Arc 1 - Makeshift Hero (1 - 5)

Home. You'd never really thought about the concept much, putting it aside as an ideal - but perhaps you'd finally found one after all. You hardly cared for the ancestral Stark house that your parents had favored - perhaps because of the drab scenery, or maybe because of the company you'd kept. Regardless, it was just a place, now.

Stepping off the plane into the slightly stuffy Californian air, though, you let out a sigh of relief that was far more heartfelt than you cared to admit. Home. A few dozen feet away, one of your cars was parked on the tarmac, shepherded by half a dozen company ones. Happy raised a hand in recognition, and a smile worked its way onto your face. Yes, this was home - or the closest thing you knew.

Now if only you could stop the shivering.

"They caught on pretty quick," the security agent to your side murmured a little irritably. "I'd hoped we had a few more minutes…"

"You know what they say. The only thing that travels faster than light is a rumor," you said, smiling thinly. "Believe me, on occasion the paparazzi have known things about me that I hadn't even discovered yet myself…"

Despite your attempts at humor, you descended to ground level with trepidation, inching towards the sharks that had gathered to take some nibbles. It was all going very quickly - you'd barely had time to debrief in Afghanistan before you'd been shoved onto the plane, and you'd missed the lion's share of your time on board to sleep.

For a moment, you wished Dr. Yinsen had accompanied you - had chosen to take your offer of temporary asylum. You could understand the man's hesitance, though, in lieu of your recent choices, and decided to leave the matter for a later time.

"Mr. Stark!" breathless voices exclaimed, and you rubbed your forehead tiredly. A few dozen reporters had gathered already. Usually that would have been an opportunity for a little PR - but you weren't feeling it right now. Your head was too full with recriminations and worries to deal with that crap. In fact, you were not sure you would be making any sense right now.

"Don't mind them. Can you just get me to the car?" you murmured, just loud enough for the agent next to you to pick up on it. It was no real surprise that nobody had left you alone for even five minutes since the storage container; you'd just been missing for a full week, presumed dead until the Ten Rings had put out their ransom video. These people were just doing their job.

"Mr. Stark - how are you recovering from your ordeal?" a particularly high-pitched voice screeched over the throng as you reached the bottom of the stairs, faced suddenly by a dozen cameras and twice as many wide-eyed faces. "Is it true that you set off an explosion, killing dozens of -" She was cut off by someone shoving her aside.

You turned slightly to answer the question, to make some defense of your actions. For once, for the first time you remembered, you hesitated. The words would not come, and all you could think of was the dead eyes of your captors, slain by something they could not even see. Killed by the monster you had unleashed - a decision that you could barely justify even now.

Abruptly, you turned away towards your car, your face as white as a sheet. You heard the clicks of cameras, saw the flashes from the corner of your eyes. That picture would be on every paper - you were sure of it.

'Stupid move, kid. Stupid. A PR nightmare.' You could almost hear Obi's disapproving words echoing in your skull, and you closed your eyes as you reached the car. For a long instant, you just leaned against the side, taking deep breaths to try and calm your racing heart.

You had not had a moment to yourself since the cave, not an instant to process anything. You never thought you could be overwhelmed like that - but clearly, you were wrong. Wryly, you realized you were just a little more human than you'd ever thought.

"Happy," you said after a moment, opening your eyes, and you took in the man's worried expression with a little surprise. Harold Hogan had worked loyally for you since you were eighteen years old, so of course he would care - but it was still a shock every time you noticed. You were not exactly good at making friends, after all.

"Mr. Stark… Tony," Happy said after a few moments. "Are you alright…?"

You did not know what to answer to that question - 'no' was an understatement - before you realized that the din behind you was getting awfully loud. You were in no shape to answer questions - nor to face anyone from your company. Odds were that you'd start spouting things you could not take back, admitting to things you shouldn't, or worse. No, you needed some alone-time right now. A moment to decompress.

"Just… just take me home, would you?" you said at last, plopping down roughly in the back seat of the car, quickly closing the door behind you. "And give me a phone. I need to call - " You hesitated, but there was really only one person who had any inkling of what was going on. "I need to call Rhodey."

Happy nodded, and something like relief seemed to flash across his face. "Of course, sir. It's good to have you back."

"JARVIS - let there be light!"

"Immediately. Welcome back, sir. Dum-E and Butterfingers were getting worried," Jarvis replied easily as the Garage lit up like a Christmas tree - dozens of little LEDs brightened, and the slow glow of the lamps exposed the workbenches and computers that had been silenced since your departure. "As was I, of course."

"Yeah, missed you too," you replied, and you honestly meant it. "I hope you kept the place running without me? Ah, what am I saying. Of course you did. Someday, I'll find you tinkering on a bride in the off hours."

"I will endeavor not to disturb you," JARVIS replied sardonically. "The Garage is in working order."

You nodded in relief, and smiled. There wasn't just one 'Garage' of course - it was a nickname, of a sorts, that seemed to fit just about every workplace you'd ever constructed. It all started in a literal garage - the one back in the old house, and perhaps the only spot of it that you'd ever actually liked. In a way, you had always carried along that little part, poured into many different shapes as the years went by. Here, more than anywhere else, you could turn ideas into reality. If Malibu was home - then this was home.

"Jarvis - play me some AC/DC, and turn on the news, would you?" You stretched, sighing deeply. Even just being home again was doing wonders on your nerves - it was familiar, private. All the little gizmos spread around the corners, devices that you'd built more for their novelty than any practical purpose, reminded you of the long afternoons you'd spent just tinkering. This wasn't where you ever built missiles, or guns - that was company work. This was where you built dreams.

The first notes of Thunderstruck echoed through the basement, at the overly loud volume that everyone except you found unbearable, and the televisions blinked on. One played the video that accompanied JARVIS's chosen song - the other two were tuned to news channels, and you had an immediate urge to look away. Your face was plastered across both of them.

"Well, at least I can't hear them criticizing me," you murmured distractedly as you shook your head. For a few minutes, you just stood there, listening to the music, hoping that it could help you deal with the bullshit that you'd just survived. Distantly, you could hear JARVIS's voice. It was probably not the first time he'd spoken.

"Sir?"

Someone tapped you on the shoulder.

You reacted.

You were suddenly on the ground, and did not remember how you'd ended up there. Your hand hurt - why? You glanced up, and stared in surprise. Rhodey - James Rhodes, the one person you might unambiguously call a friend - stood over you with a look of chagrin on his face, rubbing his cheek.

"Was that entirely necessary, Tony?" he asked loudly over the music.

"Ow," you managed in return, narrowing your eyes. Your side hurt, but that was probably just the grazing wound you'd gotten in Afghanistan. Your hand, though - that was from the present. That meant you'd lashed out, so startled that you'd been reduced to crude fight-or-flee responses, courtesy of that damn cave. And Rhodey's kung-fu was clearly way better than yours. "Sorry about that."

"JARVIS - turn down the racket," Rhodey stated, and the music was swiftly reduced to a fraction of the previous volume - it might as well have been silent. "Well…" Rhodey said. "It figures this is what you'd decide to do when you return home. Get up."

Right, you were still on the floor.

A few minutes later, sipping on a cup of strong coffee, you watched your own face come by on the television. Any other day, you might have let your inner narcissist have its fill - or the outer one, for that matter - but today you could not. The images were too cold, too stark - hah - and all too telling. That moment you had looked for the reporter that asked you about Afghanistan, about the killings, you had not realized the horror-struck expression that flashed across your face.

