Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man.


The waiting was killing me.

I was pacing in the hotel room, trying to think about anything besides the fact that my father was currently talking to a crazed man who only hours ago had tried to kill him. Yes, the man was locked up but that didn't make me feel any better.

I stopped my pacing and sat on the end of the bed. The medication the paramedics had given me was beginning to wear off and the throbbing in my head was crawling back. After all the 'excitement' of today, my body was begging sleep but the paramedics had advised me to stay awake for the next few hours in case I had a concussion and besides, I don't think I could close my eyes without knowing that dad was back here safe and sound.

After dad had, reluctantly, gone to the paramedics and been given the all clear, he had told me of his intentions to go and see the man who had attacked us. I had begged him not to but he was adamant that he go and find out why the man had attacked us and how he managed to build an arc reactor. I wanted answers just as much as he did, I just wished that there was another way to get them.

The clock on the wall seemed to be ticking abnormally slow. I needed something to distract myself. My hand instantly reached for the television remote but that idea quickly disappeared when I reminded myself that most channels would be showing footage of the attack which was the last thing I wanted to see. I was afraid that if I watched it, I would find out something horrible like one of the drivers who had been in the accident had died or an innocent bystander had been hit by a piece of flying debris.

I just wanted to forget the attack but I knew that would be virtually impossible. Six months had passed since the last time I had been attacked and the psychological issues were just beginning to fade but I would forever have scars. And this new attack had just given me a few more.

For 16 years I had a nice, cushioned life. The only danger I had ever been in was when dad almost burnt down the house trying to make meatloaf. Now I had to come to terms with the fact that so long as my father was flying around in gold titanium alloy suit, my life would constantly be in danger. And I know that dad will try to protect me as much as he can but there will always be targets on our backs.

And I was scared. But I could never let dad see that.

My mind was racing. Was this attack just the beginning? Were more on the way? If so, I couldn't rely on dad to protect me forever. An idea was beginning to blossom in my mind when I heard the door open.

Leaping off my bed, I ran out into the main room to see dad walking in. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. They were clouded with worry. The next thing I noticed was the purple and black bruise forming on the side of his face. He was lucky that was the only injury he had sustained in the fight.

"Hey Morgs," dad said when he saw me waiting for him. The worry and uneasiness instantly vanished from his face.

"Hey dad." I hugged him quickly before following him to the large gold table that was situated in front of one of the large open windows. "So...?" I prompted.

"So what?" he asked as he sat down and put his feet up on the table.

"So," I said as I sat down next to him and pushed his feet off the table that probably cost over $10,000. "Did the guy say anything?"

I watched as a number of micro expressions went across his face and I knew that he was internally debating how much he should tell me.

"Please tell me the truth," I said with a determined face.

After studying my face for a moment, as if trying to gauge how serious I was, he nodded. "What do want to know?"

"Why did he attack you?" I asked instantly.

"Because he wanted to show that it could be done. In his own words 'if you can make God bleed, then people will cease to believe in Him.'"

"So the whole point of attacking you was to prove that you're not as...undefeatable as you seem?"

Dad nodded in response as I thought it over. The man was probably getting exactly what he wanted as the footage of the attack was more than likely on the internet minutes after it began not to mention all the television cameras that were streaming live. Everyone around the world would see those images and realize that Iron Man wasn't as untouchable and infallible as portrayed. People might lose faith in him. All the good work he has done might be undone by one man.

"How did he manage to build an arc reactor? It wasn't as refined as ours but he had the basic design," I said.

"He said he got it from his father, Anton Vanko," he answered.

I frowned at the unfamiliar name. "Who's that?"

Dad stretched out in the chair before replying. "I have no idea but I plan to find out."

"Did he say anything else?" I asked.

There was an imperceptible paused before he answered. "He said that the Stark family were all thieves and butchers and soon the last 2 Starks would be gone."

