Arc 2 - External & Internal Affairs (7 - 8)

In retrospect, you could have predicted that a sudden announcement moving across state lines, much less clear across the entire country, would be mildly upsetting to Pepper. Especially since your timeline basically meant she should've been packing the day before. You'd attempted some damage control after she'd stormed out in a huff, but between the stress of the last few weeks and your rather impromptu decision to change pretty much everything about your life, she'd bought none of it.

She had a point, in a way, when she told you point-blank that you'd put company and tinkering before your personal safety and dealing with the people who actually tolerated you. Your token effort to get out more had been promptly smacked down by Deadpool, and you hadn't really tried again since that happened, for obvious reasons. It didn't bother you much, of course, but it was clear that Pepper though there was something wrong with you. You were fine. Honest.

Besides, focusing on minutiae wasn't really on your mind, since you were far too invested in the latest ideas that had popped into your head, spin-offs from the Arc Reactor and Repulsor technologies that crowded out everything else. Large-scale developments and changing the world, seemed far more relevant than dealing with the press or other people, much less the grand mess that S.H.I.E.L.D. and superhuman assassins promised to be. You'd brought yourself back to the mindset of the engineer, rather than a warmonger or worse, and that was a positive change, right?

After all, nightmares faded in time - but so did dreams, if you didn't write them down in time. And right now, you were overflowing with good ideas, and for the first time in a decade, they were new ones. Other things could wait for this..

You descended the long stairs down into the basement with brand new ideas mulling around in your head, ones that had spawned on the way down. Not that you could put them into practice, yet - the Garage had been stripped of a lot of essentials, and looked rather bare. Most things had been packed and shipped to New York already, though Jarvis' computer core would follow last. A modified version of the industrial-style arc reactor would keep him running instead of the grid, in order to avoid another backup affair so soon after the last one - the A.I. would hardly appreciate being locked into his head for ages, and turning him off entirely just seemed rude.

"Jarvis, how's that decryption going?" you asked lightly as you dropped into a comfy chair, glancing over the drawings of your suit that were spread out across one of the last tables that had been left behind. The armor was still in shambles, but you were already planning on churning out an improved model that included the finished protective lattice that had saved your bacon against Nuke. "I haven't heard you mention it in hours…" you added, glancing up to the screen. "Stuck, buddy?"

"I am having some trouble accessing the protected data, sir," Jarvis agreed apologetically. "The encryption algorithm is not on file, and it resists my attempts at brute-forcing," he added neutrally. "It is possible that the code is adapting to my experimental probing in an evolutionary sense, though that is merely a - hunch, as you would say."

"A hunch, huh?" You frowned. "The algorithm's from the freaking sixties, Jarvis. Unless you're arguing that someone invented artificial intelligence in the days of tape recorders and vacuum tubes, I really doubt it's anything more than a complicated cipher." You rubbed your forehead tiredly. "But you know best, I suppose. Obi wasn't kidding around when he said the encryption was good, huh?"

"Indeed. This is the longest I have ever spent on breaking any encryption system, sir. I am approximately four times as efficient due to my recent upgrade, but the additional processing speed makes no difference. It is possible decryption will take much longer than anticipated or initially calculated."

You nodded distractedly, sipping from a cup of Jarvis-made goop with a grimace. Obi's data stick was a loose end you wanted to resolve soon, particularly now that the old man was in the hospital, or the closest thing that S.H.I.E.L.D. had, in a coma that could last for months, if not forever. He wasn't dead, but he was out of the picture - and without his voice on the Board of Directors, you were suddenly outnumbered. Even with your army of lawyers, it would be a nightmare to overrule the others if they decided to do something problematic. You were fairly friendly with the lot, now - but your newest proposal was bold enough that it might ruffle a few of them. You could have used your old mentor's help.

Depending on how much they had heard about the affair that led to Obi's current state, the Board could actually be aware of the events at the docks to some degree. If they did, they could know about the knock-off Arc Reactor design that showed up there, and the potential PR disaster that could follow if such information became publicly known. Putting a product on the market that was connected to violent nuclear terrorism on U.S. soil would be - well, catastrophic was a small word for it. That had to be, of course, exactly what Nuke had been going for. Or the person who hired him.

That was what puzzled you the most - the motive behind all of this. The only thing that made a vague sort of sense was the possibility of a personal vendetta against you. You'd certainly insulted enough people in your day. But who would be audacious enough to steal from the company or hire superhuman threats to kidnap Obi? Who cared enough to try and sabotage your accomplishments before they'd even gone public?

"Sir? Are you feeling alright?" Jarvis spoke up.

You blinked, glancing up at the screen in confusion. "Yes, Jarvis? What is it?"

Jarvis seemed to pause for a long moment. "You have been staring at a wall for nearly ten minutes, sir," he said at last. "You told me to warn you if that happened, you recall."

Right. Yeah. You had done that at some point.

"Thank you," you murmured. You'd been spacing out more than you cared to admit in recent weeks, obsessing over things to the detriment of everything else. You got to your feet, stretching slightly to get a little bit of energy back as you finished your drink which had long since gotten thick and disgusting. Not much difference to the taste, really. "It's good that you called me, anyway. I should get back to doing some work. The suit's still in bits and pieces, and we still have the tools around for fixing some of that, I think…" You frowned. "What do you reckon about coloring the whole thing, Jarvis? Silver's kind of boring, isn't it? How about gold? Maybe red?"