"...It was far worse than what we saw, wasn't it, Tony?" Rhodey inquired tiredly. "The doctor wanted to schedule a visit with a shrink, like usual, but I figured you'd seen worse things. It was just a week, you know? I thought that whatever happened, you would spring right back…"

"Maybe I will," you said after a few moments. "You're right - I wouldn't visit a shrink unless you dragged me in by my hair. Not after…" You shook your head. "I appreciate that you came so quickly, actually. You almost beat me here."

"Well - I sort of expected you'd want to be alone," Rhodey admitted. "I figured it was pretty bad if you called of your own volition."

You shrugged. "I've got JARVIS and the bots, I'm never entirely alone here. I just figured you could help prevent me from drowning in a bottle." You glanced up, smiling slightly. "Besides, you're my friend, sort of. I think so, anyway."

"Don't be stupid," Rhodey answered immediately, and you both knew the question was routine by now - a little in-joke. "Anyone who can put up with you, and stick around - they're friends. I figured you'd have realized that after the third time I dragged your sorry ass home after you'd gotten into bed with the wrong people. Literally in one case."

"That was an accident!" you protested.

Rhodey sighed. "You'd think you'd realize she was a man before she pulled off her panties."

"I was drunk!" you argued heatedly. "Besides, that was one of the best plastic surgery jobs I'd ever seen…" You shut up before you could make yourself look any worse.

Rhodey nodded slowly. "I don't suppose you want to talk about it?" he inquired, and you were fairly certain he wasn't talking about your unfortunate dalliances.

You shrugged. "Well, there's - not much more to tell than you already know, I think. I nearly died - twice, I think - and the only thing keeping my ticker going is this." You shoved down your shirt a little, though the glow of the arc reactor was visible through it. "I built this, in case you were wondering. At some point, I'm pretty sure I was tortured, though I can't really remember much of that. Just that I was drowning. The bastards put me to work afterwards. They made the fatal mistake of giving me so many resources to play with. The day you found me - me and Dr. Yinsen broke out. Sabotaged the bombs and set them off."

"They were Stark property," Rhodey acknowledged. "I suppose you knew how they worked."

You winced slightly, nodding. "...Yeah. They had an awful lot of the stuff lying around - far more than has actually gone missing, I think. I mean, this one place had dozens of large bombs lying around, and last I checked we've been short only four. Unless someone went on a stealing spree, that means bad news…"

Rhodey grimaced. "Shit. Tony, that means -"

"Yeah," you agreed immediately. "I'm thinking that's something you'll have to help me with. Someone is mooching off the military contracts, I'm thinking." You nodded slowly. "We need to figure out if there's more production that's off the books, or if someone is just manipulating the numbers." You shrugged. "And then there's the company to deal with."

"I can get some paperwork sent over here, I suppose - Pepper's good at accounting, I'm sure she can help figure out what's going on. Don't worry - I'm not just the military liaison because of my winning smile." He nodded slowly, then paused. "Wait, what about the company?"

You hesitated for a long time. "...It's - I've been thinking. About what I'm doing, I suppose." You frowned. "Our bombs are good, very good. But this mess made me think about the things I haven't been doing. For a defense contractor, we've done rather little in the way of defense, don't you think? Or anything except weapons, really." You cocked your head to the side. "Stark Industries has gotten to be massive - but we're basically war profiteers, and nothing else."

"You do realize I'm in the military?" Rhodey asked rhetorically.

"Yeah, but..." You tapped the arc reactor in your chest, and smiled. "Consider this. This thingy here? It could run an electric car for years, if I perfect it. Or a good-sized skyscraper, no charging required. This is the gas-killer, Rhodey." You sat back, and smiled. "Right now, it's too easy to weaponize - but I can fix that. I have the key to the energy-crisis, and Stark Industries could be the one to make it happen. We wouldn't need the military anymore."

Rhodey just stared. "...Are you sure?"

"Yes. You remember the Repulsor-prototypes?" You grinned, then. "They worked - but they lacked the power to run them. But now I have that. I'm sitting on reactionless drives here. I have in my sole possession the holy grail of rocketry!" You stood up, itching to get to work - inspired, perhaps. "I could make personal jet-packs a reality! And let's not forget about JARVIS, shall we?"

"I would appreciate that, sir," the AI chimed in.

"Autonomous artificial intelligence. Enough said," you noted. "I was way too caught up in things to realize what I had down here - the stuff I'd tinkered with, but never had real time for. These terrorists gave me a few days of freedom - and I built a miniature arc reactor. Consider what I could do with a month of doctor-mandated rest?" You smiled broadly. "I think it's time I change the company a little. Or a lot." You relished in the moment - it almost seemed to drown out the nervous jitters that had still refused to fade. "What do you say? Gonna help me out?"

Rhodey's expression didn't betray much, but slowly a smile appeared. "You mentioned jet-packs?"

"Just a touch thicker than that, probably," you mused, leaning back from the fluorescent glow of the holographic screen; a small rendering of an arc reactor spun slowly, see-through but extremely detailed. "I was working with limited means out there - don't need to worry too much about costs right now…"

"Increasing Palladium mass by 20%" Jarvis acknowledged. "Better to overspend, as always."

"Well, this is my pacemaker," you murmured, twitching your finger - the model spun around more quickly as the increased diameter of the palladium ring fit snugly inside. "Yeah, that's looking good. Probably need to find a better alternative to that stuff at some point, but it can wait. I'm going for efficiency right now, not perfection."

"That seems to be a running theme."

"Don't be snippy. Not all my stuff breaks," you protested. "You haven't broken, have you? Well, aside from that time your voice went all chipmunky - oh, and that time you forgot how to talk entirely, and started humming nursery rhymes like a creep…" You paused. "Point regretfully conceded. I'll get around to fixing what caused that."

"I'm sure you will, sir."

"Hm. Has Rhodey actually left yet?" You asked after a moment, and you frowned. "Or did I forget his presence again? I have to stop doing that…"

"Mr. Rhodes departed approximately seven hours ago, sir."

"He did? He did." You nodded, then paused. "Wait, seven hours? What time is it?"

"It is 5 A.M."

That number didn't make sense for a long moment - then it clicked. "...Right. It's morning. Makes sense, actually, because of the jet-lag," you decided. "That, and I got a nap in the plane… I suppose I should've expected this."

"Actually, statistically speaking this is not an uncommon occurrence…"

You sighed. "Shut it, I'm making good progress here - more important than shuteye, that." You paced around your spinning arc reactor model, and nodded. "Yeah, it's looking solid. Put one into production so I can test it, would you? I'm gonna need it in the morning, I think. And tell -" You hesitated. "Where's Pepper, anyway?"

"Miss Potts is due back in the morning - she is flying back from New York as we speak, due to arrive in another hour."

"New York? What was she doing there? She's my assistant," you muttered irritably. "New York's somebody else's turf, isn't it? Pretty sure Roxxon and Hammer are having a free-for-all in that place - or Oscorp, come to think of it. Not pretty. The only way I could make it there if I properly splurged and got a new place…"

"Miss Potts attended a scheduled inter-company meeting in your place, sir. I suspect she was attempting to put her mind off your disappearance."

"Filling in for me, then?" You smiled. "Nice! One of these days, she'll be the CEO," you decided. "Good riddance to the job, too. Tinkering with stuff in this Garage - that's what I'm good at. I'm a mechanic, not a businessman. Never was very enthused about that side of things, anyway." You sighed. "What do you say, JARVIS? Got any brilliant ideas for me? Any insights into what I should be doing with my time?"

