leaving because Pepper was now in charge, negotiated the retrieval of the Mark II suit from the Air Force, kept an eye on Hammer Tech's plans for their Stark Expo reveal, tried to fill the jagged hole that was made by failing at his job. After all Tony had done for him and saved him from, Wesley hadn't even been able to attempt returning the offer.
It was strange, working without Tony. Wesley, Pepper, Happy, and Natalie stood in solidarity, the battle hardened warriors that had been allowed to live under the sun but were now having to cope without it. They didn't say much, just set their shoulders a little straighter and chins a little higher, because maybe, maybe, the dark wouldn't feel so bad after a while.
That didn't mean they were completely scalded by the sun when it tore back through their orbit. Tony Stark appearing on Stark Industries property was not a good thing. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either. Wesley didn't know what it was.
He hurried to Pepper's new office, nodding and waving Helen away as she began to frantically explain that Tony had insisted on seeing Pepper.
"It's fine, Helen, I'm sure Mr. Stark has something important that he needs to tell Ms. Potts," Wesley said, easing out the warm, charismatic smile that hid so much these days. Helen nodded but didn't look convinced as Wesley let himself into Pepper's office.
First thing he noticed was Tony sitting before Pepper, leg bouncing compulsively as she gave him a hard look. Oh hell, Tony had brought her strawberries.
He glanced around as Wesley closed the door and stood at the edge of the room.
"—anyway, I just wanted say…do you know how short life is? And if I—look, okay, Wesley totally just derailed my train of thought and that Ferris wheel thing is still bothering me, just turning away and—can I just—Can I start my thirty seconds over? This is—this is not really a good way to start and normally I'm a lot snappier with what I have to say—"
"Tony."
"Okay not the point. I never got to express—and by the way, this is somewhat revelatory to me—and I don't care, I mean, I care, it would be nice but I'm not expecting you to—look, here's what I'm trying to say, I'm just gonna say it—"
"Let me just stop you right here, okay? Because if you say 'I' one more time, I'm going to actually hurl something at your head, I think. I am trying to run a company here. Do you have any idea what that entails?"
"Yes—"
"People are relying on you to be Iron Man and you just disappeared, and all I'm doing is putting out your fires and taking the heat for it. Wesley," she said, throwing a hand out to gesture at him, "is probably the only reason I'm not drowning right now, because every time I think I've got something sorted, you come along and throw something onto my head again. And you'd think I'd be used to it, we'd all be used to you not caring about what you do, but now you need to stop. We have other things that need to be dealt with. People are relying on me now, because I am trying to do the job you were meant to do."
Pepper paused a moment to gather herself. Wesley made himself stay there, made himself not interrupt because he had no place in this whole discussion. But watching made his stomach twist because these were two of the most important people in his life and he had no way to make this problem better.
"Did you bring me strawberries?" she asked.
Wesley closed his eyes.
"Did you know there is only one thing on earth that I'm allergic to?"
"Allergic to strawberries," Tony cut in. "This is progress, Pepper. I knew there was correlation between you and this—"
"I need you—"
"I need you too, Pepper, that's what I'm trying to—"
"—to leave. Now."
Tony sat stunned for a moment, staring at Pepper. He glanced back around when Natalie and Happy entered the room, clearly fumbling for solid ground when he realized that no one in the room was there for him.
"I lost all the kids in the divorce," he said, forcing out a laugh.
"Ms. Potts, there are a few matters that I will need to discuss with you on the plane," Wesley said, unable to stand being there a moment longer. Pepper nodded and Wesley dismissed himself.
He stepped into an empty conference room and braced his hands against the table. He couldn't understand how he was supposed to make his world work when it was so determined to fall apart. He had seen Tony in all sorts of unflattering situations, but desperate, helpless, friendless… It made hard for him to breathe.
Wesley left the room after a moment, adjusting his cuffs. Not a hair out of place, not a question to be raised. He was fine.
"Hey, Wesley."
His stomach dropped.
"Yes, Mr. Stark?"
"Could, uh, could I get someone to pack the old, uhm, Expo-city-town-mock-up-thing in there down to my car?" Tony asked, gesturing vaguely at Pepper's office.
"Of course," he said with a frown, wondering why Tony needed it.
They stood in strained silence for a moment. This was nothing like the uneasy tension that had existed between them after Wesley had found out about the suit. Now it felt like Wesley was staring across an ocean, trying to identify a once familiar shore.
"After all that talk of being my fixer, you go and default to Pepper," Tony said, giving another one of those strained laughs. Wesley grimaced.
"I didn't want to leave you, Mr. Stark."
"But you still did," Tony said, the false humor and the uncertainty falling away to reveal an unsteady hurt. Wesley straightened his shoulders.
"I thought you had made it clear I could not help anything in your situation. And since my position is defined as protecting your interests…I assumed that aiding Ms. Potts would be the next best option."
Tony dropped his eyes, forcing a smile that barely made it to his mouth. "Yeah, uh, thanks for that."
They stood there in a few more tense moments of silence, then Tony straightened.
"See ya in hell," Tony said, touching Wesley's shoulder as he walked past.
Wesley watched after him for a moment, feeling a dull, hollow space in his chest when he realized that was probably one of the last times he would ever see Tony Stark.
Wesley aggressively did not want to be at the Stark Expo. He wanted to escape the grime of New York and go home to the familiar smog of California. He wanted to lay down and not wake up for a few years, and then be greeted by Tony and Pepper and Happy and even Natalie, all safe and sound and not at odds with each other.