There was no answer, but before long you were back to drawing out schematics, and it really didn't matter anymore. Your thought on the people threatening you slipped away as if they'd never been.

You were fine. Honest.

"So, do you have some idea on how you'll approach this?" Rhodey asked from besides you, looking over the schematics you'd stuffed into your suitcase with some puzzlement. "None of this seems to be particularly… familiar. This one could be a missile, but…" He frowned. "What are you scheming, Tony?"

"Just trust me," you said mildly. "If there's one thing I know how to do, it's playing a crowd. The Board's already got dollar signs for eyes after the Arc Reactor, I really don't have to worry as much as you think. Between the plans here, and the arrangements I made with a few old friends, they'll be eating out of my hand."

"I suppose you know your game." Rhodey sighed, nodding. "You've recovered from the affair in the harbor, then? It's pretty remarkable, actually. S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed rather worried about your, um, physical and mental recovery. That's what they told me, anyway."

You scoffed as you leaned against the walkway supports, looking out over the open hall below, where the Arc Reactor glowed brightly. "Rhodey, I walked out of there. A good night's rest and a few bottles of disgusting shakes was all it took. Besides, I was behind steel, lead, and a reinforced grid of specially resistant polymers when I was hit. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s just overreacting."

"That takes care of the physical, at least," Rhodey observed, frowning. "I've spoken to Pepper, Tony. She's worried about you, still. She was sure you'd get out of your shell after last month's self-imposed exile to the basement, but instead… Well, you've gone and designed a new hole in the ground somewhere else. She thinks you're fleeing responsibility - and I think she might be right. The company's going to notice."

"Sheesh, I'm not fleeing," you said, aghast. "I am starting a new company, Rhodey!That's something that needs hands-on work and personal input! I am moving to one of the biggest cities in the world, getting back onto ground level like the old days, building awesome things. How is that freaking exile?" You threw up your hands in annoyance. "Honestly, what do you people want? I use my sick leave responsibly, and you look at me funny. I save a life - and I'm endangering myself. I decide to change something in my life for the better, and you think I've gone crazy! Can I do nothing right?"

"...Your track record isn't great," Rhodey confirmed with a small grin. "Though I admit, it's nice to see you speak up for yourself. You've been a bit stand-offish."

"I've just been preoccupied," you muttered, sighing as you leaned over the railing, looking down at the Arc Reactor. It was a functional example of the type that had gone into production a day before - the first one would roll out the next day to power Jarvis on his long trip east. Production wouldn't ramp up until some kind of large-scale production was necessary beyond Stark Industries itself, but at least the basics were there. You intended to make the first proper press conference shortly after you got settled in at the new lab.

"With what, exactly? All of this is coming rather out of the blue," Rhodey observed.

"...I've got plenty of ideas rattling around in my head," you said mildly. "But I feel like I'd never get even half of them done here. I've felt that way for a while, but the last weeks just underlined it. This isn't about the Vegas stuff, or the harbor - this is about what I want to do, going forward. Weapons - they've lost their shine. I think back to Afghanistan, and all I feel is filthy. They were using Stark weapons, and all I could think of in return was making some new ones to combat them. Perpetuating the cycle, if you will. I want out."

"A moral crisis? You?"

You looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Look, if I stay here, I'd just slip back into bad habits. The company would pressure me to come up with some new missile, or bomb, and I'd relent because I didn't have anything better to do - and then everything returns to how it was. The new company's a way out of that. It probably means I'll have to prove myself again - but I've done that before. Maybe I'm just looking for that challenge."

Rhodey smiled slightly. "Well, at least you've thought about it. You are aware I won't be following you, right? I'm the military liaison of the company - I've got a job. If you move to New York, you won't see me nearly as much, since I rather doubt the military will be involved…"

"Oh, come off it," you replied lightly. "You can just jetpack over in your spare time, can't you? When I finish that thing. Which I will, promise." You nodded. "Besides, the military's still going to run into trouble with all the stuff that's already out there - and I designed a lot of it. I have feeling you won't be very far."

"And Pepper will be there, in any case," Rhodey said. "That's a good thing."

"I don't know if she agrees with that," you muttered.

Rhodey chuckled under his breath. "You'd be surprised, Tony. She'd never admit it, of course, but I think she was ready for a change of venue as much as you…" He nudged you on. "Now, get in there, before you're not just fashionably late, but horribly late. Good luck."

You nodded, and couldn't suppress a smile as you walked into the meeting room, ready to face the Board. If there was one person you could always rely on, it would have to be Rhodey.

"Hello again, miscellaneous important people," you said lightly as the discussion among the Board members ceased. They weren't surprised to see you, of course, but it was clear they hadn't expected you to sit down at the head of the table, right where Obi would usually be. "Well, the seat's a little wide for me, but I suppose we can excuse that," you joked.

"Mr. Stark…" your neighbor muttered irritably, narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable. If you mean in terms of, y'know, activities - well, you should know," you argued snappily, grinning. "All of you have read my various reports over the last weeks, I'm sure - progress reports on my various projects, in keeping with company protocol, all sorts of meaningless but evidently vital notifications. I've been on my best behavior, I think." You leaned back slightly. "Which means you know exactly why I am here today."