"You seem to enjoy what you are currently doing, judging from your time-commitment," JARVIS replied smugly. "It has been a long time since you spent this long on a single private project."

"Heh. Butterfingers and Dum-E are enthused about it, I'm sure," you muttered dryly. "I was thinking more in terms of practical goals than just going full-on hedonist, actually. Though I think I'd rather enjoy that. What do you reckon? Should I spawn some more AIs to keep you guys company?"

"I fear that any truthful reply I could give to that question would sound rather sinister, sir."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Never mind then, never mind. It's not really important, anyway. I'll have way too much to do tomorrow - or today, I suppose- to tinker. If I don't show some sign of life to the public, people will think I've dropped off the planet, or gone recluse or something. Given how much I'm in the spotlight, they'd notice."

"A press conference has already been scheduled for noon, sir."

That took you aback. "Really? Who… Ah. You scheduled it?"

"I thought it would be prudent."

You rubbed your brow tiredly. "You know me entirely too well, you know that? If you ever went for a robot apocalypse, I'm sure I'd be the first against the wall."

"I assure you, I would begin with Mr. Rhodes."

You blinked.

"That was a joke."

You were seriously reconsidering the press conference when noon approached, and you had only gotten about an hour of decent sleep in. Designs and schematics kept running through your head, courtesy of new inspiration, and the previous night's binge really didn't help. Distantly, you realized that it was all probably a reaction to the mess that happened in Afghanistan, but you really didn't mind that now.

The audience was large, but not as huge as you were expecting - JARVIS had sent invitations, and he had been even more careful about picking and choosing reporters than you might have been. For one, you saw absolutely nobody that you remembered from the tarmac, least of all the screechy lady. JARVIS had been watching the footage, then.

Right near the back of the room, though, you saw a few more unusual faces. Pepper was there, for one - you hadn't spoken to her yet, but her beaming smile lit up the room when she saw you. Next to her stood a gentleman in a suit, and you pegged him as a government official before you even noticed the little device in his ear. Behind them, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised, Obadiah Stane watched you like a hawk.

You let out a long breath, and turned to Rhodey.

"You think this is a good idea?" you murmured. "I could just put out a message…"

Rhodey shook his head. "Nah, they've already seen you. Too late to crawl back in your hole now."

"Yeah, they've smelled blood in the water," you replied, shivering - you didn't need to exaggerate that to make your point. "What do I tell them? I can't exactly go all gruesome…"

"Just keep it casual," Rhodey answered. "Nothing too graphic, please, and make sure to try and smile a little. You've done this sort of thing before - you know how it goes."

"Kind of feels different this time." You glanced up to the clock, and sighed as it ticked over to twelve. Showtime. "Wish me luck, then."

"Take it from me - you don't need luck. Just style."

You smiled tremulously as you stepped up to face the music, and thankfully that thin grin managed to shine through so that people could see it. You picked up the microphone, staring at it for a moment before putting it close to your face. "...Testing? One-two-three? Hello."

For once, the auditorium was silent, and nobody started asking questions yet. JARVIS really had done his job, this time.

"Yes - might as well get to the meat, as it were." You cleared your throat. "As you can all imagine - these have been trying days. More than a week ago, now, the convoy that I was a part of was attacked, as you've all heard. Aside from myself, there were no survivors. I am very sorry for the loss of the people who protected me, and I wish all of their loved ones well."

Right. The worst was over. Don't get too invested, you reminded yourself.

"Since the day of that attack, I was held captive, as you certainly also know. The perpetrators were a group of local extremists, and they are - not a problem anymore. It was members of our military task force in the region, alongside my military liaison and good friend James Rhodes, that finally rescued me." You were silent for a long moment. "You have my sincerest gratitude."

There was some buzz, then, and I glanced to see Rhodey's embarrassed expression. Bullseye.

"Well, I am currently on medical leave, as far as the official word goes. All of my wounds will heal, though, and I've been told to take some rest." You smiled, then. "I think you all know how likely that is." You nodded at the few people who shook their head ruefully, including Pepper. "I expect I will let you know how things go on company-level before the week is out - I'll get back to you on that." You let out a long breath. "That's the basics. I think I got them all right."

Before anyone could speak up, there was a familiar voice from across the auditorium, a baritone that nobody could mistake. "Hey, Tony!" Obadiah Stane called. "What was that at the airport, yesterday?"

You were struck speechless. Had Obi just brought up the one thing you'd hoped wouldn't be mentioned by anyone, simply forgotten? It took you a while to realize that it had to be a test - one of Obi's little mind games. Judging from the man's expression, he was waiting for your response.

"If something important had happened at the airport, I'm sure I would've told you," you replied belatedly, and with a little feigned indignation. You saw Obi's lips twitch up in the semblance of a smile. "If there is nothing else from your corner? Right - I suppose question time is on, then."

A young, blond woman at the front raised a hand. "Mr. Stark - is it true that you were tortured in captivity?"

Ah, so that's how it was. You let the pent-up tension flow away, as that question suddenly seemed far less bothersome than it would've been. Obi knew what he was doing - even if he could have told you ahead of time. Though a shock to the system probably wouldn't have worked if you'd had warning… Well, there was a reason Obi still acted as your mentor so often. The man had experience with too many things to count.

"I'm afraid to say that the terrorists who kidnapped and ransomed me - weren't very nice," you said in a drawl. "Who would have thought?"

There was a general murmuring then, and the next few questions were softballs. You were half-tempted to do something more dramatic than respond with quips, like telling everyone to sit on the floor like an idiot - but you couldn't convince yourself to see the fun in that. Not when you'd just been reminded of how many people had died due to this whole mess.

And this - this was just the beginning. The public was easy - they just wanted to know you were okay, and that was it. The company would be an entirely different matter. It carried your name, or that of your family at least, but there were a lot more people than just you who controlled its products and expenses. If you wanted to make any lasting changes, it couldn't come unilaterally from yourself. You'd be out of a job before you could say 'reorganization'.

The unscheduled week off was easy to excuse here for a little suspension from your duties - and even some time off for medical reasons, if you pushed it. You'd been less than well the previous day when you'd arrived, and you looked like shit even now, running on too little sleep. It would all be fine - if you intended to keep things running exactly as they did. But you'd already realized that was not an option.

Rhodey was busy with his research, but he needed a few more days to get back to you about the missing shipments, or however you'd lost weapons. That meant you needed to placate the company, keep the people happy. You could introduce new things, sure - and that would probably give people some faith in your ability to lead the company - but you could not start cutting things. You needed to find who had been double-dealing first, or you'd tip them off. Except - tipping them off might just force them to show their hand.

You had two hours before that meeting started, and to decide what to do.

Well, shit.

The press conference dragged on for longer than you wanted it to - but finally people dispersed, and the sharks went back to their own waters. For the first time in half an hour, you got to breathe. Even as the toughest questions made way for general interest ones that had little or nothing to do with the kidnapping, you were still only halfway present.

Too many things didn't add up, and you weren't sure how to deal with that. You had half a mind to track down the curious suited gentleman that'd been present, certain that the government would know more about the background of things, but before you could chase him down, you hesitated. You'd almost forgotten who else was present.

A fiery woman with a stare that could scorch deserts was stalking towards you. Pepper Potts, your secretary and glorified assistant. Wow.