I knew dad was watching my reaction so I kept my face impassive even though the threat was enough to send a shiver down my spine. What on earth could make that man hate our family enough to want to kill us? I wondered if there was more he had told dad that he was keeping from me but I didn't want to push it right now.

"Well he's in jail now so I think that's an empty threat," I said in a neutral tone. I didn't want dad to see just how shaken this attack, and now threat, had left me. "Was that all he said?"

"Yes." He decided to change the subject before he could ask any more questions. "How's your head?"

My hand flew up to the small butterfly stitches that the paramedics had applied to the cut above my eyebrow. I had refused to go to the hospital and get surgical stitches. Dad hadn't been too happy but went along with it because he knew about my fear of needles, something that had developed six months ago during my stay in hospital.

"It's fine," I said. "How's your face?"

Dad grinned as he sensitively touched the purple bruise underneath his eye. "It's good. I think it boots my 'handsome saviour' image."

I smiled at him but that quickly faded. "You know driving that car was a stupid thing to do. What were you thinking?"

The sparkle in his eyes instantly vanished as the conversation went to the topic he obviously wanted to avoid. But I wanted to talk about it so I could understand why he had thought it was a good idea. "What's the point of owning a race car if you don't drive it?"

"I own a patch of land on the moon. Does that mean I should move there?" He rolled his eyes at my sarcastic comment. "That's not an excuse for what you did. You already put yourself in danger every time you put on the suit and it makes me stressed. Can you please promise not add to that stress by driving race cars around a dangerous track?"

"Can you please promise not to put yourself in danger by driving towards a crazed madman?" he responded.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "What was I suppose to do? Sit in a fancy hotel and watch you get attacked by a man with electrified whips?"

"Morgan, you can't go running out-"

I knew I had to stop him before he went on raving for ages.

"Okay, let's just admit that we both did stupid things and promise that we won't do them again?"

Dad nodded but we both knew that promise wouldn't hold. Even if it wasn't driving a car in an international race, dad would do something else just as ridiculously stupid. I was just worried the next time he did, the Iron Man armour wouldn't be there to save him.


"It's just unbelievable. It proves the genie is out of the bottle and this man had no idea what he's doing. He thinks of the Iron Man weapon as a toy."

Senator Stern's face was looking as smug as ever as he gave a TV interview regarding the events in Monaco yesterday. My hand was clenched around the remote as I watched the Senator talk about how reckless and immature my father is. My urge to throw the remote at the TV was increasing by the second so I decided to turn it off before I actually did it.

I hated to think of the storm the press were creating back home. No doubt they would be already camped out on the tarmac, waiting for our jet to arrive.

I didn't want to get off the jet. We still had 4 hours until we landed back on American soil and I wanted them to go as slow as possible. I almost laughed at how much can change in a few days. I hadn't wanted to leave for Monaco, now a few days later I didn't want to go back to America. I was just so sick of having everyone's eyes watching us and everything we did. I just wanted a few days of peace without having to worry about things like titanium suits or crazy men trying to kill my father. I didn't know how much longer we could keep going like this. It was taking its toll on all of us.

A dull throbbing was beginning in my leg and I was sure a headache would soon follow. With a sigh, I got up from the bed I had been lying on in one of the jets bedrooms and made my way out into the main area. As I approached I could hear dad and Pepper talking. I slowed my steps and stayed around the corner as I listened. I knew it was bad to eavesdrop but I was hoping that dad might say something to Pepper about what was concerning him so much that it was affecting his health.

"Tony," Pepper said. "What are you not telling me?"

I held my breath as I leaned in closer. The silence was so loud it was deafening.

"I don't want to go home. At all." So it wasn't just me feeling that way. "Let's cancel my birthday party and uh…we're in Europe. Let's go to Venice. It's a great place to…be healthy." Dad's tone was not one I heard often. He sounded…defeated.

"I don't think now is the right time. We're kind of in a mess," Pepper replied.

"Yeah but maybe that's why it's the best time."

"I think as the CEO I need to show up-"

"As CEO I think you're entitled to a…leave."

"A leave?"