"This proposal for a branch company?" the woman to your other side said in disbelief. "You were serious about that?"

"As a heart attack - which is fitting in my case," you mumbled, tapping the Arc Reactor in your chest distractedly. "In case you haven't noticed, I've been building the basis for my little experiment for a while now. I hadn't really considered the details yet beyond a vague concept, but I've been building the road. The Arc Reactor was the obvious part of that; a functional non-weaponized product which undoubtedly functions as advertised. Acquiring a failing experimental laboratory and surrounding buildings - well, that was slipped into last Wednesday's minor expenses, and nobody protested it at all. Pepper did most of the rest."

"Mr. Stark - you can't start a new company with Stark Industries money without consulting us," Mr. Armond, a long-time member of the Board, stated vehemently. "We have rights!"

"Yeah, I know. You'll notice that none of the money spent so far has been for anything explicitly related to my idea," you said easily, raising an eyebrow. "Those sections which I would have needed permission for, I paid out of my own pocket. Which, I remind you, is hardly the concern of the company. The rest would have to come from the SI pot - but I think you will give it to me after we're done here."

"You presume much," Armond noted darkly. "And how much would you demand, then, for this fool's venture?"

"As much as it takes," you announced mildly, folding your hands together. "If any of you had actually studied last night's memo, you would have found that I explained myself quite thoroughly in there. I listed the likely investment required for my concept, a reasonable expectation of return, the companies that have already signed up for provisional deals. All of that. Technical details. They're attractive as it stands - with the Arc Reactor alone, you're already looking at a significant profit from the get-go, and everything else would just be a bonus."

Sally McIntyre, a rather prim-looking woman with a perpetual, crossed her arms and scowled at you. "SI already has the rights for this reactor, Mr. Stark. It hardly seems relevant to mention that now…"

"I write weekly reports for the first time in eight years, and none of you read them?" you asked with a knowing smile. "Well, suffice to say the Arc Reactor is mine. If you recall, I designed the enhanced version that's running downstairs, and the plans for it haven't been shared with the company at all. My personal AI, Jarvis, is responsible for overseeing production and arranges the details with the local machinery. In fact, no human being has knowledge of everything at any point during production, except for me." You smirked. "Basically, the design is on loan to Stark Industries. There's no contract as yet. You aren't actually losing any money on it, but neither are you making any - not until I let you. And I'm willing to let you keep a part of the money made from the commercial version, if you let me try my little experiment."

"Mr. Stark -" Armand spat, his chair screeching as he rose. "That is not how a business works, and II cannot tolerate this childish behavior! You come to us with this revolutionary reactor, to the point of sending specific details and demonstrating a prototype, but now you want to crawl back from what you've promised?" He slammed his hand down on the table. "Why are you attempting to use your own idea as a hostage against your own company?"

You snorted. "I don't much like your accusations," you said slowly. "I'm not threatening here, I'm offering. The only thing you'd miss out on if you said no, would be some extra profit. You aren't getting any cash from the Arc Reactor now, so it's hardly money lost." You tapped your chest. "This tech remains my own, because I intend to sell it without the massive stigma that Stark Industries would attach to it. I'm fine with putting my name on it - but if I'm going to make humanitarian products, it'll be divorced from the weapons entirely. You know how the artificial legs went, a few years ago - for all their quality, people were hesitant to pay into an industry they hated. We can't afford a retread."

"And you believe you can change public perception by just renaming the company?" a Board member asked with a sneer of disbelief. "That has never worked, and it cannot work. Your name will be connected to anything you do, no matter what."

You nodded. "I know that. But I specifically mentioned a new company, did I not?" You added. "Until now, Stark Industries has done only one thing well - make weapons and fighter planes. That's great for providing Uncle Sam with the firepower to fight the Nazis or Commies, as my dad did, or to smoke out some terrorists and whatever other freedom-haters we have today. What has that really done for the world, though, and for our reputation?"

The silence lasted for a long time. Good. "You know what this company has done? It's escalated things, turned my name into a synonym for warmonger. I was attacked with my own weapons, kept among my missiles by the people our boys are fighting. That says a lot." You spread out a handful of plans onto the table from your suitcase. "I can't play into the enemy's hand like that any longer, so I want to expand the company's reach beyond just weapons, and I want to do in a meaningfully separate way. Dad was in charge during the space race, and we beat the Ruskies at that - but where did that project go afterwards? Nowhere. Instead, all the money went into bigger, better missiles. War droned out everything else." You smirked. "Droned. Heh."

"And you believe this Arc Reactor of yours can be some kind of miracle product?" Armond asked skeptically. "Mr. Stark, we are all appreciative of your engineering feats, but surely -"

You waved him off. "No, listen, that's not the point. We have been mass-producing destruction since the 80's, and it hasn't gotten us anywhere new. There's nothing wrong with supplying the army, of course, but it's not exactly revolutionary, is it?" You leaned back, sighing. "Someone asked me what I thought of my nickname - the Merchant of Death - and I didn't think much of it at the time. Now, I've begun to think differently. In fact, I believe the name Stark can mean more than selling death. My father did amazing work when he didn't have to stick to the preconceived ideas; Captain America comes to mind, or his prototype cars, the whole nine yards. I can do the same. In fact, I can do better."