"Anthony Stark," she said sharply as she stopped at the side of the little podium, her arms crossed as she looked you over skeptically. "Hmpf. I had to hear from the news that you had been rescued, you know. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Virginia Potts," you say smugly, and the wince that follows is as entertaining as always. "The first name ship has sailed a long time ago, don't you think? Me Tony, you Pepper. Capiche?"

"You didn't even call!"

You knew you'd forgotten something in the building binge of the previous night… "Ah…" You were sure you looked rather like a deer caught in headlines, and laughed sheepishly. "I might have gotten caught up in things. You know how it is." You raised your hands in surrender. "I apologize. I should have thought of you first, of course. How could I have forgotten?"

"Now you're getting it." She huffed self-assuredly, and then suddenly smiled as she swung a hand around your neck in a gesture that was altogether unexpected, though not necessarily unwelcome. "I'm glad you're alive, you genius of a dolt."

For a long moment you let the hug happen - but you couldn't help yourself.

"Hey!" Pepper squawked in protest.

"...My hand slipped," you defended immediately, retracting the traitorous - or adventurous - appendage. "Um… About the call thing - if it's any consolation, I had Rhodey over last night. You've been telling me to spend more time with the guys…"

Pepper sighed. "I was just commenting on your habit of bringing along new girls every night," she corrected with a roll of her eyes. "Don't twist that into something else…" She bit her lip,. "Besides, don't change the subject. Tony - you had us all worried sick. I'm never going to take you seriously again when you talk about 'minimal' risk!"

"You were worried?" you ask with a raised eyebrow. "About me?"

"Of course I was worried! You have no idea what I went through when - Tony..."

You nodded. "I'm sure I don't know. And I'm pretty sure vice versa counts too, here. So - how about we not focus on that shitty excuse for a week we have just had?" You smiled. "Besides, the risk was remote," you defended. "It's just statistics being a bitch again. Anyway, the important thing is - I'm alive."

Pepper nodded. "You are my paycheck, after all."

"Oy, that was entirely uncalled for." You grinned, glancing to the side to confirm that nobody was nearby. "So, tell me - I heard from JARVIS that you got a little progressive when it came to being an assistant, in my absence. What's this I hear about New York?"

She blushed slightly, shrugging. "Nothing, really. It was just a meet-up with the big corporations out east - nothing dramatic, but it's customary to send someone high up the food-chain. The last few times Rhodey filled in, but since he was otherwise occupied…"

"Pulling my butt out of the fire," you acknowledged. "Right. Anything interesting happen, then?"

"God, no. It's no wonder that Rhodey stocks up on coffee." Pepper shuddered. "Osborn's an old creep, and let's not get started about the oily snake that is Justin Hammer. You know what I'm talking about - he was trying to get in my pants the entire time. Honestly, you're a pretty crappy boss sometimes, but it's times like these that I could do much, much worse."

You cheered halfheartedly. "Yay. I'm not entirely the worst boss in the world!"

"You're really good at scaring off secretaries, though," Pepper muttered. "It's a miracle I've stuck around this long, isn't it? How long has it been, now?"

"Ah, my whole life. I should pay you more."

She rolled her eyes. " You're such a charmer. Anyway, now that I'm back - I'm not going to leave your side. That okay with you? Good. Excellent. That's settled, then." She smiled thinly, and it was hard to ignore the tears of relief that welled up in the corners of her eyes, even if she didn't spill them.

"That's not really a punishment," you observed dryly, trying to ignore the fact that your disappearance might have affected her more than you'd thought. "Are you sure? You know me, always busy, people to meet, appointments to keep…"

"Speaking of which…" Pepper said, ruffling through her bag until she retrieved a crumpled envelope. "I got a delivery for you, from New York."

"Someone's sending me snail mail?" You asked, mystified. "Last time I got a letter on paper, I think it was the Clinton administration. I figured it was some archaic practice from a bygone age by now." You took the scruffy letter and sniffed it. "Hm. Bourbon. It's not from Hammer, is it?"

"No, it was some other scientist - nice guy. Said you never responded to his mails, so…" Pepper snorted. "I mostly just took it because I didn't know you were even alive, then - I figured if I had something to deliver, you had to come back. Silly things like that…"

"Pepper Potts, the messenger pigeon," you murmured in amusement as you slipped open the envelope, unfolding the missive. "It's an invitation. Some kind of fancy get-together for eggheads, I guess…" You looked up, then. "Wait, did Hank give this to you? I didn't know he was back at making toys!"

"He did mention his name, Henry-something," Pepper said, a finger on her chin as she thought.

"Yeah. That's him. Dr. Henry Pym," you confirmed. "He's a genius - even by my standards. Seriously, the guy has a brain like a watermelon stuffed in his skull, somehow. He's got more degrees than I have cars." You shook your head slowly. "He's also got serious spam issues - I've had him blocked for years, he was clogging up everything. How someone that smart can be so careless with his stuff is beyond me."

"So…?" Pepper wondered. "Are you going?"

You considered the invitation for a long moment. "I'll - think about it. It's a yearly thing - I figure I must have had a reason to say no the previous times, right? I have certainly been part of the target audience for a decade or more… and I'd love to meet some of the attendees." You frowned. "It's in Vegas, too. That's twice the reason to go, as far as I'm concerned."

"I'll be going with, of course," Pepper declared sweetly. "We're inseparable, remember?"

"Still not a punishment," you agreed. Glancing down the invitation, your eyes brushed over the people who had already been confirmed to show up, and you stopped, even physically, jarring Pepper to a stop as well. "Ah, crap."

"Tony?"

You groaned. "Gah. I remember why I kept the hell away from these things." You lowered the invitation and rubbed your brow. "Reed Richards will be there."

You decided that if you were ever going to start an evil crime syndicate, the room in which you made decisions would look exactly like the boardroom at Stark industries. Octagonal and remarkably poorly lit, the place had a gloomy atmosphere even when nothing was going on; having twelve old white people with perpetual grimaces sitting there didn't really help matters.

Board of Directors meetings were never fun - people droned on, you ended up doodling all over your notes, and then someone called you to order in an annoyed voice by the time it was all over. It was no wonder you let Obi tackled these things normally.

"...It is unusual to see you here, Mr. Stark," one of the directors pointed out. "Not unwelcome - though given the circumstances, I would have expected you to keep to your bed."

You glanced at Obi across the table, smiling thinly. "Really now? Honestly, I thought you would have realized by now that I don't exactly adhere to traditional concepts of bed-rest. I like to take a more - proactive approach to relaxation." You raised an eyebrow. "I figured that I should come, before you all thought I'd collapsed into a puddle of pity."

"Sir -"

"I am not here to make sweeping changes," you said clearly. "Not today, anyway. I have some suggestions regarding the tracking of our weapons, though, due to certain security concerns I observed in Afghanistan - but you'll have to read the file I drew up on that first. It's preliminary, I only had a few hours to work on it. It's in your inbox, so feel free to look at it later."

It was amusing to see some of the people that were supposed to trust you, as their boss - you had a controlling interest, after all - looking at you like you'd just slapped them across the face. Judging from their stares, they'd been a week away from outright mutiny. Wonderful.

That couldn't be allowed, of course. High time to reestablish your position.

"That said..." you said slowly. "In return for your considerations, there is something i would like to offer today."

You reached into your jacket, smiling all the while. When you retracted your hand, the glowing form of a fully-functioning arc reactor was shining in your palm, seeming even brighter than usual in the dim room. Later, this model would be implanted in your chest - just as soon as you arranged for someone with small enough hands to help out.