"A company retreat," dad persisted.

"A company retreat? During a time like this?" Pepper asked. It sounded like a nice idea and as much I wanted to, I knew we had to go home.

"Well, I'm just saying, to recharge out batteries and figure it all out."

"Not everybody runs on batteries Tony."

Dad may have been keeping up a brave face for my sake but now, listening to him talk to Pepper, I realised he wasn't as carefree as he wanted me to believe. These problems were troubling him as much as they were myself.

I tip toed backwards before walking forward with heavy footsteps to announce my presence. I jumped slightly as Pepper walked out into the small hallway and saw me. We didn't say anything, we just smiled.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar outside the room and a couple of aspirin before walking in.

I smiled at dad which he returned until he saw the aspirin in my hand.

"Is your leg hurting you again?" he asked as I sat down opposite him.

"Just a little. It's fine." I took the aspirin before looking over to dad to see him looking at me with concern in his eyes. "Honestly, it's fine."

The truth was it wasn't a fine as I wanted him to believe. At least three times a week I was reaching for the aspirin to ease the pain that flared in my leg. Almost every morning I woke up and had to stretch for 5 minutes before I could walk on it. But I never bought this up to dad because whenever I did, pain flashed in his eyes. He blamed himself for my accident and the pain it was still causing me six months on. I only blamed one person.

"Morgan, I know you don't want to talk to anyone about it but you need to talk to someone."

I put a fake smile while butterflies started in my stomach. This was a topic I had done so well in avoiding but it looked like that was ending.

"Talk about what?" I asked.

Dad gave me a look which said 'you know exactly what I'm talking about'.

"You're right," I said as I looked out the window. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Morgan…you're hardly sleeping anymore. And when you do, I can hear you crying."

I didn't know what to say so I kept my mouth shut and continued to stare out the window, avoiding looking at him.

I heard dad sigh and out of the corner of my eye I saw him lean forward in his chair. "There's no shame in asking for help. Maybe you should think about seeing-"

"Seeing a shrink?" I asked as I finally looked to him. "It's bad enough that every time I close my eyes I replay that night in my mind. There's no way I could talk to a complete stranger about it."

"Then talk to me," he said.

I took a deep breath and resumed staring out the window. I don't know why I couldn't talk to dad about that night especially since we went through it together. I guess I just thought that the less I talked about it, the quicker it would go away. But that wasn't happening. Maybe I should just try and talk about it?

"How…how did you get over it?" I asked.

"What?"

I looked over to him, blinking quickly to try and keep the tears from forming. "Afghanistan. How did you get over it?"

His face instantly changed at the mention of the place he probably wanted to forget. I hated to bring up bad memories but I wanted to know how he did it. After everything he had been through over there, he had managed to overcome it and put it behind him. I hadn't been through even a quarter of the trauma he would have yet I was struggling.

"You don't really get over it," he said after a pause. "You just have to accept that it happened and not try to repress it."

"But I just want to forget it," I whispered.

"I know. Your injuries-"

"It's not my injuries keeping me awake at night. I laid there…thinking that you were dead. And there was nothing I could do. I…I felt so helpless. The thought that you were dead and I was alone…I never want to feel that way again."

The pain in dad's eyes was evident. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It wasn't your fault. None of us saw it coming." I took a deep breath and looked out into the clouds we were flying through. "You're right. I don't want to talk to a shrink but I…I have to talk to someone."

For the next hour we talked about that night. It was harder than I had imagined. I realised that, while dad had appeared to be fine after the attack, it had affected him more than I had originally thought. I also realised that me not being able to move on was affecting him. Hearing me cry almost every night and seeing the pain my leg caused was obviously hard for him. Maybe that was what was affecting his health? It might not be causing it but it was probably contributing to it. I suddenly felt even worse than I already did. Surprisingly after we finished talking I felt better and I think dad did too. I guess finally talking about it together was cathartic.

"Thank you dad," I said.

Dad smiled. "Anytime kiddo."


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