"Mr. Stark -"

"Let me finish," you snapped, grasping a blueprint and holding it up. "I'll let you study all these in a minute. They're extensive plans for a cheap, reusable space plane, one that could reach orbit with enough cargo to be competitive on the market - and it runs on technology I could reasonably produce within a few months. It's more than enough to scoop absolutely everyone else. I have half a dozen other designs for various high-tech projects that could revolutionize minor industries - ideal for a small company like I'm proposing. I want to start with the expensive but specialized fields, and work outwards from there." You nodded at Armond, who was staring. "You know that I have designed weapons that could level mountain ranges, but that is nothing compared to what I can do without constraints to my creativity. I finished the Arc Reactor in a cave. Now imagine it better, cleaner, cheaper. Affordable energy for the world is just the tip of the iceberg. And everything that works will fuel more discoveries, allowing SI to grow into something better. Stark Transcendent is an opportunity."

You smiled to yourself as some of the plans were passed from hand to hand around the table, and the speculative looks you received from some of the Board members. You knew how they'd vote, in the end - the relatively small amount of money you'd requested would tide you over just fine, and would not be a large enough risk to skip out on potential millions. If there was one thing that enticed these people, it had to be potential returns.

"Stark 'Transcendent' would be a think tank," Armand observed. "Isn't that right?"

"In a sense," you agreed. "I've hired a dozen people already, mostly veterans from the defunct Horizon Labs, and I'm looking at a rather brilliant acquaintance of mine as a team leader, at least at first. I suspect that we can have a few interesting projects ready for display within a month or two, with the first sales shortly thereafter."

"You've been hiring without getting permission?" Sally asked in surprise. "With what money?"

"Are you going to deny me funding?" you asked rhetorically, rolling your eyes. "If the project flounders and fails, then all you've lost is a little R&D money - and you know you have years of good stuff still in storage to tide you over. If it succeeds… Well, forty years ago we put a man on the Moon," you commented with a fiery gaze. "Four years from now, I could put a man on Titan. Give me the opportunity to try, and I'll get you a zero-emissions car, or the most advanced computers in the world. I want to change the fate of the planet - and I'd like your support in doing so. I intend to make Stark Transcendent a new symbol. One that stands for the future. Don't get stuck in the past."

The silence was palpable after your last words, but there was no doubt who would win, today.

You'd never liked drawing much, in all honesty. You could pull it off easily enough, of course, since you'd spent your formative years studying at some of the most prestigious schools money could pay for. That didn't mean it was particularly enjoyable - just obligatory. It was no wonder that you'd programmed something more entertaining than a pen and paper as soon as you had the know-how to do so, and Jarvis was plenty capable of taking a lot of the boring work out of your hands entirely.

That said, when you were working on something entirely new, especially with limited means, you liked to slip out the pencil and go to town anyway. Maybe it was a sort of Stockholm syndrome from the many, many projects you'd had to put down on paper, maybe it was just a vague sort of nostalgia to the days when computers were clunky and slow, and Jarvis was only a theoretical concept. Or maybe, and that was the likeliest explanation, you styled yourself Wernher von Braun and enjoyed the thought of treading those well-trod paths for a while.

Perhaps the comparison was faulty - but you couldn't help think of all the missiles you'd built over the years, and not think of Tom Lehrer crooning "Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down? 'That's not my department', says Wernher von Braun.' At least, you thought glumly, you'd never been a Nazi. There, that was some stellar praise right there.

You'd spoken to the current forerunners of commercial spaceflight, the startups and initiatives that had filled the lacuna left by dwindling NASA funding and their search for more affordable solutions. You'd seen Elon just weeks before, in Vegas, and Branson tended to be at just about every high-tech conference where they had a well-stocked bar. Some of the other names were less familiar, but you'd meet them soon enough - a few of them would be around in the middle of the week to look over your proposal. And to gawk at the Repulsor, of course.

You were tempted to invite Reed over, just to see the look on his face - but that could wait until the first flights. It would be all the sweeter if you could beat him into space, anyway.

All that meant, of course, that you'd have to show something to the various interested parties that would wander over by the middle of the week, and you'd hardly be satisfied with anything less than awe. As tempting as it was to just shove a prospective moonlanding in their face, it would be far more credible and intriguing to lay out a timetable for more generally applicable concepts - like a satellite that could reach orbit without a rocket. You'd already been drawing some of the repulsor designs that could accommodate a slow but steady climb to orbital velocity, and it would certainly be a paradigm shift from anything that had been tried before.

Other plans, currently unfinished, were considerably loftier in scope, even if they'd need some good old rocket scientists and engineers to figure out the details; you knew a lot, but you weren't exactly up to date on space hardware. Sub-orbital planes were an extension of stuff you'd already done, and with a combination of Arc Reactors and Repulsors, you had an inkling you could make a perpetual cycler. Given proper height and some good acceleration, perhaps it would be possible to have a plane that kept the sun forever overhead.

And then, of course, there was the suit. You'd put the plans for that aside in favour of more relevant technology that Stark Transcendent might actually be able to sell, but your exoskeleton was itself an experimental platform - and one that could be extended to have all the functionality a spaceplane needed.