"You built another one," Obi observed from across the room. "How much is it?"

"Cheaper than oil," you murmured, tossing the little device in the air - more than a dozen pairs of eyes followed the glowing bauble. "For those of you who do not know the history of this company - this is an Arc Reactor. The same design, in principle, as the large version that's downstairs as an overpriced fashion statement." You grasped the reactor. "I have made a useless boondoggle - into something viable."

"That is very interesting, Mr. Stark, but -"

You shushed him with a simple gesture, and smiled as the director glanced nervously to his neighbors. "You don't get it - some of the others do, clearly. What I'm holding here is an energy source that does not require fuel of the traditional variety. It'll wear down, sure, but that just means that you need to buy a new one eventually. From Stark Industries." You plopped the reactor down on the table, and smiled. "This, gentlemen, is the gas-killer - and more."

You sat back with a self-satisfied smile, enjoying the gobsmacked look on a few faces, especially those that had experience in the energy sector. It was clear that not everyone realized what a potential game changer you'd gotten your hands on - and what it meant that you were the only person to have the design. You'd had control over the company before - but with this, you had control over turning a billion-dollar company into something bigger.

"I see that my point has been made. You need me," you said at last, picking up the reactor and putting it back in your pocket. "I will be keeping this - I'll be working on making it mass-reproducible, and ensuring it cannot be used as a makeshift weapon. I don't intend to sell it under any of our military contracts - the civilian market is large enough to turn a tidy profit, anyway. In exchange for obvious guaranteed riches, you will all consider my future suggestions with more care. I don't care if you agree with me - just that you work with me."

"We're not about to slay the goose with the golden eggs," Obi muttered with a sigh. The silence from the others was telling - even your old mentor seemed surprised, though you were certain the man had known about the new night light in your chest.

"The specs will be on your desks by morning, naturally. If you're not convinced after that, I'll buy you out. Thank you." You stood up, still smiling. "Now, if you'll excuse me - I think I'll TiVo the rest of this meeting. I'm thinking of getting some more work done." You turned lazily. "You know, relaxing."

"Honestly, I'm the only one who even has these things, why do I bother?" You sighed as you twisted the floating hologram of the arc reactor around, more out of amusement than for any real purpose. On six screens that were arranged side-by-side, Jarvis was adjusting code at speeds that even you could not keep up with. "Safety concerns, right? Pfft."

"I see now there is a reason why the quality control and security departments tend to be less than pleased by your visits," Jarvis remarked coolly.

"God, Jarvis, you're starting to sound like Pepper. And me. Some horrible, horrible combination." You shuddered. "Anyway, I get the reasoning here, but making sure stuff does not blow up is just untrod territory. Who sees the energies involved here, the sheer power, and then just goes 'let's constrain the hell out of it'?"

"It seems to be the general attitude behind power plants, sir. It is the effective difference between the nuclear power station and atomic bomb."

"And which one of those is more badass?" You glanced up, huffing in annoyance. "Anyway, if people used my stuff correctly, maybe they wouldn't need five different safeguards to make sure it doesn't blow up in their faces. Honestly, I'd hardly be surprised if some unfortunate schmuck decided to take a nibble out of one of my grenades and blew his face off - but that'd be their own stupid fault then, wouldn't it?"

"I would avoid mentioning such things to members of the board, sir. It might jeopardize your position."

You shrugged. "Fair enough, they did seem a little standoffish." You stood, looking over your model of the new arc reactor upgrade with a critical eye. "How's the next pass looking, anyway? I'm not waiting around for perfection here, I don't have the time for that - but a patchwork solution will do for now. Anyone but me tamper with my reactors, and they fuse together into a useless clump of metal. I can get a more hardware-level limit built in when I have some time for that." You nodded, then frowned. "Any idea on what kind of blast you'd get from one of these, anyway?"

"Unknown, though certainly significant. I cannot be certain without a practical test, due to uncertainties in how the final design affects energy distribution."

You nodded. "Hmm, maybe later then. Perhaps we can implement the hardware-level stuff on the big, industrial model, and leave my miniature ones without them? That sounds good." You paced through the Garage, sighing. "For now, I guess I'll just update these ones manually - don't want to risk having an open connection for people to hack, anyway."

"That would seem prudent."

"Hm. If I'm gonna go hardware, though, I honestly need a new factory - I can't think of any that have the specs that would be necessary..." You smiled. "What do you think, bots? Want to try out some new homes, later?"

Dum-E waved its single arm from across the room, jerking fitfully and in dire need of oiling. Butterfingers wasn't in line of sight, but you could hear its servos whirring as well from elsewhere.

"It would be nice to have a new place, sir," Jarvis acknowledged. "I have been feeling a bit cramped."

"You are the house, Jarvis - how can you feel cramped?" You smiled warmly. "You know, I'll make you a proper mobile platform one of these days," you promised with a raised eyebrow. "Then you can go make the neighborhood unsafe, at least. Not sure if Dum-E or Butterfingers should get one - they're bad enough at controlling what they have now."

The bot whirred in protest.

"You know I'm right, don't you?"

The metal figure's pitiful whine was downright adorable, and you were desperately glad Pepper wasn't around to see that little interaction. It was entirely too cutesy for your image.

"I guess you already know, Jarvis, but I'm going away for a few more days. Vegas - not too far. I kinda wish I hadn't said yes - Pepper's already far too excited for something that's basically a meet-and-greet for blow-hards…" You let the sentence hang as you pack up. "I'll be back for a bit in the morning, but after that - well, you know how to entertain yourselves."

"Certainly. 2001 : A Space Odyssey is due to air tonight."

You rubbed your forehead tiredly. "Ah. Don't let it get to the bots' heads, alright?"

"Of course not, sir."

As you stepped out of the door and up the narrow staircase to ground level, you heard Jarvis' distant voice, crooning out words that were just above hearing range.

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do…"

"Stop fidgeting, Tony!" Pepper muttered as she adjusted her dress - a rather lovely ruby-red one that he swore you'd never seen before, though Pepper's stink-eye when he brought that up would suggest otherwise.

You'd not really thought about wearing anything special to a get-together of nerds, and the neat suit that Pepper had brought felt unfamiliar, constricting. You'd worn these plenty of times - but that was on the job. This was supposed to be relaxation.

Honestly, most of what had been on your mind was unrelated to this meeting. You were worried about going on a glorified vacation trip so shortly after returning from captivity, but the board had been more than forthcoming on the issue, when you'd requested a few days off. Between the doctor-prescribed rest and the juicy specs you'd left for them to peruse, it was probably a good idea you didn't show your face too much at the company for a bit. Besides, Rhodey was still busy with his research - your departure would give him some more time to work on that. Perhaps it was a good moment to take a breather.

You had figured out that the trip wouldn't be terribly much fun right around the time the myriad lights of the City of Sin vanished in the rear-view mirror, and you were dropped off at an austere, but altogether forgettable place, which had some vague historical significance that you had not bothered to read up on. The hall looked rather like a baroque church in some respects, though you were sure every nook and cranny were just as much cardboard and feigned history as the rest of the city.

"I'm not fidgeting here, I'm adjusting my arc reactor," you muttered lowly, frowning. "The new one's still a bit itchy - have to get used to it, I suppose. Besides, I'm people-watching..."

"Well, at least you admit to it," Pepper said with a sigh.

You sniffed. "And you don't. I saw you checking out that tall guy, you know."

"He was freakishly tall," Pepper protested with a hiss.