He didn't want Tony to die. And he certainly didn't want to watch a spoiled child dance around on stage and poke fun at the man Wesley should have been trying to help.
Wesley got to his feet. Pepper looked up at him in alarm.
"Wesley? What are you—"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Potts, but I must excuse myself. I don't think…I feel that I should be somewhere else."
"Somewhere else? Like where?"
"Malibu," Wesley said, meeting Pepper's eyes. It was astonishingly easy to see her mild, but Wesley wasn't sure if it was over him or Tony.
She gave a shaky nod. "O-okay. Uhm, safe trip."
"Thank you, ma'am."
He turned to leave the row, aware of the complaints from the people behind him, but froze as the HammerDroids were announced. Wesley stared at the stage.
Drones? Was Hammer out of his mind? This was his fantastic display? Tony had gone on enough tirades for Wesley to know that drones were always a dangerous idea. And now the United States military was making them their center piece?
No, not the drones. Lt. Colonel James Rhodes was the center piece in the stolen Iron Man suit.
Wesley stared at the suit, mouth pressing tight at the needless weaponry bulking up its familiar shape.
"What?" he heard Pepper say. He didn't spare her a look as as he dug for his phone.
And then there was a rumbling from outside the stadium. Wesley turned, fearing the worst, but saw Tony flying in and landing on the stage in his Iron Man suit. The audience roared and leaped to their feet, delighted to see their hero, regardless of what the news said. But Wesley didn't feel excitement or relief, only dread. Tony wasn't about to have a rematch with a crowd of a few ten thousand strong before his feet, so there had to be another reason for him to crash the Expo.
Or was this another grab for attention, the desperate bid of a dying man?
Wesley pulled out his phone and entered Tony's number, trying to push his way out of the stadium so he could hear.
The crowd gasped, forcing Wesley to look back at the stage. Rhodes' suit had its gun focused on Tony's face. Wesley froze, confused, and then the drones all leveled their weapons at Tony. Was this Hammer, was he jealous enough and stupid enough to try to take out his rival right there? No, no, no one would be that reckless, not to make a point and show off, not with innocent people…
Tony took off, and then all of the guns were going off and glass was tumbling down onto the crowd below. Wesley ducked his head, phone pressed to his ear as he pushed toward the exit. He didn't care about staying calm or finding Pepper and Natalie. He needed to get out and help Tony. He needed to know he was safe.
"'Yello," Tony said, voice barely audible above the people around Wesley. The robots were crashing through the crowd, causing further panic. "Y'know, now's not a great time, Wesley, lemme call you back—"
"Stay safe!" Wesley shouted, partly because the people around him were deafening and partly because he could not lose Tony because he decided to go out with a bang. "I can't let you die before we find a cure!"
"Love the sentiment, but been there, done that, got a new reactor."
"What?!"
"Look, Wes, kinda busy right now, but we'll pick this up later. Try to find out where Ivan Vanko is, that moron Hammer faked his death or something—"
"He's not dead?"
"Nope. Okaygottagogettingfiredatbye."
Wesley stared at his phone after Tony hung up, then set his shoulders and forced his way back through the crowd. He needed to get backstage and demand answers from Justin Hammer.
Wesley reached backstage in time to see Hammer try to bluster Pepper and Natalie away. Natalie slammed him into a desk and demanded answers before stalking away.
"Stay with Ms. Potts. Use your gun if you have to," she ordered Wesley as she stalked past, looking like fire and fury pressed into human shape.
Wesley stared after her, wondering how the hell she knew about his gun.
Wesley stayed close as Pepper took command of the situation, doling out orders and trying to clean up Hammer's mess. Natalie hacked the system remotely (how on earth did she know how to do this?) and linked all of their communications. Pepper's shoulders slumped in relief when she heard Tony's voice, only to tense when Tony let slip that he was no longer dying.
Wesley smothered his relief—thank heaven, Tony wasn't going to die (yet)—as he recalled that Pepper had not known. Which meant he spent the next few minutes being interrogated once it came out that yes, Tony had told him, and yes, Tony had asked him to keep it secret, and yes, he had listened to Tony when clearly his judgment was compromised.
Of course, Hammer then attempted to reassert himself while Pepper was distracted, resulting in her commanding him to "just step back before I lose my mind." He looked like he wanted to argue, but changed his mind when Wesley casually displayed the handgun he had hidden under his suit.
Things were a lot calmer once the police took him away.
Wesley sat in the crowd as Tony received a medal for saving everyone at the Expo. If nothing else, he appreciated that nothing was exploding, no one was being smeared across the media, no one was dying. Senator Stern having give Tony the medal was just a cherry on top.
In all, Wesley supposed they had done reasonably well. Tony had managed to turn things around at the last second. He had saved himself and discovered a new element he named 'vibranium' (it was amazing he hadn't called it 'tonistarkium'). He had also patched things up with Pepper, and had vowed with sincerity in his eyes to keep his forward momentum.
Admittedly, Wesley felt a little ruffled that he hadn't kept better tabs on the SHIELD situation. To be fair, he had been dealing with a dying and desperate Tony Stark, and he had sensed something was off with Natalie (who on earth actually expected to be investigated by a super spy?) Wesley felt satisfied promising himself that he would do better next time, because there probably would be a next time with Tony.
Wesley smiled and clapped as Stern pinned the medal to Tony's chest. The three men posed for a photo, Tony raising his hand in his signature peace sign. Wesley would be sure to get a copy of the picture, if only for the triumph of capturing the look of utter repugnance in Senator Stern's eyes.