Forget launching satellites unaided - what if an astronaut could blast into space with just a suit, or in a pinch escaping back to earth within one? And there was, of course, the absolutely badass idea of having your own personal space-jetpack. With a good boost pack attached to the back of the armor, much like the MMU that NASA had used, you could soar above the arc of the world without a care…

The sharp tones of 'Shoot to Thrill' erupted from your pocket, and you dropped your pen with a sigh as you grabbed the phone. It was probably just… "Hey - You actually picked up, this time!" Peter Parker said. "I thought you'd given me a fake number."

"Peter!" you blurted in surprise. "Didn't expect to speak to you 'till Wednesday…"

"Yeah… Look, I've been taking pictures of some of your trucks here, and I was sort of wondering if I can run the story on those, before things get all conflict-of-interesty? I was going to do it anyway, but I have this pesky thing called a conscience, so..."

"A reporter with a conscience - what'll they think of next?" you murmured under your breath. "I kind of intend to do a press conference tomorrow or the day after, so go for it. It's not like it'll be a secret much longer."

"You sure? Because we have a lot of weirdo types around here, and there's no telling what they'll do when they hear you're moving in," Peter warned. "I mean, I've seen some creeps from Oscorp scuttling around, and someone from Roxxon was trying to sneak a peek inside. I discouraged him, but they'll try again."

"Hm. Got a cover story for your family yet?" you asked distractedly. "I mean, you kind of have the ideal explanation for what you were doing when you were - out. Just claim you've been doing some extra studying and applying for a job… Close enough to the truth, anyway."

"I - don't want to stack lies on lies. It's bad enough that I have to keep all this other stuff a secret…" He was silent for a long moment. "I sorta think she'd want to speak to you, and that thought terrifies me to the bone."

"That afraid of me making a faux-pas?" you asked dryly. "I'm not that horrible."

"Actually, I'm scared you two would get along…" Peter mumbled. "Or worse."

"Hmm, really? How old is your aunt, incidentally?" you asked teasingly.

"Oh my god, stop that right now!"

You chuckled. "Afraid of me being Uncle Tony, are we?"

"God, yes! Why did I ever agree to work for you?"

"The money, fame, expensive toys, superhero free time...? Any of that ring a bell?"

Peter was silent for a long moment. "You have a point. But I reserve the right to kick your ass if you try anything funny."

"Try me, bugboy."

You'd never really bothered analyzing your dreams before. There had never seemed to be any point to it, either. You'd long since rejected the rather fanciful notion that your subconscious had anything particularly brilliant to add, and the disjointed narratives of nightly hallucinations never did seem like a rational source of information to begin with. Nightmares, then, were the ugly step-cousin, annoying on top of useless, and often reflecting the most banal of irritants in endless mind-numbing repetition.

And yet, despite all that, recent weeks had been sleepless ones mostly because of the eerie coherency of your dreams, even if you'd only remembered them a few times. You'd woken up in a cold sweat almost every night, sometimes more than once, staring at the ceiling as the images that had seemed so very important and terrifying quickly siphoned away into meaninglessness. You'd tried to make notes, once or twice, but before you could put pen to paper, there wasn't much left beyond the very basics. The stuff that stayed with you regardless. Vague impressions, echoes.

Afghanistan remained, at least to your brain, the most explicitly nightmarish memory which stuck with you, and on more than occasion you'd found yourself back there with Yinsen, locked inside that cave, hallucinating and suffering from the physical after-effects of torture to the point that you couldn't even stand up straight. You'd seen the other man's sad eyes as he looked over your wounds, and spoke words you couldn't understand. In those moments, a deep-seated fear seeped out into your mind - what if it was real? What if you were still in that cave, still in the enemy's hands, and you'd dreamt up everything else? After that, only the shock of waking set your mind at ease, if barely.

Other times, far more so in recent days, you'd seen only a great fire - the burning of Pyre as it washed across places it should never have been, places you called home. The noxious fumes would creep invisibly over the edge of your windows and drip into your lab or bedroom, heavier than air. You couldn't see it, but you knew it was there regardless. Sometimes it flooded over the company building in a flash of fire, or covered the whole city in gaseous death and leaving people slumped in their seats, frozen mid-word with their eyes still open, prevented even a final death rattle.

And every time, the Grim Reaper looked on, grasping you by the wrist with bony fingers to prevent you from leaving, staring at you with empty sockets that you remembered from your fever dreams in Afghanistan. Sometimes, you'd been the one sweating the Pyre, as if was pouring from your very skin, poisoning everything around you even as you tried to warn them. Other times, you had been engulfed in flame, but only those around you burned away, ashes before the purifying fire.

They were only dreams, nightmares. Intellectually, you'd dismissed them as the understandable flashbacks and mental hang-ups of someone who'd experienced a trauma, even if you weren't too happy labeling yourself that way, or admitting that kind of weakness. You hadn't told anyone all the details about Afghanistan, so you couldn't very well talk it out, and the dreams were another burden that you couldn't really put on anyone's lap.

Still, you knew that your attempt at dealing was failing - your focus on work had sufficed for a time, but it wouldn't work much longer, without some sort of alternative. You'd been asking too much of yourself, running at full power without letting off steam, and you had been breaking up, despite your assurances to Pepper and Rhodey.