"And yet, you seemed preoccupied with parts that were considerably lower down," you said with a smile, even as you took in the latest arrivals. Some of the people you'd met before, or you at least vaguely recognized them. Most were strangers - either because they were tag-alongs for their more famous companions, or because you'd never cared for their fields of study. Admittedly, you were bored quickly.

There were always the oddballs, though, the people you couldn't quite figure out. This time you spotted one of them across the plaza. There, a rather aristocratic-looking gentleman was gazing out over the arrivals in much the same way you were. Despite a tidy suit, you could see a short red cape fluttering on his back, making the man look entirely too much like Dracula for comfort. The gaudy golden amulet that kept the cape together certainly didn't help matters, either.

Not far from him, looking around with an open curiosity that you vaguely recognized from somewhere, a young man was taking photographs of everyone he came across, even the complete unknowns. You'd written him off as Paparazzi if not for the tact he showed, clearly asking each and every person for their permission. There was such a thing as honest media, in this age?

Your attention was finally diverted as you noticed a redheaded woman leaning against the wall, close to the building. She was speaking to a rather stiff-looking figure that wore sunglasses at night - instantly a douche - and she had the most wonderfully voluptuous -

"Stop that!" Pepper said just as the strange woman's eyes found yours, and you quickly drew your attention back to your own companion. Something eerie ran down your back, a strange feeling ofdanger.

"...What is it?" you verbalized, and it seemed your companion took it personally.

"You were practically drooling," Pepper said with undisguised contempt. "Honestly, didn't you see the guy with her? She has a boyfriend."

"Fantasies don't hurt anyone," you replied with a sigh, distracted. What was causing that eerie sensation, anyway? It felt rather portentous, and you paused for a moment to consider the issue. Then you closed your eyes in defeat as you heard the scuff of boots behind you tap out an all too familiar rhythm. Only one person was that precise about their footfalls.

"Hello, Reed," you said as you turned.

Reed Richards was an asshole. Well, he was more than that, really. You'd first met the guy in your youth, when you'd crossed paths on multiple occasions during your schooling period. Needless to say, you'd never really gotten along much.

All that was exacerbated, of course, by the interviews the man had given, including several big-name ones that mentioned you by name on multiple occasions. Never in a good light, needless to say. You'd given as good as you got, of course, and the media loved it. By the time the two of you were just slinging mud back and forth, you'd just given up and stopped responding.

That was eight years ago - and you hadn't spoken to the man since. Tempers had cooled, but not by much.

"Ah, Stark," Reed said with feigned surprise, glancing momentarily to the blond woman by his side - you distantly recognized her, though you'd neglected to look up her name. "You're still living on blood money, I hear. How is that working out for you?" He looked you over. "I heard it got you in trouble over that."

"What got me in trouble was being too successful," you ground out, narrowing your eyes as familiar anger surged back, and indignation. You could take a lot from people - but a few got under your skin without effort. "What about you, Reed? Last I heard, you were hunting down yet another research grant, since your investors keeps bailing on you. Wonder why that is?" You paused dramatically. "Actually - what have you accomplished recently?"

"Plenty." Reed rolled his eyes. "Knowing you, you've kept track of every publication I put out anyway. So you're well ware that the first test flight's due in three months -"

"Ah. Is that a test flight for the thrice-cancelled-and-revived spaceplane you were working on in college?" You smiled thinly at his grimace. "My, this time you might actually finish it! Perhaps you'll finally live up to that nickname of yours - what did you go by again?" You glanced to Pepper, who looked rather torn between amusement and horror. "Mister Fantastic, was it? You were rather full of yourself. I doubt that's changed."

"Yes, I was talking about the spaceplane," Reed said simply, his expression thunderous, and you couldn't help feeling a gleeful at that admission of annoyance. "My invention will be on the cover of every magazine - unlike your fancy bombs, Stark. Only the military is enamored with your penchant for horrific violence." He shook his head slowly. "Such a waste of investment…"

"I'm sure that's what the people cured of polio said," you argued, and though you felt Pepper tug on your hand, you couldn't disengage now. Not when Reed was right there, a conveniently punchable face that was very blase about bring up painful topics at the best of times. "Remember, Richards - military funding was what got Stark Industries so close to eradicating that disease."

"You had no hand in that," Richards objected easily - because of course he did. He would not back down, and neither would you. "That's all someone else's work. You just supplied the grant money that you seem to deplore so much."

You snorted. "Do you say that to Bill Gates, too? Anyway, I made that money with my own work. While you have been away resurrecting doomed projects, I've been busy. You've been at this space thing for two years now - and you're still months from launch. Give me free reign over the kind of funding you somehow have control over, and I'd do it in a week."

"Reed." The blonde at his side grimaced. "Should you really be doing this in -"

"A week, huh?" Reed asked disbelievingly, waving her aside. "I'd like to see you try. Ah, I get it - it'd be a missile, no doubt."

You grinned victoriously at that. "Newsflash, genius - rockets are glorified missiles. Or don't you remember how the Redstone got started? Those crafty Germans..."

"You and your missiles. That explains your enthusiasm at least," Reed said. "And I'm sure you'll pay for that with your blood money too. Kill a few people to save a few people, is that how it goes in your world?" He shook his head. "I guess a lack of conscience must be freeing."

"It's called working smart, Reed. You should try it."

Reed groaned. "For someone so happy to play up his intelligence, you keep forgetting we have ways to compare such a thing. Remember?" His eyes gleamed with merriment. "What were those IQ results again, Susan?"

You scoffed. "IQ is not an accurate measurement of intelligence - I thought you'd be smarter than that," you stated strongly. "Besides, it was only a few points difference."

He laughed at that. "You say that now, Tony. You weren't so careful before we had the test, were you? 'I swear, I'm smarter than you - and I'll demonstrate it!' Please."

"Intelligence is nothing if it's not used for practical purposes," you muttered. "And it hardly matters, anyway. Dr. Pym is smarter than either of us."

Reed blinked. "Oh my, Stark! You put yourself somewhere else than number 1? Are you feeling alright?"

"Hardly. I am, after all, in your presence." You shuddered. "I'm surprised nobody's gagging."

There was a tense silence.

"...They really are like a bickering old couple," you heard someone mutter from the side, and something like revulsion flashed across Reed's face, doubtlessly mirrored with your own. "They're so alike…"

"We are not," you said, echoed in the same breath by Reed.

The reporter kid you'd seen before took a picture right then.

Well, you'd walked right into that one.

"I see what you meant about him being overbearing," Pepper commented wryly after Reed finally wandered off with his girlfriend - or was she his wife? "I take it that you two have a - history, then. I could barely get in a word edgewise..."

You sighed, rubbing your forehead tiredly. "Let's seriously not get into that," you said shortly. "With that odious nonsense out of the way, maybe I can get a drink around here." You pretended to study the people around you for a moment, and grinned. "So, I can see that you're impatient, maybe a bit miffed with me. Planning on ditching me for better company?"

"Tony!" Pepper protested, coloring. "I was just thinking…" She gestured to the side of the plaza, where a small group of women had gathered together. "I thought I saw Estelle over there, and it's been nearly a year -"

You nodded in surprise, vaguely recalling meeting a woman by that name before, though you had no idea who she'd been with. Judging from Pepper's expression, she wasn't one of your conquests, at least. "I take it you want to have girl talk or whatever?"

She bit her lip nervously.

"I know you promised to look out for me- but I'm not gonna get in trouble in the middle of a fancy gala. I haven't even had a drink yet!" You gestured. "Go for it - I've got people to see, anyway."