The previous night, you'd finally snapped. You'd been worrying about the move, about your new company, still elated that you'd gotten an arrangement with the Board and watching some late-night nonsense on television. Then, while you were still clear awake, fully conscious, the dreams had begun intruding into reality. You'd seen the impossible out of the corner of your eyes - fire, and billowing gas, and worse things. The hallucinations had vanished quickly, as you dropped your phone out of shock and nearly fell through a window as you stumbled back, but but the message had become clear even to you. Your self-neglect had passed from merely unhealthy to actively harmful.

And thus, despite your own inclination to rush to New York, to booze it up and forget the whole affair, you'd reluctantly told the pilot of your personal plane to take off without you. You'd called a few people, and arranged for something that would force you to take time off, to sleep despite the dreams. You'd be going with Pepper - a slow, steady ride along the countryside that would last for ages.

"Ah, Pepper…" you murmured softly. "You were right about the train, after all. It's… relaxing." Your eyes were closed as you simply lay there, vigilant not to fall fully asleep, knowing what might follow, but nevertheless resting your eyes. It was a remarkably comfortable experience - you'd almost forgotten what it was like. The train slowly chugged along, rather more sedately than you'd expected, but you'd stopped being annoyed rather quickly. It had been years since you'd last settled for this kind of slow cross-country travel, but it was nice. "Pepper?"

"Oh… I probably forgot dozens of things back home," Pepper complained shortly under her breath, and you could hear her ruffle through her handbag. "Well - the other home. You don't know how to warn people about these things, do you, Tony? You lock yourself away in the basement for weeks, and then you come up again just to lay this on me. It just comes out of nowhere with you, doesn't it? I am supposed to know what you're planning!"

"...I know," you breathed, sinking further back into your seat and taking a long moment to just chill and listen to the wind pass by the window. "I admit, I probably wasn't the most tactful about the whole thing," you said tacitly. "I should have consulted you first. I'm sorry."

Pepper was momentarily stunned by the apology, as if she'd never really heard you make one before. You weren't that much of an asshole, were you?

"I bought you a fair-sized apartment, in case you're wondering. I figured you wouldn't want to share a room with scruffy old me," you said easily to bridge the silence. "It's near the new Stark building, so you can consider it my little present. A chance to have a reprieve from me, shall we say." You opened your eyes, grinning at her. "Your dearest wish, I'm sure."

"Of course it is," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "And where will you be staying?"

"Heh. Where do you think?" you noted dryly. "The Horizon Labs have a rather extensive top floor that's been used for storage in the past - I had some windows installed, and a top-hatch to the roof. It's perfect for my purposes." You smirked. "I can receive guests up there, and nobody will be able to get easy access without my permission. A little private corner, if you will. It's no Malibu, but it'll serve for the moment."

"So, you built yourself a new place to lock yourself away?" Pepper inquired flatly. "Tony -"

"I know, I know. I was wrong to do that," you said sharply, cutting her off. "I… know I've been a bit distant, lately. Rhodey's been pointing it out too, and others. It's my way of dealing with things. You know that. Though I did take it a bit far."

Pepper let out a brief laugh. "No kidding."

You hadn't quite realized how far you'd taken it until the previous evening, but that morning's mail would've tipped you off, too. You'd received a communique from S.H.I.E.L.D. and it had urged, quite insistently, that you should look to professional help. In fact, it even gave a short list of people who could help with post-traumatic experiences, and their numbers. Seeing the extensive detail involved, you had no doubt that JARVIS and Coulson had cooked that up together - which was troubling, but not a huge surprise in hindsight. Of course, given that the former was modelled at least partially after yourself, it rang some alarm bells.

"I've been... obsessing," you admitted carefully. "Which isn't in itself terrible, since I've practically made a career out of it - but I went overboard. Even for me. So… I´m sorry for worrying you. I can't say I didn't have good reasons for what I did, but I apologize for keeping you in the dark so much."

Pepper nodded slowly, leaning to look out the window, perhaps to avoid your eyes. "You know, when Rhodey came to tell me about that - that fight you had, along with him and the other person… I admit, I thought about quitting." She looked back at you for an instant with a spark of panic in her eyes. "I reconsidered, of course, but… I don't want to see you destroy yourself, Tony. If I can't keep you from going off the deep end, someone else…"

"Don't talk like that," you chided quickly. "You're a lifeline, Pepper. Even if I don't always admit it, you are what keeps me connected. You and Rhodey. Without you two, who would I go to? Obi's decent enough, but he's all professional. I can't remember the last time I went to Happy for anything more than lame life advice and a ride. So who else…?" You sighed. "This new company - without Rhodey around, I only have the one lifeline. That's you, Potts."

Pepper frowned. "So that's what I am? An anchor to keep you from floating off into robot heaven?" she muttered, but she smiled thinly anyway. "I reconsidered the whole thing almost before I thought of it. You know that. I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded. "...Excellent. Because god forbid I'd have to put out a recruitment poster for friends," you muttered darkly. "That'd just be sad. And in any case, I need to have someone to share champagne with when I beat Reed. That's - pretty much top priority, I suppose."

Pepper frowned. "You're going forward with that?"

You shrugged. "I want to privatize the final frontier, Pepper - what's a better way to start this off than a proper retread of the Space Race?" You grinned tightly. "I've already gathered a whole lot of experts from the far-flung corners of Stark Industries, and I'm considering some others. Most of them aren't used to team-work, and the rest are egotists after my own heart. With a bit of spit, a polish, and some good old-fashioned despotism, I think I can make it work. There's even some Germans in there - that means this program is basically guaranteed success already. And… you know, it's fun."

"...You're getting excited again," Pepper said. "I thought you were relaxing?"

"Huh? Daydreaming isn't relaxing?" You asked, but you sank back into your seat with exaggerated movements. "Anyway, there is something I kinda wanted to ask you." You grimaced slightly. "...I want you to keep an eye on my schedule, alright? More than usual. Make sure I get six hours of sleep, at least - I can probably do with less, but let's start conservative. Three regular meals, half an hour of outdoors time even when I'm really busy. That should be good."

Pepper stared at you in surprise, slightly slackjawed. "...Did you just become - responsible?" she demanded. "Finally?"

"Yeeeeah… I'm sure," you replied dubiously. "Also, can you get someone to install a television in the bathroom? And I want a bubble bath. A really big one, for like - four? five people? A jacuzzi sounds good. Maybe we can a helipad on the roof, for funsies?"

"Or maybe not," she murmured crossly.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you woke up without a fuss. No nightmarish hellscape of a dream, no insistent dry wit from JARVIS - just the warmth of the sun on your face, which was smooshed against the cooler window. Pepper glanced at you with an amused little smile which you studied from between your eyelashes.

You'd been travelling for at least six hours now, but you knew that you had many yet to go. Even with your pull, it was hard to get trains to go any faster or ride more frequently than their pre-programmed schedule, and delays were an all too likely possibility. Still - given a few quick taxi rides and some hassle, you could probably manage in two days. Maybe. Probably not. It didn't really matter, as the cabin was comfortable enough, you had your laptop if you really needed it, and the company wasn't going to collapse so quickly. Besides, you meant to relax on the trip.

"James called me," Pepper said softly. "He's visited Obadiah. Obi's - well, he's the same. But apparently he's stable, so they're not expecting anything dramatic. It's just a waiting game, now." She sighed. "If I'd known you two were so close, I might have insisted…"

"He'll make it, I'm sure," you agreed from a comfortable haze, and she nodded. "...Did Rhodey have anything else to say, then? Because I kinda hope there won't be any crazy assassin shenanigans today..."

She shook her head. "Not really. He was talking about some sort of promise you'd made, but that was about it…"

"Freakin' jetpacks. Should've never mentioned that," you complained, stretching. "He's been hounding me over that for weeks, you -"

You paused mid-sentence as the world seemed to stop in its tracks for a split second. You looked outside with wide eyes, staring into an inky blackness that you could have sworn hadn't been there. You brought one hand to your face, to your warm skin that still seemed to hold some of the heat you'd felt. "...Wait a minute, wasn't it just light out?" you asked.

Through the window, you could tell the sky was pitch black, and even the stars were barely visible against the glare of the dulled lights in your cabin. It looked like it was late at night, or early in the morning, not the middle of the afternoon as you'd expected. You rubbed your eyes, puzzling at the disconnect, wondering if you were getting a fever on top of everything. It was one of those days, it seemed.

"No…" Pepper said slowly. "It's been some hours since the sun went down," she added in amusement. "I thought about waking you, but you were snoring, and it was adorable. You were off in la-la land, I suppose… Were you dreaming something nice, then?"

"...Must've been," you agreed in surprise. "For a change."

You had to have slept far longer than you were used to - twelve hours, maybe several more. And even now you still felt tired, as if your body was desperately attempting to use your downtime to recharge, to fill the batteries for the next self-inflicted torture session. Which would inevitably come, knowing your usual schedule. You apologized ahead of time.

"Bad dreams?" Pepper asked lightly. "I've had a few. In some of them, my boss gets kidnapped, or he gets shot by this crazy man in a red -"

"I get it," you said shortly. "...I've had a few, yeah. I suppose I have a handle on them, though," you lied. "Hopefully, the new location will help cleanse out some old baggage, right?"

"As long as you don't fill it with new nightmares," Pepper noted mildly.

"Hm. Well, I started off on a pretty good note," you said after a while. "You know what I'm talking about, I'm sure. I hired Peter Parker." You smiled at her confusion "The reporter guy? Yeah. That one. We had the whole meet-and-greet and everything."

"...I heard about that," Pepper said slowly. "Any reason you're bringing it up now?"

"Yeah…. sort of. I was hoping for your advice," you answered after a long pause. "You see - Parker hasn't really grown up in this whole world of ours, right? Company rivalries, board meetings, ordering people around… I was wondering if I should just toss him in the shark tank and see if he can swim, or if I should go with something a bit more… subtle."