Pepper blinked, and then her expression twisted into something all too familiar, and fairly terrifying. It wasn't hard to puzzle out why that was.

"I'm not gonna find that woman - I swear," you added quickly, and though your secretary didn't move an inch, something of the annoyance in her expression subsided."I thought I'd go thank Dr. Pym for the invite, for courtesy's sake - hey, I can do courtesy! Besides, it's not like you care about half the stuff I would talk about, anyway."

Pepper sighed to herself. "...Fine. We'll meet up in a bit," she conceded. "Don't wander off."

"Now, would I ever?"

She just rolled her eyes as she turned away.

In truth, you weren't bothered by Pepper's departure, since you knew she'd be keeping a close eye on you regardless. More than likely, she'd been looking for a reason to force you to socialize - something you tended to be good at, but usually only with people that hadn't really come to know you. She knew the disposition of these people around you as well as you did, and that was troubling. Your interactions with Reed might be fiery and loud, but they were not the dismissive coldness of so many of his colleagues.

It was an uncomfortable realization, especially after your return from Afghanistan, that your work with the military was something people actually used to judge your worth. There were a lot of scientists and engineers at the conference, working in every discipline known to man, but it seemed like a lot of them shared a very similar system of values. By using your talents to design bombs and mines, it was like you'd broken some unspoken rule. Unintentionally (or uncaringly) you'd tainted whatever respect you might have otherwise gotten from many.

You really had to get around to doing something about that.

The uneasy feeling in your gut refused to go away as you considered how much Stark Industries had become an enabling factor for an arms race that showed no signs of stopping. There was no telling how much of the middle-eastern mess was catalyzed by the presence of your gear, and that was no doubt the reason why Reed harped on about it.

The worst thing was, you could see his viewpoint, now, one that you'd largely ignored before. You were still appalled at your own use of Pyre - and your bombs had killed far, far more people. Either you had to accept the losses that came with your creations - or you would have to stop supplying them. Either way, something had to give.

"Deep thoughts, eh?" a young voice inquired from besides you, and you jerked in surprise. The boy was barely any shorter than you were, but his wiry build made him seem rather smaller, and the neatly combed brown hair was doing its best attempt at breaking free of its mold. In the boy's hands, a gleaming camera seemed poised to take a shot at any moment.

"I think everyone around here has those," you replied after a moment, smiling slightly as you recognized the photographer from before. "It is that kind of conference, you know."

The reporter raised an eyebrow. "Really?! I hadn't noticed." He glanced aside curiously, seemingly utterly unimpressed by your identity, which was a small blessing. "So - you were just staring into nothing, then? I suppose that stint in the desert must have addled you properly!"

The statement was made in such an utterly irreverent tone that it shocked a laugh out of you, and judging from the boy's mischievous smile, that was the intent. "Heh. I was just rethinking my life - no biggie," you said after a moment, shaking your head as you. "You're direct, even for the paparazzi. Sheesh!"

"I've heard you're a pretty casual person, so..." the boy said easily, shrugging. "I didn't think you would be here, actually. I spoke to Richards earlier, and he seemed convinced you'd skip out. Said you did that every year."

You scoffed. "Well, the less said about that, the better, I think."

"Well, the Afghanistan thing made me think he was right," he added after a while. "The one time you come to one of these boring meeting things, it's when you're fresh out of the hospital?" He raised an eyebrow curiously. "Gotta be a story behind that."

"...I was coerced," you declared. "Anyway, if my doctor reads about this whole shindig in tomorrow's paper, he'd have words with me - so just claim I was passing by, alright?" You narrowed your eyes, gesturing the boy along as you bypassed a small group of fancy-dressed architects. "Tell you what - you seem like the rare breed of newsman that hasn't sold their soul to the devil yet. How about I introduce you to some friends?"

"Really?" The reporter fumbled with his camera for a moment, and smiled warmly. "I would appreciate that, actually!"

"Cool. What paper are you with? The Las Vegas Sun?"

The boy hesitated. "Um, no, actually. I'm here on behalf of the Daily Bugle." He looked away, shifty-eyed. "I still don't know who's paying for all this, honestly." He shook his head in amusement. "I'm under the impression that Jonah forgot which state Vegas was in when he sent me on this trip. I really hope he doesn't dock it from my pay..."

"Wait, you're from New York?" Tony asked, mystified. "Your job has perks, if you can just fly across the country for some boring egghead convention. Not bad!" You smirked mischievously as you mock-whispered: "My job gets me private jets, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

The boy scoffed. "Considering who I work for, I like to think of these little outings as society's way of paying me back."

"He sounds like a piece of work." You studied the boy for a moment, realizing that you had no idea who he actually was. "So… Can I get a name?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Oh! I'm Peter. Peter Parker. Figured the Press pass would give that away, actually." He fumbled with the little white square on his shirt that you hadn't even bothered to read. "I know who you are, obviously. Heard a lot about you."

"Nothing good, I hope?" you inquired, giving a quick wave to some of the people you pass by as you headed towards the door into the main hall, with Peter dogging your every step. "Don't answer that question - I've seen the footage plastered across the television. One of these days the media will get tired of covering all my bad days, I hope..."

Peter snorted. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Ever since the Lizard thing, Jonah's been hounding the same exact topic, and it's been exhausting…"

"The lizard thing?" You repeated curiously. You vaguely remembered reading about some incident in the Big Apple that featured a big lizard, though you hadn't paid much attention at the time. Honestly, you'd been pretty busy, and it had all sounded rather surreal and unbelievable. "What was that about, anyway?"

"Ah - stuff." The boy grimaced momentarily. "There were some disgruntled employees of a genetics company involved, and a few people in costumes - you know, crazy stuff like that. Most of the press just shrugged and moved on when nobody could find details. The Bugle's special, though. It's been all about Spider-man this, Spider-man that. Jameson doesn't really need details - he'll come up with those on his own."

"Ah!" you declared. "Spider-man! Right - I remember seeing that. Some ridiculous guy flinging himself off buildings in his multicolored pajamas, swinging by wires." You nodded sagely. "That's crazy, alright - though I was kinda impressed by the acrobatics I caught on Youtube."

"Yeah…" Peter nodded vaguely, looking away. "I've photographed the guy a bunch of times, beating up muggers and the like - seems like he means well. Besides, the city could use a little color after the last few years - it hasn't always been pretty." He frowned as he looked at his camera. "Hey - not that talking isn't nice, but I should be making some pictures, or I'll never get any cash at all."

You snorted. "Eh, just point anywhere, and odds are you catch at least one person doing something embarrassing. And I could give you my winning smile. How about the classic 'Striding towards the future' stance?" You raised one hand, and stared into the sky. "How do I look? Properly dashing?"

"Sort of pale, actually," Peter opined after a few quick shots. "I can touch that up, though…"

You rubbed your cheeks. "Pale, huh? Well, I am supposed to be in bed," you observed dryly. "When my doctor listed all the things I shouldn't do, I intentionally forgot to listen."

"Anti-authoritarian much?" The boy smiled knowingly.

"Sure. You're, what, sixteen? You should know what that's like," you responded. "When I was your age, unless I was attending some overpriced course at one school or another, I used to sneak out constantly. I had a motorcycle stashed away, and I'd go on lengthy and thoroughly illegal road trips. I was only ever caught once…" You thought back fondly to those days, especially the look on your father's face when he'd found out you'd taken his Harley. "I had this beautiful blonde with me, too - and man, could she kiss."

"Blondes? I can see that," Peter said. "Though I'm a redhead fan as well."

You shrugged. "Who isn't?"

The subsequent fist bump seemed utterly natural.

Taking along a reporter turned out be a surprisingly easy way to get attention - you finally ran into some familiar faces when you passed through the doors into the gaudy interior of the hall, including some that could stand speaking to you. Elon had been more than willing to pose for a snapshot or two, and even Pepper got a few glamorous pictures in, even if she seemed utterly confused about Peter's presence, or the sarcastic quips that you exchanged with him.

"I have a feeling that you'll want to keep an eye out for the people in this room," you said as an aside to Peter. "In a few years, these are gonna be the greats - the Nobel prize winners, the faces on television. Aside from Reed, of course. Odds are he'll be working for me." You smirked. "That'd be amusing."

"I suppose you count yourself among the greats?" Peter muttered. "Well, you're not lacking in the ego department, I guess." The boy ducked away with surprising grace as a server passed by with a plate of drinks. You snatched a rather tasty-looking wine from the platter and moved on without even looking back.

You could have said yes to Peter's question - by most metrics, you were highly successful, even if you never got quite the recognition that your father did. Not up until this point, anyway. But whereas dear old dad had gotten rich off the weapons and bombs that had made the company big, moving away from the energy-production business he'd started with, you were heading in the opposite direction. If you were successful in reinvigorating the arc reactor's potential - if you could turn the company around - would the next visit to a conference be different? Would you be seen as a worthy successor, then?

"...Hm. My deep thoughts are being annoying today," you said distractedly. "And I'm not one of the 'greats' - not by my own estimation, anyway. I'm pretty exacting with that kind of thing, so maybe when I figure out how to be responsible, it'll count."

Peter smirked. "That seems like a good plan."

"It's why I'm here, sort of," you said. "I'm working on something big - and I hoped to get some advice from the man who invited me here, Dr. Pym. I've been dabbling in the field of miniaturization, and he is said to be one of the experts." You paused, frowning. "I would probably just bore you with my technical talk, though. Pepper's been my secretary for years and I still catch her nodding off when I'm explaining something complicated."

"Oh, that's fine," Peter said without a hitch. "I've got some engineering experience myself - I could probably keep up for a while." He scratched his chin and sighed. "One of these days, I'll have enough time to actually do half the things I want to, you know? Maybe I'll have to invent a time-machine first..."

"Or you could buy a calendar," you said blandly. "Tends to work for time management."

"Heh. Me, buying things? Do I look like I'm made of money?" Peter rolled his eyes dramatically. "Seriously, though. The last time I had any cash to burn, I was forced to spend it on a sewing kit of all things. I've already gone through most of my savings, and getting new clothes is just…" He shook his head. "The whole functional poverty thing is probably so far out of your world, though..."

You studied the boy for a moment, curious. "The last time I had money to spend, I might have bought four cars, so you have a point," you admitted ruefully. "So, I'm guessing this whole reporter gig..."

"It's purely for the cash," Peter agreed. "Though I can make a mean picture."

"That explains why you still have a soul, at least," you concluded with a sage-like nod. "Ever thought about applying for a scholarship?"

"Yeah, right. A poor kid from the suburbs who can't keep a steady job except part-time photographer for a screaming jackass of a boss?" Peter asked dubiously. "Don't tell him I said that, or I won't even have that!"

Before you could reply, the missing Dr. Pym finally appeared, stumbling out of a hallway to the side of you with a limp. He was a rather unassuming figure, wearing an off-yellow jacket that had seen better days, and he kept glancing over his shoulder. You stalked over with big steps before he could vanish in the crowd, and Peter followed in your wake.

"Dr. Pym - it's been a long time!"

Pym spun around with a startled look, and stared at you for a long moment with an expression that seemed to border on outright fear. You couldn't help cringing back from those piercing eyes, and even though you managed to stop yourself before it was too overt, Peter noticed. He lowered his camera, forgotten, as his gaze studied Pym and you, far sharper than you could have expected.

The look in Pym's eyes looked terribly much like Yinsen's when he had been moments away from dying, just as you'd pulled him into the safety of the container. The aghast expression vanished beneath a pleased smile soon after, but you'd seen terror, there. You weren't sure what to make of what you'd seen - but it was very bad.

"Ah, it's you, Dr. Stark," the man stated at last, his voice steady. Forcefully so, you suspected.

And did he just call you Doctor Stark? Technically correct, but you were pretty sure your MIT professors would balk at such a description. You had never been very respectful to them. "You know that nobody calls me that," you chided, but you couldn't put much humor into things.

"Call me Hank, then - please," Pym replied, shaking your hand, and you noted he was sweating. His hand trembled even as he pulled it back, and you knew you'd seen wasn't until you noticed the drops of blood on the man's neck, though, that your unease turned into shivers. It could well be due to your recent experience in Afghanistan, but a bad, bad feeling settled under your skin.

You felt a strange prickling sensation skitter across your side, and you took a shuddering breath as you recognized a memory of recent pain. It was the feeling of Pyre on your skin, signaling the creeping terror of impending death - the last time you'd felt that, you'd almost been a goner. You were in no hurry to give creepy skeleton lady from your nightmares what she wanted, though, and forced yourself to ignore it, to talk past that eerie feeling.

"Is everything alright, Hank?" you asked in a whisper, glancing from Peter's frown to the hallway that the Doctor had just come from - there was nobody there, aside from a few guests studying the ugly paintings on the walls. "You look - worse than I feel, actually."

The man seemed to hesitate for a long moment, his smile faltering, and then he shuddered. The false cheer evaporated. "You always were an observant one, Tony." Pym stared at his feet. "It's - I think someone's been toying with me, to be honest. I don't know what else explains…" He looked behind him, shivering, and he touched his neck, smudging the last few drops that were still there. You could see a hair-thin line across his skin, a cut just shallow enough not to be too obvious.

"Someone's after you, then?" you asked immediately, thinking back to the people that had taken you prisoner, killing everyone around just to get to you. The thought of a repeat performance ignited something like rage in the pit of your stomach. "Someone here for you? At the conference?"

Pym nodded slowly, hesitating with his words. "I think so. It's like someone's behind me all the time, sneaking up when I'm not paying attention…" He shook his head haltingly. "I don't know why anyone would be interested in me. Unless it's to - kidnap me or something." He looked at you, grimacing. "That has crossed my mind after I heard what happened to you. But I might just be paranoid."

"Welcome to the club," you muttered, silently considering what to do next. You'd intended to discuss the arc reactor, and you'd brought the old one along as a demonstration article, but it was clear that Pym was in no mood for any of that. You weren't exactly enthused by the realization that your own paranoia was mirrored by someone else's, either. The ghostly fingers of the Pyre still tickled at your side, and they felt like a warning.

"Um, guys?" Peter said slowly as he stepped closer He seemed indecisive about something. "Look - I don't know what you two are whispering about, but I think something's not right…"

Pym faltered at that. "You too?"

Peter shivered, looking over the crowds uncertainly. "Hey, I don't know - it's just a feeling I've got. Something bad's going on. I'm thinking - we should probably get out of here."

Well, that made three votes for instant departure, then. You could almost see the grinning skull of Death as you closed your eyes. This was no time for hesitation, you realized. If these forewarnings weren't ill omens, you didn't know what would be. You were sure that if you did nothing, right now, you were going to die - and probably a lot of other people too.

Time to get to work.

"So, did anyone bring a gun?"