"...You want to give him a leadership position? Right away?" Pepper concluded. "That's - kind of reckless, even for you. Especially when you're dealing with an unproven streetkid. One with a prior history of being amateur paparazzi, to boot…"

You shrugged. "Well, recklessness isn't the problem - I'll be supervising most everything early on, so it's not like he can make any really big mistakes either of us won't catch. Thing is - he's used to being a sort of free spirit, if you will. It might be too much to handle." You scratched your beard distractedly, looking back out into the dark. "You remember what I was like at that age, I'm sure…"

"I really don't," Pepper muttered dryly. "You only hired me years after -"

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes. "Take it literal, won't you? You've read the papers, the articles, all that. Those puberty years weren't the best of my life, regardless of all the PR stunts. It didn't really let up until after… after the crash." You thought back to that moment with a detached sort of shiver. It had been a strange time in your life - simultaneously one of loss and one of gain, as you'd been forced to learn many of your father's duties, but in the process you'd finally been able to stop being the background figure. "I suppose I could let go of a lot of baggage when that happened, and it helped," you admitted. "I'm just worrying that I'll overload this kid, too. And I'd rather not die to make all that go away."

"Not everyone works like you do, Tony," Pepper chided.

"But some people do," you retorted with a piercing look. "He's got a motor-mouth and more smart-ass comments than you can poke a stick at. I think it's a cover…" You paused for a long moment, staring at her. "...You know why I do it? Talking crap like that? It's because - if I don't keep talking, I might forget to breathe."

She looked at me with a strange expression, and it lasts for a good long while.

"Out there, in the suit? I was terrified." You looked away, grimacing. "That weapon I faced - how was I supposed to know if it could go properly nuclear? If it was anything more than it seemed? I could have died to that thing. Everyone could have died out there. Despite that, me and Peter were in the thick of it." You shrugged. "I know that you'd figured out that much."

She nodded mutely.

"All that hero stuff, jumping into the fray without a thought - we both did it, knowing the costs. I might not have a headline on every page of a newspaper like Peter does, but I think the last couple months count as demonstration for my excesses," you explained. "I don't know if that means we're both a little crazy, but it does mean that I can get where he's coming from. So - I want to see how he ticks. How he copes."

"Tony," Pepper said softly, and then she nodded sharply, a gleam in her eye. "Go for broke, I'd say. Put him in charge, and see where the pieces fall. I'll keep an eye on him. See if he needs his own Pepper Potts to reassemble him."

You simply stared at her sudden compliance. "...Potts?"

Her eyes conveyed something you couldn't quite figure out, but her smile seemed genuine. "It's - good to have you back, boss."

You nodded dumbly in response, wondering what exactly you'd said. Chalk another one up for the incomprehensibility of women...

You'd been travelling for the better part of three days, and you'd really only registered about a quarter of that, if you were completely honest. Pepper had inexplicably been awake throughout - or at least, whenever you looked. Switching trains and platforms had been relatively painless, too.

Honestly, you were beginning to get the chills from how little was happening. You'd been napping, doodling a little on your laptop during the more boring trips, and otherwise going at it pretty zen-like. There hadn't been a bad word from any other passengers who noticed you in your cabin as they passed by. No hippies protesting your company, no assholes who blamed you for the mess overseas, and not one murderous vigilante for hire.

"...You know, I think I'm kinda screwed up," you muttered to Pepper as you stared at the door of the little cabin - considerably larger than the one you'd been in on the previous leg of the journey, which had been a rickety old beast of a train regardless. "I keep expecting someone to charge in, guns blazing."

"You… should probably go to a shrink for phobias and such. PTSD and all that," Pepper said, before frowning. "Though… I suppose that stuff does happen to you. So it's not an irrational fear." She smiled uneasily as she glanced to the sliding door. "Your secret agent pals will keep an eye out, won't they?"

S.H.I.E.L.D. was present, of course - even if you hadn't requested their presence, they'd been tailing you for a while, and so far they hadn't really done anything intrusive. You'd had Jarvis check for bugs, and even those seemed to be missing. Not that you'd mentioned anything that the spies didn't already know. Unless you were very much mistaken, your latest tag-along was in the hallway, prepared but not expecting too much trouble.

"I like to rely on myself," you said, edging back your sleeve to show the tiny repulsor that peeked out from there. "And anyway - when's the last time you read a book in which the bad guys didn't rob, blow up, or attack the train? Huh? Hell, I know sci-fi shows which went with train robberies as plot points! Like, spaceships and everything! It's so cliché…"

"And here you are, riding a train on your way to building a spaceship," Pepper muttered. "I can see where you get the connection. In your weirdo kind of logic, anyway."

Despite your uneasiness, the trainride remained utterly boring until it drove into the next station. No disaster yet. Up to the next connection. The paranoia cooled down a little, and you managed to enjoy the glimpses of cities that you passed by, something new after the endless stretches of rather sparse land throughout the southern states.

You had the eeriest feeling that you ducked a bullet, somewhere, but the feeling vanished swiftly as you ruthlessly crushed your paranoia. There was time to fear assassins and other shenanigans later - right now, they were distant concerns. The only thing you should be thinking about now was the present.

"...Pepper, can you give me those folders again?" you inquired. "I want to make the final selection before we arrive… We'll keep the rest in reserve."

"You really just tossed this whole thing together, didn't you?" she asked dryly as she ruffled through one of her bags. "You'll have to narrow it down to two people. And remember - you'll have to work with these people. So - choose wisely."

"You wound me," you muttered with an exaggerated gesture. "Of course I will!"

"...I've seen some of those files, Tony. Don't you dare select anyone for their - ahem - features." She shook her head. "Seriously."

You nodded. "Sounds fair. Besides, half of them are men. Ugh."